The Butterfly Formatted

by Vale, Victoria

  Daphne went stiff on the bench beside her, back erect, hand clenched around hers, jaw tight as she anticipated Olivia’s story. It occurred to her that it might be difficult for the other woman to hear this, knowing her brother proved the villain of the tale. But she seemed to be made of sterner stuff than others might give her credit for.

  “As you may know, I met your brother at Almack’s. It sickens me to remember how utterly he disarmed me our very first meeting. I was heartbroken over Niall at the time, missing him terribly each day that I spent away from him. I sought a distraction, something—or rather someone—to make me forget him. Bertram did that quite effectively for a time.”

  She told Daphne of the broken string of her reticule and how chivalrous Bertram had seemed when returning it to her.

  “In hindsight, I’ve wondered if he cut it somehow, in some sort of ruse so that he might play the hero returning my property. It endeared me to him, I must admit … so much so that I flirted more boldly than I might have otherwise. He signed my card for a dance, during which he charmed me so thoroughly, I thought myself half in love with him by the end of it. Ridiculous, I know.”

  “He is good at that. Getting people to love him, I mean. I know that his tricks worked well enough upon me. My devotion to him was absolute … until I learned the truth.”

  “I will admit, it is good to hear that I was not the only one fooled by him. For so long, I blamed myself for being foolish, for letting my grief over Niall drive me to do things I might not have done.”

  “You mustn’t think of it that way. He might have gotten to you regardless.”

  “Yes, I can see that now. The morning after Almack’s, he sent flowers to the townhome of my cousin and his wife, where I resided for the Season. There was a note, as well, with a beautiful bit of poetry scrawled upon it in his hand. Things progressed swiftly from there, and I found myself caught up in the romanticism of courtship. He took me riding, lavished me with compliments, gifts, small affections. Always the gentleman, he never made me feel threatened. When we managed to steal a private moment for a kiss, he never did anything more than I wanted and always stopped when I asked him to. He made me feel desired, and … I truly thought he might be the one. He spoke of marriage often, of his need for a future countess and heir. I told myself that I was ridiculous to have fallen for him—after all, London was filled with lovely debutantes, many of whom clamored for his attentions. However, he even found ways to squash those notions, to make me feel as if I were special to him. During our brief courtship, his head was never turned, his attentions focused solely upon me. Oh, he was polite to the other ladies, of course, but I was the only one he took riding or walking, I was the only one he danced with twice in one night, I was the only one …”

  She paused for a moment, swallowing past the anxiety rising up as she went deeper into her tale. It was not so hard to speak of the beginning and the ways Bertram had tricked her into thinking herself in love with him. But now, she must tell the most abhorrent part of it all. The part that had irrevocably changed her life.

  “I allowed him liberties I probably should not have. A hand on my breast, my thigh, under my skirts. It was thrilling, wanting him and being wanted, thinking that perhaps, it might be all right to be with him in that way if our courtship were to end in a proposal. The only other man who’d ever given me such single-minded focus had been Niall, and I could not have him. We could never marry or have children, or … well, Bertram was my only chance, I thought. I could be happy with him; I could love him. I allowed him to get me alone often, reveling in our secretive encounters while confident that he would always stop when I asked him to. Even if he tried to convince me to give him more, even if he grew a bit frustrated when I demurred, he always stopped. Until the one night when he did not.”

  Daphne’s hand tightened around hers, and Olivia squeezed it back. She felt as if she might fall apart, sinking to the ground in a sobbing heap if not for the strength of that hand.

  “I’ll never forget the day … the twenty-fifth of March. The night of the Duke and Duchess of Lorham’s spring ball. They host the affair outdoors, in their massive garden—it is quite larger than any other in Mayfair, they say. Bertram and I began the night as we usually did, meeting when he appeared with a glass of champagne, filled with compliments for my attire. While signing for two dances on my card, he whispered to me that he had missed me. We had not seen one another all week, and he wanted a moment alone. God, how thrilled I was at the idea of sneaking off to be with him. I counted the minutes until the hour struck eleven. We’d agreed to slip inside, seeking privacy while everyone else remained outdoors. Through the entire evening, he watched me from across the room, as if he, too, could not wait.

