An Absent Wife (19 page)

Lysander’s foul mood stuck with him as he left the house early the next day.  Isobel’s suggestion had been creeping around his mind all night.  Things were just moving too fast.  If Isobel had her way, the carpet would be ripped out from under his feet before he knew what was going on; actually, not the carpet, his wife.  He still had some say in his own marriage and he just couldn’t understand what this sense of urgency was all about.

He was also a bit disappointed in Adele.  If she wanted to leave his house, she could have come to him and spoken her wishes.  He wondered if Isobel and Adele had been
colluding behind his back—leaving him completely in the dark as to what their intentions were.  He didn’t like it one bit.

It was too early for alcohol, even for the way he’d been drinking of late.  He settled for ordering a tea service when he arrived at the club, joining the elderly gentlemen who frequented the club in the early hours of the morning, before most were even out of their beds. 
With a huff, Lysander sat down and opened the paper in front of him, but he just couldn’t focus.  His mind didn’t want to seem to settle of late, making him useless in terms of surveying his investments.

He recognized that he was deeply unhappy and unsettled at the moment.  Divorce was not turning into the simple thing he’d expected—a celebration of freedom.  Things were much more complicated.  The
n again, Adele hadn’t turned out to be the woman he’d though she was either.  This hesitancy he’d developed was robbing him of peace of mind—as was the withdrawal of the welcome into her bed.  The idea of making his barring permanent and irretrievable was uncomfortable.  The divorce would rob him of a way back there if he chose.

He
was hesitating on the divorce because it forbade him from ever again sleeping with his wife, which was ridiculous, but there was truth in it.  It sounded callous and immature even to his own ears, but he knew that it wasn’t just about the sex—the divorce would end any potential for establishing a relationship with Adele.  He stopped himself from saying re-established, because they’d never had one.  But they had rubbed along quite well for a while—maybe even to the point where it had been what he thought a marriage could be, and if he let it go now, he was letting go on the very idea of marriage.  Contrary to the beliefs he’d professed to Adele a few days back, in practicality, giving up on the institution wholesale wasn’t something he was completely embracing, it seemed.

Harry’s arrival
made Lysander realize that he had no idea how long he’d sat there, musing over his own troubles.  “The fog has finally cleared,” Harry said as he sat down.

“Has it?”  Lysander hadn’t even noticed the fog when he’d walked over here this morning.

“Pea soup.”

“How is your wife?” Lysander asked.

“Fine, I suppose.  She wants to visit her sister in Bournemouth.” 

Lysander could tell by Harry’s tone that he wasn’t excited about the idea.  While Harry didn’t readily profess his love for his wife, it was there, in sufficient quantities to make him apprehensive of her leaving him on his own for a month.  “Perhaps the sister could come to visit her here.”

“I’ve suggested that, but Lucinda came here last year and Clara feels it’s only right that she go to Bournemouth this year.”  Harry surveyed his nails for a while.  “Evie came to see me.”

Lysander’s eyes
snapped to his friend’s, utterly dismayed with this development.   Evie had no right to seek out his friends to discuss the state of their affairs.

“She’s worried that you are being manipulated.”

“And seeking you out would not be an example of the behavior she is so worried about?” Lysander said icily. 

“It is just that you seem hesitant to do what is required.” 

Lysander was too angry to have this discussion.  He couldn’t believe Evie felt it was her place to interfere in his marriage, particularly when he’d made his views clear.  “How is it that everyone seems to think I am incapable of dealing with my own marriage?”

“Because you’re not doing what needs to be done.”

“Needs to be done in whose mind?  Yours?  Evie’s?  Since when do you have a say?”

“That tart is whispering things in your ear.”

“She is my wife!  I will not have you speaking ill of her!” Lysander roared, loud enough to draw the attention of everyone in my room.  “What she whispers in my ear is categorically none of your concern.  Is it my business what Clara whispers in your ear?”

