Page 55 of The Lady Was Lying
“As I thought.” Her mother completely missed the point she’d been trying to make. “You can tempt any man.”
“It doesn’t matter that I can tempt them.”
“It’s a gift,” her mother added, still not listening.
“No, it isn’t.”
Confusion clouded her mother’s gaze. “Whyever not?”
“Because I tried to want more, and I…couldn’t.” It was liberating to admit aloud.
“Was he ugly?”
“No.”
“Balding?”
“No.”
“Hmm. Attractive with a full head of hair has always worked for me.” She rubbed her forehead and murmured, “You haven’t married…” Suddenly, she stiffened. “Are you suggesting that you haven’t found a man whom you desire more than air?”
“Precisely.” It hurt to admit, but satisfaction tugged at Belinda’s lips when her mother released a dramatic gasp, her fingers flying to her lips.
“Do you think you are”—her mother’s voice dropped to a whisper—“frigid?”
Belinda didn’t flinch, but the satisfaction swiftly died. It was hard to hold onto her composure in the face of her mother’s horror. How was it that her mother always made her feel like less?
“It appears so,” she responded tightly.
“No. It cannot be. I refuse to believe it. You are my daughter.”
Trying to look as if she wasn’t upset by her mother’s reaction was the hardest thing Belinda had ever done. The urge to scream and yell and rant about the injustice of finally telling the truth only to have her mother reject it almost overwhelmed her. She locked her hands in her lap, straightened her shoulders, and promised herself that she would explain whether her mother believed her or not. If she didn’t claim this part of herself, how would she ever overcome it?
As usual, Vivienne was too caught up in her own thoughts to notice Belinda’s struggle.
“I’ve never felt even a sliver of desire when I’ve kissed a man.”
A dramatic gasp filled the room. “Never? But…but…you are uncommonly beautiful. And incredibly poised.” Her mother’s hands fell into her lap. “The way you carry yourself. Confidence practically bleeds from your pores. There is fire in you. Passion too. I’ve seen it displayed countless times.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “How could you be frigid? I refuse to believe it.”
The fire that resided inside her was not driven by lust. Instead, it was fueled mostly by frustration and dissatisfaction. If she could have harnessed those feelings into passion, she would have done so. “I’ve kissed countless men. Lords and misters. Burly and skinny. Dark-haired and light-haired. Blindingly handsome and merely attractive. It doesn’t matter. I never feel anything. Not even an inkling of the desperation you seem to experience with ease.”
“It does not make sense that you feel nothing. It does not make sense.”
Belinda sucked in a breath. Speaking her darkest secret aloud had never been easy, and having her mother doubt her assertion made her spiral. “You don’t believe me?”
“Of course I believe you.” Her mother’s expression suddenly turned pensive. “Perhaps you haven’t found the one.”
“You don’t believe in one,” Belinda scoffed.
Her mother had gone through countless men between when her husband died and when she had married Charles, sampling them and discarding them like old, tattered shoes.
“For myself, no. But it is a mistake to believe everyone is the same. You are my daughter, and therefore I made assumptions.” She paused, tipping her head to the side and turning her gaze to the windows that overlooked the garden. “Incorrect assumptions, apparently. For me, attraction inspires passion. I’ve never kissed a man and not felt fire in my veins. Sometimes that fire burns out quickly”—she shrugged—“but occasionally it flares brighter with every touch. When that happens, I know that love is imminent, so I cling to it, keeping it close and fanning the flames for as long as I can. Your father’s death extinguished the bonds between us, but I found the fire again with Charles.
“Maybe for you, passion is not the beginning. Maybe it comes last. After love. Or maybe it isn’t even part of your journey.” Shrugging again, her mother laughed softly. “If everyone felt passion the way I do, I wouldn’t be a scandal, your father and I wouldn’t have attracted so much attention, and Sebastian wouldn’t have married a woman he hardly knew because she was sensible.” She laughed again. “Just imagine, if everyone were more like me, passion would not be hidden, and love would abound. The world would be a happier place, I suspect.”
Belinda tried to ignore a flicker of hope as she considered her mother’s interpretation of the world. Had she misinterpreted everything her mother had taught her? Had attempting to follow in her mother’s footsteps been a costly mistake?
Regret mingled with hope.