  “At last, eleven of the clock came, and I practically ran through the doors of the veranda into the ballroom. He was there waiting for me, insisting that he knew the perfect place. We would not be disturbed. I went with him, of course. He had fully gained my trust by then, and I had no reason to fear him. He took me through a series of corridors, as if he knew where he was going. I supposed he had been to enough soirées in the duke’s home to know his way around. He pulled me into a drawing room and shut the door, taking me into his arms. Things began as they always did between us. All these years, I have thought back to the moment often enough to realize that everything was literally just fine up until the moment it was not. He worked me into a fervor, trying as always to press me past our usual stopping point, whispering in my ear how beautiful I was, how badly he wanted me, how good a life we would have together once we were wed. I insisted we should wait … at least announce a betrothal and have the banns called before we did something reckless. I wanted the security of an impending wedding, the knowledge that I would end the Season with him as my husband. He insisted it would be so, that he would give me anything … but he could not wait to have me, it had to be now. Even then, I did not grow alarmed, simply crying off as I had before. He had me on a sofa, laid back upon one of its arms. I sat up and tried to push him from on top of me. ‘The hour grows late’, I insisted. ‘We must go back to the garden before we are missed.’”

  The tears she’d been holding back had begun to burn, too filled with her pain to be held in for another moment. She blinked, letting the first wave of them trickle down her face, her chin trembling as she sucked in a deep, slow breath.

  You can do this … you must get through this, or you will never be free of it.

  “Bertram did not budge, and for the first time, I noticed how heavy he felt, how much larger and stronger than me he was. Even still, I was not afraid. I simply thought him overcome by passion, refusing to let me go, still trying to coerce me into letting him take me. ‘You’re only scared,’ he told me. ‘I understand that your innocence might make this daunting. But I will make it good for you, love, I promise. I need you, Livvie … just a taste, love.’ I squirmed beneath him, trying to twist and writhe my way free. ‘Bertram, please,’ I begged. ‘We must not do this … it isn’t right.’

  “In truth, this part of it had never felt right … the moment where I must decide whether to give him what he wanted. I suppose I still loved Niall so much more than I did Bertram, and a part of me … the foolish girl who still thought she could run off and marry the Stablemaster could not betray him that way. It was a part of myself I’d always wanted to give to Niall. But, Bertram became frantic, wrestling with me, trying to grasp my wrists and pin my legs so I could not escape him. All the while, he kept crooning to me as if trying to calm a skittish mare, murmuring to me that I was only frightened, and I would come to see there was nothing to be afraid of. I wanted this, didn’t I? I’d let him go so far because deep down, a part of me must want it. And by now, I am certain you are thinking that here is where fear must have come into the picture. Surely, by now, I should have worried for my virtue, perhaps even my life. But, I am ashamed to admit that I still trusted him, still believed that all I need do was convince him that I truly wanted to stop—get
him to see that I did not mean to lead him on, but I simply was not ready. The truth of the matter is, I did not see past my unwavering trust in him until the moment he slapped me.”

  Daphne sucked in a sharp breath, flinching as if she had been struck herself. “I am so sorry. I-I knew what he had done, it is just … I had not thought …”

  “That it was violent? It is interesting, isn’t it, the way we women are conditioned. I do not know about you, but when I was taught to guard my virtue, it was always to be against flowery words or seduction. It wasn’t … I had never been taught that ruination could be so painfully brutal.”

  “No,” Daphne murmured, lowering her eyes. “I suppose I never imagined it, either. I have never seen a man of my acquaintance strike a woman. It seems so … unconscionable.”

