The Butterfly Formatted

by Vale, Victoria

  Taking a shaky breath, she clenched her hands to still the shaking and squared her shoulders. “I am certain. It has to be done, Niall. I am a bit nervous to be socializing with people other than my family for the first time in years, as well as the nature of this meeting. But, I cannot back down … not now.”

  He still looked a bit concerned, but did not argue, instead taking her hand to guide her downstairs. Daphne waited for them in the front vestibule, a pelisse bundling her up from neck to toes.

  “Are we ready?” she asked, giving Olivia a long, measured look.

  “We are,” she declared, sweeping past both her and Niall to get to the door. The longer they dragged things out, the more anxious she’d become. The sooner they got this over with, the better.

  The others followed her from the house and down the front steps. Daphne took the lead then, guiding them the few blocks toward the home of the Bellinghams. They were expected in a quarter of an hour.

  Niall kept a hand braced at the small of her back as they walked, the light touch both soothing and bolstering. She could do this. After all, she’d already told the entire story to Daphne. She’d wrestled with her demons, and while she still fought them—felt as if she’d battle them her entire life—Olivia realized she now stood on the winning side of things.

  For the rest of the walk, she focused upon how freeing it felt to be outdoors, taking in the cool evening air, her breath turning into white mist on the breeze. They passed several people coming and going from soirées in Grosvenor Square, dressed in all their finery and absorbed in their own conversations. None of them paid her notice, not recognizing her as the sister of an earl who’d disappeared from society all those years ago. It was quite liberating to walk in London’s most exclusive neighborhood without bearing the usual scrutiny.

  Perhaps when this had all ended, she could let herself be seen again, to be among people she once knew. It would not be easy, but neither had this been.

  One step at a time.

  First, she must close this door to the things that lay behind her. Only then could she truly look to the future.

  They arrived at the Bellingham residence in record time. As they ascended the front steps, the door swung open, a rectangle of yellow light spilling out over them. A butler and duo of footmen greeted them, accepting their things and directing them to the nearest drawing room.

  The door to a drawing room hung open, and as they approached, Olivia could see they’d been the last to arrive. The space was filled with several women and a handful of men—relations or guardians of the ladies, she supposed.

  They were greeted by a woman similar to Olivia in stature and coloring—petite, with fair skin, dark hair and eyes. With a warm smile, she curtsied to her and Daphne, then offered Niall her hand.

  “I am Winifred Bellingham, but you must call me Winnie, all of you,” she declared, before taking Olivia’s arm as if they’d been friends all their lives. “It is so good to finally meet you, Olivia. We’ve never been formally introduced, but I’d seen you from afar during your first Season. I regret that we are forced to make one another’s acquaintance under such circumstances.”

  “So do I,” Olivia replied as she was led toward a half-circle of chairs that had been arranged facing the fire. It was here everyone sat, awaiting her arrival. “But I am glad we are doing this. Thank you for having us.”

  Winifred patted her hand, then pulled her into the center of the semicircle. “It was no trouble at all. I am happy to do my part. Now, then … let me introduce you to everyone.”

  As Daphne took a seat on the end of the half-circle, Niall hovered near the back of the room, where one of the men offered him a glass filled with what appeared to be brandy. He accepted it and nodded his thanks, remaining silent.

  Olivia scanned the faces of the women as they were introduced, and what she found absolutely shocked her. Every last one of them was similar to her in some way.

  Miss Agatha Daventry had smooth alabaster skin and dark eyes, though her hair was fair, not brown.

  Lady Matilda Parham could have been Olivia’s sister, her features delicate and doll-like, her hair the same mahogany shade.

  Mrs. Viola Cathorn … Miss Janet Pleasance … Lady Lily Kirby … all possessed brown hair and eyes and were of diminutive stature.

