Authors: Camille Oster
Adele sat in the upstairs
parlor of Lysander’s London townhouse, a delicate teacup in her hand, resting on her lap. The house was quiet. They’d arrived last night and she stayed in the bedroom she’d only spent the night in a few times during her marriage. Lysander had gone out after having been remote and distant this morning as she joined him for the morning meal.
She felt the oppression of the house weighing down on he
r. It wasn’t the house as such; it was their whole history. It was easy to forget when they were traveling and away from here, but now they were back. She drew a shuddering breath and let it go. She was back in London.
A knock attracted Lysander’s butler to the outer door.
“Is she here?” Isobel’s voice could be heard from downstairs. The butler directed her to the parlor and Adele heard the rustle of her dress as Isobel came up the stairs.
“Oh my dear, I cannot believe it. You are here. We we
re told you had died. It was so awful, but here you are.”
Adele rose to embrace her friend, feeling relief that Isobel hadn’t rejected her. She would understand completely if Isobel refused to see her ever again.
“It is so good to see you,” Adele said, her eyes speaking more than she could manage to say in words.
Isobel sat down. “I have so wondered if I told you the wrong thing,” she said. “I felt like it was my fault.”
“You only told me the truth and it was what I needed to hear.”
Adele felt herself tear up and she fought the tears. Isobel went to comfort her, but Adele
turned her attention to the tea service, not wanting comfort to make her feel even more distraught. Comfort was not what she needed right now, she needed distraction. “How are the boys?”
“They are well; getting older like all of us. Andrew thinks himself in love,” Isobel said with an eye-roll.
“Does he? I would have thought he was much too young.”
“Yes, well, you would think so, but he insists. He really is too young. She is a nice girl, but one doesn’t quite know one’s heart at seventeen.” Isobel
accepted a cup of tea. “I do hope he is treating you well.” The conversation turned back to Lysander and Adele felt her teariness return. She refused to cry; she’d done too much of it and had sworn she was done.
“We are civil,” Adele responded. “We
’ve had a few spats, but on the whole, we are not ripping each other apart.”
“Have you decided what you are to do?”
“Lysander hasn’t informed me.”
“He is a brute. I will have words with him.”
“
On the whole, he hasn’t been entirely brutish,” Adele said, and with the one exception she couldn’t quite explain, he hadn’t.
“Yes, he is, my dear. You have always been too forgiving of him.” Isobel took a sip and placed the cup down. “Is he to petition for divorce?”
“I have asked, and he says not.”
“He might simply be contrary. He is sometimes, when he doesn’t get what he wants. I think he must, dear. You are more than welcome to stay with me
when he does.”
Adele looked over at her friend, amazed that she was taking this all in her stride. Adele knew that her actions would have caused gossip and conjecture tha
t would have affected Isobel. “How did I get so lucky to get you as a friend?”
“Through the sheer bad
luck of marrying my nephew.”
Isobel
said farewell shortly after, leaving Adele to her musings—particularly Isobel’s belief that Lysander would have to divorce her. Her means and her status in society would be stripped back to nothing. Divorced women were hidden away in the remote countryside, ignored by even the local society. Isobel’s offer to take her in would be generous.
The shunning by society wasn’t, for h
er, the primary concern. She’d accepted that outcome when she’d left Lysander. But it was the loneliness she feared. She had suffered from it in Adelaide, even though her life had been her own. There were the other girls at the boarding house, but they weren’t family.
She knew she couldn’t go back to Adelaide. The fact that she had lied about being a widow and then been dragged away by her husband had ensured her acceptance back to Adelaide
would be a long time coming. She had actually hated lying about her identity and wouldn’t want to do it again. If she was to be divorced, she wouldn’t have to—she would have freedom, but little to do with it.
Their days settled into a routine. They would dine together in the mornings, then spend the entire day apart. Adele would stay in the house and Lysander would spend every waking moment away from it. Isobel visited every other day, providing an hour of distraction to the long tedious days. Each day Adele expected Lysander to come and inform her of her fate, but the end of the day inevitably came and there was no change indicated.