“It is if Clara behaves like your wife does.”

“You know nothing of my wife.”

“Yes, I do.  You are the one who seems to have lost all perspective and everyone seems aware of it other than you.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” Lysander said, rising from his chair.  “Don’t ever speak of or about Adele again.”  Marching out of the room, Lysander waited impatiently for his coat to be brought.  He had to get out of there—not even his club was safe anymore.  He was running out of places to go.

He’d be damned if he was going to let anyone tell him what to do, and the idea of them sneaking around his back, colluding to force his hand raised pure fury in him.  It felt it like a clear threat—a threat to his marriage.

Lysander stopped dead as he walked down the street.  He was fighting for his marriage, he realized—fighting Isobel, Harry, Evie, even Adele, to protect his marriage.  Clarity finally struck: he didn’t want this marriage finished.  It was obvious now; he’d been avoiding every step that would bring this marriage closer to its end—the petition papers, Adele’s movement to Isobel’s, the retreating of intimacy between them.  It wasn’t just about choices; he wanted this marriage to realize the potential he’s discovered it could have.

He had two choices in front of him, a future with a wife and a child, or a future alone with manipulative women like
Evie for company, and Harry constantly telling him how lucky he was that he gave away his one opportunity to have a life with his wife and child.

Turning his thought
s to Adele, he saw her in his mind with that rare smile she gave when he’d pleased her, and then to the even sweeter evenings they’d spent together.  Looking back, they’d just about had what he’d wanted.  He hadn’t known it at the time, but things had just about been perfect.  Adele was the perfect wife; she was giving, somewhat independent, intelligent and willing to explore new things—her kisses touched places deep in him and her body sent heat flowing along his spine.  Why was he giving that up?

Turning toward his house, he realized he needed to talk to her.  It was all just so simple.  His step was light for the first time in age
s, the heaviness that had weighed him down seemed to have lifted—and it solved all the problems.

Adele wandered along a deserted path in Hyde Park.  The day was finally clearing; the heavy wetness in the air lifting.  The weather made for a solitary walk, which is what she preferred, especially now when her thoughts were heavy.  Lysander’s vitriolic reaction to Isobel’s suggestion sat uneasily with her.  She couldn’t understand his objection and why he wasn’t promoting it himself.

Her thoughts were distracted by the sound of the gravel crunching behind her.  Someone was coming, apparently in a bit of a hurry
, too.

“Adele,” Lysander said when she turned around.

“Lysander.  I wasn’t expecting you here.  Has something happened?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“I hope everything is fine,” she said with instant concern.

“I went home, but you weren’t there.  I wanted to have words with you.”

“About?”

He looked nervous.  “The last few months, as we have spent a considerable amount of time together, it has shown us that this marriage can be tolerable to us both, and as you are now carrying our child, it seems natural that we carry on as we are.”

Adele’s mouth opened involuntarily.  “We have managed out of sheer necessity.”  She watched him, trying to understand what he was implying, which seemed to be that they keep going like they have been for a while longer.  It sounded like an awful idea to her.

“Necessity often serves as a good foundation.”

“No it doesn’t, particularly not for us, Lysander.  I live as a guest in your house, in a city I don’t want to be in.  I didn’t even want to return to England.  Why would we extend this further?” she exclaimed.  Lysander looked taken aback.  “We’ve been married six years—.”

“Seven,” Lysander interrupted.

“...and in all that time, we’ve shown quite clearly that we are not well-suited.”

“I don’t think that is true.”

“I don’t know what it is that gives you sentimental feelings, whether it is the idea of a child, but let’s not fool ourselves—we do not belong together.”  Adele felt tears threaten her, prickling her eyes.  It was cruel of him to suggest that they continue, and to dismiss all the hurt and rejection she felt for years on end.  “Whatever it is you’re feeling, it will pass; it is some kind of sentimentality that has asserted itself, but we do not fare well together.” Adele turned sharply and marched away.  Her tears threatening and she needed to shed them in private.