  Apparently, Bertram had a taste for a certain type of woman, as was evident by those gathered, including the fiancée who had jilted him. There was only one woman who did not seem to belong among the others. Even sitting down, Lady Cassandra Lane proved long of limb, her stature setting her apart as taller than the other women in the room—she’d be as tall as most of the men when she stood. Her hair was a shade of strawberry blonde, her eyes a limpid blue behind a fringe of pale lashes. However, there was one thing about her that sparked an instant sense of kinship in Olivia: the gleam of something in her eyes, something dark and deep. She kept it hidden away better than Olivia knew she did, but it was there, marking her as a woman who had been through Hell. In that regard, she was no different than the rest of the women present.

  The men were introduced, as well—all relatives of the ladies as she’d suspected, one turning out to be the husband of Lady Viola, Mr. Cathorn. As Winifred began, he crossed the room and reached over the back of her chair, bracing a hand upon her shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

  “Now that we are all here, I think it best if I allow Lady Daphne to take the lead. She is, after all, responsible for our coming together. This plan is all her doing.”

  Every eye in the room fell on Daphne as she stood, coming beside Olivia as Winifred took her vacated chair. She held Olivia’s hand and faced the assembled group.

  “Thank you for coming. We all know why we are gathered, so I will cut to the chase. My brother has been a menace upon London society for years—particularly upon our young debutantes. I must first apologize for my ignorance of the matter. Had I realized what was happening, I might have reached out to you sooner … perhaps some of you would not need to be here. However, now that we are all in agreement that something must be done, the time has come to move forward. With you ladies acting as witnesses, and the name of the Earl of Hartmoor behind us, we have the power to see Bertram prosecuted within the full extent of the law. I know that many of you do not trust me, and I do not blame you. I come from the family of the man who violated you, and his father, who paid for your silence. But, you’ve been gracious enough to hear me out, some of you even going so far as to tell me your own personal accounts of what happened. Nevertheless, I know that my promise to see this done might not be enough … which is why Lady Olivia Goodall has joined us this evening. If you will indulge me, I think you all need to hear the extent of her own ordeal. She might be the most poorly treated of Bertram’s victims, as well as one of the strongest. I urge you to listen to her.”

  She moved as if to pull away, but Olivia tightened her grip to prevent that. She glanced up to meet Daphne’s gaze, hoping the other woman understood that she could not stand here alone. She needed the strength of a person who already knew this story. Daphne gave a little nod and remained where she was, clinging to Olivia’s hand.

  Straightening her shoulders, Olivia began her story. Holding nothing back, she told them all of it—their meeting at Almack’s, their courtship over several weeks, the sense of security he had lulled her into before striking. Then, she related the rest of the tale, including the discovery of her pregnancy and the asylum, followed by the years of madness she had fought against.

  The telling was as difficult this time as it had been with Daphne in the garden, made all the worse by the reactions of her audience. Some of the men swore under their breaths upon hearing of how Bertram had slapped her and pinned her down. One of the women broke out in sobs while her brother held and rocked her as if comforting a child. Lady Cassandra stood from her chair and turned away into a corner of the room, as if unable to abide what was being said. And Niall … he never took his gaze off her, the dark irises simmering with rage
and shock. There were so many details she’d never imparted to him, so many things he’d been ignorant of. She could see his conflict over the details he was hearing, the anger at her for holding it back, the fury toward Bertram for doing it to her in the first place, the grief hanging over it all like a heavy cloud.

  When she had finished, she found that her cheeks had grown wet with tears she hadn’t even realized she had spilled. Yet, the churning in her gut had eased, and her hold on Daphne’s hand was no longer quite as tight. The sensation of relief that had followed the first recounting came again, and left her feeling less heavy. Only now, she also felt far less alone than before, seeing the expressions on the faces of the other women. They were united by their trauma, made part of a faction by their pain.

  Mrs. Viola Cathorn was the first to speak. “You are so very brave, Lady Olivia. To have not only suffered such abuse, but to then give birth to the child of that man … how difficult it must be for you.”

  Olivia accepted a handkerchief from Mr. Cathorn, who had come around the circle of chairs to deliver it to her. She thanked him and dabbed at her damp face before addressing his wife.