In early evening, Adele searched through the books in Lysander’s library
, searching through the volumes that interested him. A few years ago, she would have gone through this entire library to learn what topics drew his attention. There were more books on adventure and discovery, a few which must have been boyhood favorites. She ran her hand down the spines of the well-worn books from his childhood, trying to imagine what he would have been like.
A noise distracted her and she turned away. Lysander was coming down. She knew he was in the house, dressing for the evening. He’d hardly spoken to her since they
’d got back. Book in hand, she moved to the stairway to started ascending, passing him in the process as he headed downstairs to leave the house. He nodded slightly as they passed.
“Lysander,” she said, turning to him. He stopped his descent further down the curving staircase and turned back to her. He looked well in
his dark formal evening wear and she wondered where he was going, but dismissed the thought—it didn’t matter.
“Have you decided what is to be done?” she asked
, needing an answer one way or another. He had said he wouldn’t divorce her, but Isobel was sure that he would. “Am I to stay here in your house? Are you to send me back to Devon?”
Lysander looked uncomfortable. “As I have told you, I am unsure how to proceed.” She suspected it was a substantial thing for him to admit uncertainty
, going against his pride. “I am not being cruel by my lack of action. If I were to send you to Devon, I have no assurance you would stay there. Can you give me such assurance?”
Adele
moved uncomfortably from one foot to the other. She wanted to give him assurance, but she also knew that life in the large empty house would be unbearable—soul-destroying.
Lysander saw her uncertainty and his features drew together in a frown.
Turning to leave, he started descending the stairs again, but Adele wanted to stop him, to discuss this further. She still had no end to her situation.
“Lysander,” she called again. He stopped at the base of the stairs,
looking up at her.
Adele
wrung her hands in front of her. She started talking, but it came out as a mumble.
“I cannot understand what you are saying.”
She cleared her throat. She was shaking like a leaf and tried to steady herself. “I cannot stand this emptiness,” she said. “I understand that you will do what you must. I made choices and I am prepared to deal with the consequences. But I cannot be placed in a box and forgotten.”
“What do you want me to do, Adele? If there is some way I can
make this more bearable, I would.” he said, losing a bit of the control he showed most of the time.
“I want...” she started. “Please give me a child.”
Shock registered on his face, then his face darkened. He went to say something, but stopped.
“I need something to love,” she said in a rush. “Whatever is to come, a child would make anything bearable.”
The silence stretched on and Adele searched Lysander’s eyes, but he turned abruptly and strode out the door. Adele didn’t know if she had offended him. She wasn’t sure she cared—they were beyond cordiality and needed to speak of basic needs at this point. It was a necessary topic. This might be the last chance she’d ever have to have a child, a family. From his perspective, it didn’t matter if they divorced—a child was his. There was always the possibility that he would keep the child from her, but she didn’t think he would be that cruel. She could raise the child, and he would have his heir—unless, of course, he wanted his children to be borne by his future wife. The idea of a woman replacing her was confronting, but she also wanted him to be happy. She wouldn’t begrudge him happiness.
It didn’t look
as if he took the proposition well, but then again, he hadn’t said no. At the very least, she’d made her desire known. It was now the one aim she had, but she needed him to give this to her.
Lysander sought out Harry in the reading room. He’d headed straight to the club after Adele’s request, which had been so unexpected, he hadn’t known how to react—sending his mind spinning and leaving him with an uncomfortable rush in his veins. He didn’t know what to make of it; he couldn’t quite grasp the implications. He needed to think.
Harry’s displeasure at the news that, despite clerical errors, his wife was indeed still alive and currently residing in his house, had been obvious when they’d met a few days earlier. Lysander had entirely skipped the part about Adele knowingly letting the clerical error stand and absconding to Australia with the intent of deceiving everyone. It was an additional strike against her and Harry had quite enough as it was.
“And how is the strumpet today?” Harry asked over the top of his newspaper as Lysander sat down. Lysand
er bristled at the reference, even though he understood Harry’s disregard and disrespect—driven by his judgement of her actions, but they were not an apt description. She was complicated, but she wasn’t a common strumpet.