“Adele, stop,” he said to her retreating back.  She wasn’t stopping; she needed to get back to her room and shut herself away.  “I order you to stop,” he said firmly.

She stopped where she was, taking a moment to calm before turning around.  “You have no right exerting your authority over me.”  It wasn’t true; he did have the right, but not the moral right.

He ran up behind her.  “Adele,” he said softer.  “I know that I have been an awful husband.”

“No, Lysander, we are awful together.”

“That does not mean we cannot try to do better.”

“Lysander, you forced me, in Adelaide.”  She saw shock on his face; it darkened and crumpled.

“You have not forgiven me,” he said in a stark,
even tone.  “I have apologized for it countless times.  You are unable to forgive me.”

“It’s not that, Lysander.  I haven’t forgiven you because I never felt the need.  You
forced yourself on
me and I didn’t mind, because it was the only time you would touch me.  That is how pathetic we are.  This isn’t a normal relationship and there is too much water under the bridge to pretend that it is, or even could be.  For years I wished you would acknowledge me and in my mind, it seems that I would accept anything, even force.”  Lysander stared at her with shock written on his features, which only went to prove her point—he had no idea how she felt.  Closing her eyes, she gave a slight snort.  “Let’s end this now.  I have tried again and again to move away from this, from all the misery that this marriage has wrought, and I do not want to be dragged back, yet again.”

He didn’t object this time when she walked away.  Tears flowed continuously as she made her way back to the house in short, sharp strides.  A passing man tried to offer her assistance,
but she moved right past him.  It was rude, but she couldn’t deal with anyone at the moment.  She knocked incessantly on the door until Jamieson let her in.

Lysander didn’t return to the house.  Adele wearily listened for him, but he didn’t
follow.  Shaking her head slightly, she took a seat in front of her mirror; her face red and puffy.  Whenever she managed to gain some equilibrium, he could come along and smash it.  She recognized that his intentions has been well, in his mind, but he was so completely deluded—they couldn’t just put their past behind them and forget about it; it didn’t work that way.  There was too much there—hurt, anger, resentment, to ever allow them a normal relationship as husband and wife.

Sighing as deeply as she could, she awkwardly
grappled the ribbons of her corset, throwing the garment away from her onto the floor.  The delusion went both ways, she admitted; she wore the damned corset so she would cut an appealing figure and there was only one person she would do that for, and it wasn’t Isobel.  She’d been deluding herself just as much as he, trying to continuously be presenting herself in the best light, still seeking his approval and attention.  This had to end now, before they let this run further.

Adele had slept uneasily that night.  Their conversation in the park had run through her head all night, even in her dreams.  At times, she would have regrets in how she
’d responded; she could have just said yes and try to forget everything that came before, but she wasn’t sure she could forgive herself in the end if it turned out to be yet another stop on this miserable journey—and chances were high that it would.  Until the day before, Lysander had been adamant that he didn’t want to be a husband, and with the exception of this moment of doubt, his actions had consistently proven his statement true.

Pacing around her room, she tied to settle her mind.  She hadn’t left the room since she’d returned the previous day, right after their confrontation in the park; she’d even dined in her room, unable to face Lysander at the moment. 

Slumping down in her chair by her dresser, she wasn’t sure she could be more miserable.  Why couldn’t he just continue being the cold, distant man and let the divorce proceed without doubt and incident.  It was unfair that he should awaken some interest in this marriage now that it was in its final throes, but then everything seemed to develop a rosy sentimentality when it came to an end—even the things one never really cared for, and that was exactly the reaction Lysander was having.

It would do her no good staying here; she would be better off at Isobel’s.   They’d mentioned it as a good step, but they hadn’t exactly agreed to mention it when Isobel
had suggested it to Lysander.  She’d expected his reaction to be more indifferent, but he seemed to have taken offence, and Adele hadn’t really understood why until he’d revealed that he was harbouring these exuberant and irrational sentiments.  His objection would have dissipated now, considering their last interaction.