  “The pregnancy and birth were difficult. But Serena is a beautiful, wonderful child. Despite where she came from, I love her. She has been a bright spot in my life these past five years.”

  “She must be protected,” said Mr. Cathorn, returning to his place behind his wife. “Under no circumstance should you testify, Lady Olivia.”

  “She willnae,” Niall called out from across the room. “Not if I have anythin’ to say about it.”

  Before anyone could reply, Lady Cassandra spoke up, turning from her place in the corner. “So, we are all expected to publicly incriminate and ruin ourselves in her stead, then. Is that it?”

  Viola was on her feet in an instant, glaring at Cassandra over her shoulder. “Lady Olivia is the only one of us whose rape resulted in a child. Of course she should not be made to testify. I, however, will do it gladly.”

  “Well, some of us do not have the protection of our husband’s good name to keep us from being branded the ruined whores of high society, now, do we?” Cassandra muttered, crossing both arms over her chest.

  “She is not the only one who became pregnant,” said a soft voice from the other side of the semicircle.

  Olivia swiveled to find that everyone had now looked to Miss Agatha Daventry. Her cheeks flushed scarlet, and she looked down to her hands, which she clenched tight in her lap. Daphne let out a strangled sound of shock, obviously as ignorant of this revelation as the rest of them had been.

  “Like Lady Olivia, I discovered my condition a few months after Bertram raped me,” she continued. “I panicked, of course, not certain what I would do should my parents discover that not only had I been compromised, but I’d also become pregnant. I was not as brave as you, my lady … I could not bring myself to give birth to that man’s child. So, I searched about the city until I found a woman who … for a price … would help an unwed woman eliminate an unborn child.”

  Agatha flinched at the gasps that rippled through the room, choking on a sob. Sniffling, she swiped the sleeve of her gown across her face to dash away her tears.

  “She gave me a dose of Widow Welch’s pills,” Agatha said. “They caused a great amount of pain, but no blood like she said they should. When I returned, she charged me thirty shillings to act as a surgeon and … and use this abominable iron instrument to induce the desired result. By the next day, it had happened. I lay abed weeping and writhing in pain, bleeding as the child was purged from me. My maid helped me through it, ridding me of the remains when it had ended. No one ever knew.”

  Another of the men came forward, his face tight with emotion he tried to keep at bay. Agatha’s brother, she recalled. Tears glistened in his eyes, his fisted hands shaking at his sides.

  “Why did you never tell me?” he ground out with a shaky voice. “How could you have done that? It is abominable … it is wrong … it is …”

  “A choice I made, and have mourned every day since,” Agatha declared, coming to her feet to face her brother. “What do you know of what it means to have someone force himself on you, then find that you have been carrying a piece of him inside you for months—to know that you must birth it and look at it every day? What do you know of any of it, Lucien?”

  Lucien swiped at his wet face and trembled, shaking his head at her. “Mother would be so appalled.”

  “Mother is not here,” Agatha countered before turning to face Olivia. “You did what I could not do. For you, and for that little girl, I will testify. I will ensure he can never lay a hand upon Serena. You have my word.”

  “We will be ruined,” Lady Janet Pleasance chimed in, sitting up a bit straighter in her chair. “You all realize that, do you not? Those of us who were not fortunate to find men willing to marry us will not have the same protection they do. Those of us who might have gone on to make matches will face eternal spinsterhood, ostracism at the hands of our peers. They will shun us, gossip about it, blame us.”

  “Is that not always the way of it?” Lady Cassandra spat. “The men do whatever they want to us, and not only must we accept it, but we are also to carry the blame for their indiscretion and cruelty!”

  “I do not care,” Lady Matilda Parham declared, coming to her feet, as well. “There are only six of us here, but we all know there are others. There might be other children out there, as well. And, may I remind you that each Season brings a new crop of debutantes into our midst? Will we stand back and allow them to become prey, as we once were?”