“When shall you divorce her?” Harry asked.
Looking away, Lysander ran his nail down a seam in the armrest leather. The idea of divorce was whirling through his head, along with her proposition. An heir—it was an important issue.
Harry was watching him. “
You must divorce her,” he said and Lysander sighed. He knew Harry was set against her and would probably never change. Infidelity in women was unforgivable in his book, no matter what the preceding situation was. In all honesty, Harry wasn’t the greatest enthusiast of the gender, with the exception of his own wife, whom he loved more than he’d ever admit, but he was still the only person Lysander could discuss his issues with.
“She has asked for a child,” he said, straightening in his chair.
Harry folded his newspaper, placing it on the table and intertwined his hands together in his lap. Harry was silent for a moment, likely as shocked as he had been.
“I suppose the idea of an heir has some merit.”
“I have waited longer than most.”
“But is she the person you want to breed one on?”
“I certainly don’t want to rush into another marriage.”
Harry rubbed his chin and then sighed in a similar fashion as Lysander had a moment earlier. “If you had an heir, you wouldn’t need to marry again.”
“I would go as far as to say I lack certain talents in the wife management department.”
“Yes, well, this time, she would be your choice.”
Lysander wanted to shake Harry sometimes; tell him that there was nothing wrong with Adele; that it was just the situation that was bad. Not that it mattered; Harry wouldn’t change his mind once it was made up. And he had determined to despise Adele.
Harry sighed again. “If you must breed an heir on her, you have to be seen with her. Otherwise people will suspect that you are passing off one of the by-blows of that man.”
Lysander took onboard what Harry was saying. It would be hard for him to present them as a reconciled party to all of London. It would damage his reputation further, but he had a duty to his name to produce an heir, and he also felt as if he had a duty to Adele to provide her with an outlet to her motherly instincts. Why must everything related to this whole situation be so difficult?
If he was honest with himself, and he succinctly refused to be, there was a certain excitement about the process involved. The need for an heir would supersede his obligations and he could lie with his wife. As much as he refused to admit it, there was a heady excitement about the prospect. She was in essence the most forbidden woman. He almost wished this would have occurred to him back in Venice; it would have made a much less depriving few days. Venice had brought his youth back to him, and the freedom he’d felt then. His young self would have put all the consequences and implications aside, and would have succumbed to his wife’s charms, probably have spent the two d
ays in bed with his wife—likely wouldn’t have let her see any of Venice at all.
Still, the idea felt dangerous. There was a certain danger to
her. She had a gift for putting him in awkward positions, whether it be the public embarrassment she caused him or the highlighting of his own shortcomings. In the end, he always ended up feeling uncomfortable and disconcerted. He didn’t know how exactly, but he would end up paying for this, if he did it.
“An heir now would give you complete control of your life. You could marry or not at your own leisure,” Harry said. “I think the idea is growing on me.
Lysander had been afraid of that, because he’d hoped Harry would tell him a concrete reason not to do it—that the costs would be too high, but if he couldn’t convince Harry, he would have trouble convincing himself.
Adele sat by the window watching the shifting weather outside. It was rainy today, so she couldn’t even spend some time in the garden. She wished she was able to go for a walk, but Lysander hadn’t been keen on the idea when she’d broached the subject one morning. She did understand his reticence, but equally, the benefit of having been hidden away in the country for years was that she had almost complete anonymity in London. She could walk around Hyde Park without stares and whispers. Although she knew that she wasn’t inherently interesting; her actions had made her so, particularly if it became known that she’d tried to fake her own death. That would make her the gossip of the town. It was a topic Isobel had avoided.
If she was going to stay here, she needed to
do something with her time, but this didn’t feel like home; she felt like she was an unwelcome guest in Lysander’s house. And for that reason, she couldn’t settle, which unfortunately left her with little to do on a rainy day.
The familiar feeling returned—waiting for Lysander. She was waiting for him to return without having any idea when he would. She was waiting for him to answer. Waiting for him had been the norm, the central pivot of her life, the point her world was structured around.
