Lidya is suffering through early morning tea with her mother in law when all hell breaks loose. Shouts and cries echo off the walls and trickle through the room like wet paint, thick and clotting. She is on her feet before a maid even comes to fetch her. Her mother in law hot on her heels as they rush from the plush sitting room and into the hallway beyond.

A feeling of deep dread consumes her with every step she takes, like icy cold fingers running up her spine. A warning of something awful just ahead, but she doesn’t turn back. She may not understand what is to come, but as the lady of the house she has a duty to find out what has happened and solve it.

The screams and sobbing grow louder as she makes her way closer to the foyer, every one of them like a knife sliding it’s cold metal across her skin. At last she rounds the last corner and stops dead in her tracks. Distantly she hears a sharp intake of breath from behind her, but it feels faded, wobbly, as if inhaled from far away.

There, just ahead of her, standing in the doorway is a military officer. He is tall and foreboding, his face a solemn mask of polished marble, decked from head to toe in formal uniform. His hand closed around what can only be identification tags.

“Are you Lady Lidya Dupont, formerly of Mercier?” The man inquires and Lidya nods her head slowly in response, closing her eyes against the torrent of emotions threatening to overtake her. Her whole body shakes with the effort of containing herself and her breath comes out in rasping gasps.

The man doesn’t speak again and it takes her a moment to realize that he is waiting for a verbal affirmation. “I am Lady Lidya Dupont formerly of Mercier.” She speaks up at last, her voice cracking under the strain.

“Le Général Augustin de l’armée française has entrusted me to express his deep regret that Viscount Hilbert Dupont has died in the line of duty…” The officer says more, but his words fall onto deaf ears.

The ground beneath her feet rolls and dips beneath her, quaking violently and before she knows what is happening, she is sinking to her knees. Her entire body shaking in agony as her heart tears itself apart.

She doesn’t even feel the tears staining her cheeks, nor does she feel the sharp sting of bruises forming on her skin from where her knees met the cold stone floor. And as her mind repeats the same phrase over and over like a broken record, all she can do is stare at a spot far off in the distance and scream.

Not my Hilbert. She repeats in the silent recess of her mind. Please God, not my son.

***

“You dare come to me with the news of my son’s death?” Lidya’s husband, Earl Collin of Wallwood, screams down at her, his voice carrying in the small waiting room.

“I’m so sorry my love.” She says, her voice hoarse from hours of sobbing. She feels so lost and wants more than anything to be held and told that everything is going to be alright. Collin, however, makes no move to console her.

She reaches out for him instead, but before she touches him he slaps her hand away.

“Don’t you dare touch me.” He screams and Lidya takes a step back in shock, not quite understanding her husband's response. “This is your fault.” He scowls down at her and she pulls back from him even more.

“You can’t mean that Collin.” She whispers softly at his words, even though deep down she knows he does.

“Oh, but I do.” He says coldly and takes a step towards her. “You were never capable of raising children and you never will be.” He continues, his face morphing into an ugly sneer. “Your inferior blood has tarnished the reputation of this family, I should have listened to my mother when she warned me not to marry a commoner, but I was too bewitched by your beauty to hear her.”

“I am the daughter of an Earl.” Lidya tries to stand her ground, but her voice, still weak from crying, carries no weight.

“A bastard child is worth no more than a commoner.” He growls before taking a step away from her. “You are unfit to carry my name and you always will be. You should be thankful I’m not calling for an annulment of our marriage.”

“Please, this is not my fault.” Lidya begs, but her husband only glares daggers at her.

“Isn’t it?” He grinds his teeth together and clenches his hands into fists. “Which of us encouraged him to enter into service?” He takes a step toward her. “Which of us put the idea of duty into his head?” Another step. “Which of us fed him tales of adventure and filled his head with glory?” He shouts at her, slamming his fist against the wall beside her head. She hadn’t even realized she’d been pushed against it until then.

“Those were just stories. I never pushed him to enlist.” She whimpers quietly. His eyes burn with anger and revulsion as he looks at her.

“Oh? And I suppose you didn’t push Delila to run away with that maid either? I suppose your unfit blood had nothing to do with her choosing a woman over a man?” He spits at her, his anger surrounding her like a blanket, cutting off her air and making it impossible to respond. “That's what I thought.” He growls, turning to leave, but not before stopping to toss a final insult at her. “You disgust me.” He snarls before leaving the room, the door slamming shut behind him.