  “Lord Fairchild has been ruined,” Lord Parham, Matilda’s husband, spoke up. “The rumors about him have spread like a plague, and no respectable home will have him. That’s enough to keep the debutantes out of his reach, at least.”

  Lady Parham glared at her husband. “I will not take any chances. You may count upon me, Lady Olivia. I will testify, freely and gladly!”

  “And so will I,” Lady Lily Kirby said. “I have not been fortunate enough to find a man I trust enough to divulge what has happened to me like some of you. I do not know if revealing what I endured to the world will prevent me from finding a husband … but, I do know that I’d never wish to wed a man who could so callously blame a woman for circumstances outside her control. So, I do not care if any of those pompous lords do not wish to marry me when this has been done. I would rather live the rest of my life a childless spinster than take the chance that Bertram might prey upon another young lady.”

  Lady Janet nodded, slowly, as if coming to terms with what they would do as she spoke. “You are right, of course. It will be an honor to stand with such brave women against our common enemy.”

  “Thank you all,” Daphne said, turning to give little smiles to each of the women. “You are to be commended for your courage and resolve. I know that together, we have what is necessary to ensure Bertram is prosecuted.”

  Her excitement was palpable and spreading through the room like wildfire. Even Olivia felt a bit giddy as she realized how easily Bertram could now be made to pay for his crimes.

  It wasn’t until Lady Cassandra spoke that Olivia realized she was the only woman in the room not smiling. She was the only woman in the room who had not spoken in several minutes … the only one who had not agreed to testify.

  “Where were you? Where were any of you when I thought that I was the only one—when I thought I would carry the shame of it on my own for the rest of my life?”

  The others in the room exchanged shocked glances, a few frowning as if in disapproval of Cassandra’s remarks. Olivia stepped toward the girl, hands outstretched.

  “I understand the way you felt, Lady Cassandra. I think it is safe to say that we all do.”

  Cassandra recoiled, upper lip curling, blue eyes flashing pure, unfettered rage. “You … you above the rest of them ought to know what I refer to. Your first Season was also my first … before me, there was you. I thought I was alone, but you knew. Yo
u knew what he was, and when he had finished with you, you stood back and let him have me!”

  Daphne drew in a sharp breath while Lady Parham clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. Niall came thundering across the room, hands clenched, face stretched into an expression not unlike Cassandra’s disdainful one.

  “You’ll want t’ be careful how ye speak to her,” he growled, shouldering his way between them. “Ye dinnae know anythin’ about her or what she knew or wanted!”

  Placing a gentle hand upon his arm, Olivia urged him to back away, peering at Lady Cassandra, who had shrunk swiftly back from Niall. Eyes wide with terror, she looked ready to collapse on the spot, the bravado of her anger slipping away to reveal a scared girl. Niall was oblivious to the fear he’d caused, intent only upon defending her. While Olivia appreciated his unwavering loyalty, she also pitied and understood Cassandra. There had been a time a man’s raised voice had been enough to send her spiraling, collapsing into herself, drowning in darkness.

  “You are right,” she said.

  Cassandra met her gaze, mouth falling open. “What?”

  “I said, you are right about me. I knew what he was, and I even knew that you’d become his next conquest. Not long after he raped me, word of your new courtship began to spread. It reached me, even as I hid away from society. I knew who you were even though we’d never met, and I feared for you, but I … I was so distraught, and yes, afraid. I was afraid of what he might do. I am certain he threatened you just as he did me. I was afraid everyone would know, terrified of what my stepfather might say. But, that was no excuse. I have thought of you so often and regretted my decision not to reach out to you, to try to prevent what I knew he would do to you. Bertram and that nun from the asylum haunt me daily … you haunt me from time to time, as well. I know it might not make a difference to you after all that has happened, but please know how sorry I am. If I could change anything that has taken place after that awful night, it would be that I’d gone to you when I realized what he was up to and warned you. Perhaps I might have saved you, even when I could not save myself.”