The morning after the ball, I wake up at dawn with a heavy, aching belly and a hot wetness between my thighs. I scramble up off the sofa in a panic and drag my blanket from it. In the thin light, I scan the sofa seats thoroughly, but I can discern no revealing stain. However my skirt is saturated behind, and there are scarlet pebbles of colour on the blanket.

I straighten the sofa cushions then go to the bed and kick the mattress. Mariusz stirs.

"What?" he grunts.

"I need to get in bed."

"Then get in."

"I'm bleeding."

"Hm?" One eye flutters halfway open. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm bleeding. I need to get in bed, so the servants think I bled in bed. Or our little deception will be over."

"What do you mean, bleeding?" He sits up properly, presses his palms to his eyes, then squints at me. "Oh!"

I've never heard him sound so uncertain. He slides out of bed and stares at me.

"You get in then," he says. "I'll, uh, I'll get dressed and go for a ride."

I crawl into bed, shuddering at the feel of my damp skirt between my thighs, and pull the stained blanket over me. Even in this discomfort, it doesn't take long before I fall into the halfway state between waking and sleep. I shut my eyes, only dimly conscious of Mariusz moving around the apartment. The rush of the tap water, the rustle of his clothing, the soft thump of his bare footsteps, the clink of his boot buckle, the sharper thump of his booted feet.

"I'm going," he says, half-waking me.

"Mm."

But he does not leave.

"Do you need anything? You look pale."

"I feel sick." I bury my face in the pillow. "Leave me alone."

He leaves me alone.

I wake what feels like hours later. The heavy, hot feeling in my gut has lightened and cooled, but I still feel unwell. I crawl out of bed to see a tray of tea and toast on the bedside table. I touch the teapot to find it cool. Mariusz must have asked the servants to make tea for me before he left. The unexpected kindness pleases me.

I leave the cold tea and ring the bell for the servants. When the maid comes, I order a hot bath and for the bedclothes to be changed. The maid also brings more tea and toast while I am bathing. The tea helps settle my stomach, but I still feel weak and unwell when I finish my bath and wrap myself in a dressing gown. I settle myself down on an armchair by the window and look out over the gardens. It is always like this on the first day of my monthly courses — body-heavy, sick, and weary. In the tower, I was alone in my suffering. Here, I have a runaway husband who orders me cold tea and toast before he disappears.

Things have improved.

My husband appears in the view through the window, cantering down the lawn on a chestnut horse. Behind him rides Lady Celina on an elegant grey, laughing. They ride circles on the lawn, careless of the grass they kick up.

Someone knocks at the door and I turn as it opens. Dowager Duchess Maria enters.

"I hope you will excuse the interruption," she says in her slow, accurate French.

"Of course. Good morning, your grace."

"Good morning, Alexandra." She comes closer and looks out the window with me. "Ah. Mariusz is riding."

"He is."

We watch in silence as Mariusz, goaded by Celina, directs his horse towards a high hedge. The horse makes it over, kicking its back legs up, but Mariusz does not. He is dislodged by the horse's ungainly hind legs and slips out of sight behind the hedge. Celina canters up behind him, calling out. After a moment, Mariusz crawls to his feet, covered in mud, and laughs off the event.

Duchess Maria lets out a faint sigh. I look at her. One hand is over her heart.

"He is reckless," she says. "He never thinks of the risk."

"And you do?"

"I'm a mother. Of course I do."

We watch as Mariusz remounts his horse and he and Celina canter out of sight beyond a line of trees.

"I came to see if you needed anything," Duchess Maria says. "The maids tell me you are in your courses."

"I am. I need nothing but rest."

"That is good." Still she does not leave. Instead, she fixes me with an uneasy gaze. "It would be best if you became pregnant soon and had a son."

Heat comes to my cheeks. Does she suspect I am still a virgin? But her eyes are completely unsuspicious. "Do not ask of me what I cannot control. It is in God's hands."

"And I am praying for it. However, if you are using any cunning techniques of avoiding pregnancy... I would not put it past Mariusz to persuade you to try."

"There are techniques?" I do not have to feign my surprise.

The dowager duchess clears her throat. "I do not mean to ask of you what you cannot give, Alexandra. What I mean to, uh, emphasize is that it would be very good, very desired, for you to give Mariusz an heir. After all, he is reckless." Her eyes narrow with annoyance. "He is participating in the national steeplechase next week."

At last I understand that Duchess Maria has not visited for my sake. She is angry with Mariusz, in the way that I have seen other mothers be angry with their children. My own mother, though frequently angry, never carried this sort of disappointment in her voice. Her hopes of me were never high enough to be disappointed.

"Perhaps it is Mariusz you should be talking to. I'm not the reckless one."

"That's why I have to talk to you." For the first time since I have known her, she gives me a genuine, frail smile. "He won't listen. You might."

"I will always listen." I look out the window again as Mariusz and Celina come back into sight. Mariusz is riding for the hedge again. This time, when his horse makes the jump, he manages to stay with it. "I just can't promise you that he will listen to me."

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2024-08-05: Hasty update for reasons. Mariusz does actually do something nice for Alex, even if it doesn't really work out.