  “It is … it was. And he did it without an ounce of hesitation or regret … slapped me across the face so hard, I saw stars and my eyes watered. I felt as if the entire left side of my face went up in flames. It stunned me still and silent, the shock of it overwhelming all my reflexes for a moment. In a way, I knew I must fight, that this would not end just because I said no. I became aware of the need to fight, to run away from him, and get into the view of others to save myself. But, I cannot describe to you the sense of betrayal and shock that washed over me just then. As I stared up at him, it was as if I were seeing him for the first time—the true Bertram. Like a mask had fallen away, and I was staring into the eyes of … of a demon.”

  Her heart had begun to pound, her gut roiling, and Olivia felt as if she’d gone right back to that drawing room—could even feel the crushing weight of Bertram on top of her, the sickening bite of his knees digging into her thighs to pin her down, the sting of her struck cheek. If she closed her eyes, she might even see his face, so she fought against the urge, blinking to allow more tears to fall and staring out at the garden.

  “He grasped me by my jaw, his hold unrelenting as he forced me to look at him. ‘There’s nothing I hate more than a cocktease’, he said, his voice taking on this grating quality I’d never before heard. It sounded as if he truly did hate me. Then, he went on hurling insults at me while pulling at my skirts, lifting them up. ‘Fighting me will only make this harder than it has to be. You’ve been practically begging for it since the night we met.’ ‘No’, I said. ‘That is not true. Please, Bertram … stop’. I was terrified witless by then, realizing that I had no choice but to physically fight him. Even as hopeless as that was, I gave it everything I had. When he shifted his weight to free me from the tangle of my petticoats, I drove a knee straight up between his legs. He rolled off me, falling onto the floor. I shook off the daze that had fallen over me and stood, running across the room with no other thought than getting out of it. But, he recovered far faster than I anticipated, overcoming me before I could get to the door. He grabbed my hair and yanked me back. His grip was so tight, I could swear a few strands pulled free of my scalp when he swung me around and threw me onto the carpet. I tried to crawl away from him, but he was on me within seconds, pinning me on my belly. He … he kept one hand twisted in my hair to keep me still so he could get my skirts up. When I tried to kick and squirm free, he pulled my head up, then slammed it against the floor.”

  “My God,” Daphne rasped, her own voice roughening as if she fought back tears.

  Olivia could not bear to look at the other woman, the shame of the words spewing forth too much to bear. But she could not stop now that she’d begun. She had not even given Niall these details, thinking it might have been unbearable for him to hear. Olivia had not realized until just then how desperately she’d needed to share this burden with someone.

  “I nearly lost consciousness, my vision growing hazy, and I became dizzy. He seized upon the opportunity to pull my skirts up to my waist and open his breeches. By the time I’d managed to find the strength to try to fight him again, he … he lay on top of me and … and forced himself inside me. I …”

  She sobbed, her body crumpling, the last of her strength giving out. A sensation like falling gripped her as she slipped from the bench and fell to her knees upon the ground. Trembling overwhelmed her from head to toe, and she felt as she had while suffering withdrawal, a swift and sudden hunger opening in the depths of her gut, her soul craving relief, oblivion. She did not want to remember, or speak of this. She did not want to relive the searing, mind-numbing pain of Bertram’s forceful invasion of her body.

  But, she’d gone too far to turn back. If she were to overcome this feeling tearing her up inside, she must end this.

  “I could not have fought him after that,” she managed between sobs. Daphne was at her side, a strong arm wrapped around Olivia’s shoulders, lending strength and support. “The pain … it was unlike anything I’d ever thought I’d feel. And he seemed to take pleasure in the fact that he was hurting me, that I was crying and pleading with him to stop. He told me there was no use begging now that he’d gotten what he wanted. The other things he said … they were filthy and foul. I sometimes hear him in my dreams, calling me a slut and a whore, telling me I’d gotten what was coming to me, that I’d earned this by playing coy and teasing him. This was what I got, he said … this was what I deserved.”

  Daphne squeezed her, as if trying to hold her together, and Olivia’s gratitude in that moment was boundless. She felt as if she’d shatter at any moment, fall apart, dispersed over the ground in tiny fragments.