Adele watched Isobel’s children play at the table they’d set up under one of the old oak trees. The spring breeze rustled the leaves slightly, while the sun warmed them, making it a pleasant day to be outside. It wasn’t summer yet,
but they were having their Mayday celebration together this year. Adele had been looking forward to this day since she’d learnt they were coming.
“Is this some of Mrs
Hennings jam?” Isobel asked. “I don’t know how she does it—the woman has a gift.”
“Yes. She gave me a pot in the autumn. I have been saving it.”
“It is just divine,” Isobel said, scooping a portion with a teaspoon into her mouth and savoring the taste.
“You can have the pot,” Adele said with a laugh.
She spotted Mrs Smith, the housekeeper, moving speedily toward the house.
“Someone’s coming,
” Adele said as she watched Mrs Smith hurry into the house to greet whoever it was. He’s come, Adele thought. Putting down the plate she’d been holding, she ran back toward the house, feeling her heart beat with excitement. She’d suspected that he might come once he knew that Isobel and the children were joining them.
She ran through the house and out the front door, where she was
met with the sight of Mr Samuels, the rector who’d knownt he family as long as living memory, stepping down from his buggy.
Adele felt disappointment flare through her. She’d been sure this time. She tried to smile her welcome to
Mr. Samuels, but it came out more as a grimace. Mrs Smith directed him to the festivities in the back and he eagerly followed through, thanking everyone for his invitation. Adele stared down at the long, empty driveway.
“He’s not coming,” she heard Isobel’s voice behind her. “I’m sorry dear, but he’s not coming. You must stop expecting him.”
“How can I stop? He is my husband.”
Isobel sighed. “He is not much of a husband, certainly not worthy the title.”
Adele couldn’t quite turn around; she didn’t want Isobel to see how hurt she was. It wasn’t as if she should be surprised—he never came, but she’d hoped she’d seen some thawing in his countenance toward her the last time they’d met.
“You must stop this,” Isobel said. “You cannot continue expecting him. He will not come. You must stop pining for a man who doesn’t even see you.”
Adele’s brow drew together in a deep frown. Tears stung the back of her eyes, making her vision blurry.
“You’ve spent years hoping he will love you back, but he never will. You need to make a life for yourself. He might be your husband, but in name only. He has always seen it that way, and he will not change. You’re tearing yourself apart hoping he is something he is not.”
Adele stared down at her shoes, nodding even though Isobel couldn’t see it. She knew Isobel was right; she’d just had this ridiculous hope that things would change, that he would change, and she was making herself ridiculous and miserable.
“What do you do when you love someone and they won’t love you back? I have tried to be perfect—everything I should have been, but nothing will please him.” These things she’d never mentioned before were starting to roll off her tongue. “I have been the perfect wife. I have never stepped out of line. I have done everything I should have.”
Isobel moved up to her side and put her arm around her shoulder.
“He does not see you.”
The tears finally spilled. She was embarrassed about it, but she couldn’t stop.
“You need to spend your love on someone who deserves it,” Isobel said kindly, pity lacing her voice. “You have so much to give; you just need to find someone who sees and appreciates the amazing woman you are.”
Adele tried to straighten her back, but struggled with the burden of this realisation and the finality of it. She’d knew what Isobel said was true; she just hadn’t been willing to accept it for so very long. She’d loved Lysander since the day they’d met and he had never seen her, seen any value in her, and the painful truth was that he wasn’t going to change.
“You suffer and you suffer. There is no gold medal at the end of this—just a wasted life. Live your life, Adele. You owe it to yourself.”
She nodded again, wiped her tears and tried to smile. There was a Mayday celebration to host and she never failed as a host. She was the perfect wife—attributes and values so ingrained in her, she wasn’t sure how to be anything but. Letting go some shuddering breaths, she tried to clear her morose mind so she could turn her attention back to the immediate needs. The thoughts about her life and what she needed to do with it would wait until everyone left her to the silence and solitude of this vast house.