Chapter 61

Vivian shifted her gaze toward Beatrice with a welcoming smile. "Vivian, have you eaten enough?"

"Yes, thank you," Vivian answered with a courteous nod. "Did you need something from me?"

Beatrice rose from her seat, her voice warm and encouraging. "I have a special salve for scars that might help you. Come to my chambers, and I'll demonstrate its application."

Vivian stood immediately to assist. "Certainly, Beatrice. I'd be delighted."

Margaret observed their departure with a disapproving sniff before turning her maternal attention to Bianca. "Bianca, you must stay the night. I want to hear all about your recent endeavors," she said, her tone noticeably softening now that Vivian was no longer present.

Vivian caught a fleeting glimpse of their affectionate exchange before carefully guiding Beatrice up the staircase, each step measured and deliberate.

Inside Beatrice's intimate bedchamber, the older woman secured the door before approaching an antique mahogany table. She lifted an exquisitely carved wooden box containing an assortment of delicate glass vials that seemed to hold centuries of wisdom.

"These were formulated by a renowned herbalist in Frostholm," Beatrice explained, her voice carrying quiet reverence. "While modern medicine has its merits, these ancient remedies preserve our ancestors' knowledge." She meticulously explained each ointment's purpose before returning them to their velvet-lined compartments.

Vivian accepted the box with both hands, its physical weight mirroring the emotional burden in her chest. "Thank you, Beatrice," she murmured, her gratitude laced with underlying tension.

Beatrice's kindness felt simultaneously soothing and painful. Vivian knew this generosity stemmed from her position as Adrian's wife - a role she was preparing to relinquish. Accepting such genuine care while concealing her plans filled her with leaden guilt.

Drawing a steadying breath, Vivian finally broke the silence, her voice wavering slightly. "Beatrice, there's something I must confess..."

"Adrian and I have never consummated our marriage." The admission spilled forth, hanging heavily in the air between them. As the words lingered, Vivian experienced both unsettling vulnerability and profound relief from her long-carried secret.

Beatrice's benevolent expression stiffened mid-smile. She recalled Margaret's earlier comments about Vivian and grandchildren. Suddenly, the absence of pregnancy announcements made dreadful sense. Her face transformed into a mask of compassionate distress, with rising indignation toward Adrian.

Clasping Vivian's hands firmly, Beatrice's grip offered both strength and comfort. "Adrian married you, accepting the sacred duty to honor and cherish you. That he's neglected this responsibility for two years is unconscionable! Don't fret, dear - he'll hear my thoughts on this matter!"

Feeling the warmth of Beatrice's hands, Vivian returned the gentle pressure, her voice surprisingly composed. "Please, Beatrice, don't be angry. There's more I need to share."

With another deep breath, Vivian began recounting the painful realities of her marriage - Adrian's relentless emotional neglect in his obsession with Serena, and their recent reconciliation. Each revelation felt like tearing open half-healed wounds, and before she could stop them, hot tears streamed down her cheeks, betraying her carefully maintained composure.

Beatrice tenderly dabbed Vivian's tears with her embroidered handkerchief. "Hush now, darling. We failed in raising Adrian properly. He's always been secretive and headstrong, but I never imagined he could be so cruel..."

Her voice trailed off as fresh understanding dawned. The implications of Vivian's confession settled heavily between them, the comfortable bedroom suddenly feeling charged with unspoken consequences. Outside the window, twilight deepened, casting long shadows that seemed to mirror the dark truths now revealed.