  “I had no idea, Olivia,” Daphne said. “I do not know what to say. I do not know how to say I’m sorry I am without sounding trite or insensitive.”

  Olivia sighed, shaking her head. “There is nothing for you to be sorry about. The fault lies entirely with Bertram. Though, I did blame myself for a long time, beginning the moment he finished, leaving me lying there on the rug. While I lay there crying and sobbing and hurting from head to toe, inside and out, he stood over me, buttoning his breeches and smirking. I’d thought that smirk charming before that night … I had found it mischievous and sly. But afterward, he might as well have been a tiger flashing his teeth after mauling me for how repulsive I found that smile. He told me that if I said anything about what had just happened, he’d make me regret it. He would make sure everyone knew what a shameless tart I’d been, how easily I’d parted my legs and offered myself up to him. And who would believe me over him after I’d spent most of the Season publicly basking in his attention? If anyone knew what had just occurred, of course I’d be ruined—more so than I already was. I’d become the pariah, not Bertram, and we both knew it. Then …”

  She paused to swallow the bile that had risen in her throat as she remembered what had come next, a shudder of disgust ripped through her.

  “Then, he knelt down and kissed my cheek, so tenderly, as if he were my lover instead of the man who’d just raped me. As if he loved me instead of hating me the way he’d claimed. ‘There now, love. I told you it would only be worse if you fought. This could have been so much more pleasurable for you.’ Then, he threw something on the ground beside me and quit the room—leaving me lying there with my skirts up around my waist and the thing he’d left on the floor right beside my face. A handkerchief, of all things. He’d left it there as if it were meant to be a kind gesture, but it only chafed all the more, reminding me of just why I needed that handkerchief. I lay there for a long while, unable to move or even cover myself. The indignity of it was crushing … so much so that I prayed that God would simply kill me. I lay there with my blood and his seed soaking my petticoats, and it was simply too much to bear. I wanted to die.”

  Daphne rocked her as if she were a child, the motion more soothing that she’d care to admit. “I am glad you did not.”

  For the first time in five years, Olivia found herself surprised to be able to agree. “So am I. Once I’d found the strength to rise, I stood and made myself as presentable as I could. I refused to touch his handkerchief, using my hands to wipe my face and try to smooth my hair. I stumbled out of the drawing room and somehow�
��miraculously—managed to escape the house without being seen by any of the other guests. I assumed Bertram went back to the ball, so I could not be free of that house fast enough. The footmen working the front door expressed concern, and I could only imagine how ghastly I looked, but I simply asked if one of them would hail a hack for me. I just wanted to go home. Once there, I could not get into a bath fast enough—could not scrub enough to rid myself of the smell of him, the feel of him on top of and inside of me. Even once I was clean, I was still unbearably sore, with bruises on my thighs. His slap hadn’t left a mark, but I still felt it, burning through my skin. I shunned visitors the next day and refused to leave my room. The entire world was so much darker than it ever had, and I felt no compulsion to go out into the city and rejoin it. My cousin’s wife tried to coerce me to go on walks, to attend soirées, to do something other than hide and weep until I could barely breathe. She thought me lovesick, brokenhearted as word spread of the new young lady Bertram had begun courting. Little did she know that my sickness had everything to do with him, but nothing to do with Lady Cassandra.”

  Daphne perked up at that. “Lady Cassandra Lane?”

  “Yes. She was the one who had caught his eye, the gossips claimed. I felt I should go to her, try to warn her to stay as far away from Bertram as humanly possible. But the fear of him kept me away; fear that I would come face to face with him, that people would be able to take one look at me and see everything. So, I continued to hide, counting the days until the Season ended so I could return to Edinburgh. I did not want to marry anymore, and I wanted nothing to do with the ton or its customs. Eight weeks passed before I realized …”

  “That you were with child.”

  Olivia nodded, smiling despite the memories this conversation dredged up. Even with all she’d gone through to bring Serena into the world, the girl would always be the light of her life.