The idea of being at Isobel’s was appealing—escaping the tension and pr
essure of their interactions.  Adele felt like the past was sticking to her here, not allowing her to slip away from its grip and to turn her attention to the future, and she wanted to let go of all the injuries and scars of the past.  She knew what she had to do.

Waiting until Lysander returned to the house in the late afternoon, she sought him out in his study
, finding him sitting in his chair, looking slightly sallow and grim.  He actually looked as if he was suffering from the aftereffects of whatever it was he did the previous night.  “I wish to visit Isobel—an extended visit” she said.  “I trust you have no objections.”

“Is that what you want?” he asked after a while.  His eyes sought hers, seriously considering her.  They were definitely back to cold and distant.

“Yes.”

“Then go.”  He turned his attention back to his desk and ignored her.

Infuriating man, Adele thought and turned away from the study.  One minute he wanted them to continue, the next he was completely indifferent, which only went to prove that his commitment to them continuing was as thin as an autumn ice layer on a pond.

Wasting no time, she packed a pair of dresses in a trunk, along with her toilette case.  She didn’t really need anything else—the rest could be sent for later.

Lysander stayed in his study,
as Adele was preparing to leave.  He’d made his proposition to her and she clearly wasn’t interested.

Listening as she moved down the stairs, he could hear the door close and the carriage pull
away.  It had all happened quite quickly in the end; she was gone and he hadn’t even had time to object—even if he’d been minded to.  He could have said no; he could have forced her to stay, but he wouldn’t do that.  If she was adamant on leaving, he wouldn’t stand in her way—he’d just hoped that she had felt there was something to salvage in this marriage, but she obviously didn’t.  Today was the first day of his future and the previous chapter of his life was now closed. 

Silence settled on the house, the only thing to be heard was the clock on his mantle and the noise of the city outside.  This was how his house always was—quiet and peaceful.  It was only the last few months when it had been different, when she’d been here
and strained silence hid the turmoil underneath.  But now, things were returning as they should be.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to wish she’d died of the cholera epidemic in India, but the drastic shifts and shocks to his life over the last year had upset his quiet, well-balanced life.  That is what he needed to get back to—quiet, controlled, adult pursuits and pastimes.   Adele would have a vastly different life—one she preferred—in the country, filled with nat
ure, womanly pursuits and child-rearing.  Her life would be polar opposite to his own, and she had rejected his inclusion in it, or an amalgamation of their lives.

He knew she would make an excellent mother, but he had no understanding of how he would perform as a father.  From his performance as a husband, he supposed it was understandable that Adele would reject his inclusion.  He couldn’t help feeling bitterness at the judgement.

Lysander spent an indeterminable amount of time drunk.  He didn’t even know what time it was, the drinking hall showed no indication of the state of the world outside and he could have been
there for days.  He’d been a frequent visitor over the last week.  Harry had even sought him out here, but Lysander wasn’t in the mood to talk to him; he would much rather watch the dancing girls.

“Are you planning on drinking yourself to death?”

“Just celebrating my freedom,” Lysander said bitterly, his mouth awkwardly forming around the words.

“Well, I’m not sure your body is able to take much more of this celebrating.  Let me take you home.”

“No.”  Lysander didn’t want to go home to his quiet house, when all he’d be doing was wishing for distraction.  Sighing, Harry crossed his arms, watching the girls on stage with disinterest.   “You should go home, Harry—home to your wife.  She must be wondering where you are.   Mine’s not.”

“Have you signed the
petition yet?”  Harry asked quietly.  Lysander’s tense smile faded.  The petition hadn’t moved since he’s shoved them in that pile of documents on his desk, when Adele had come and disturbed him.  He hadn’t pulled it out since.

“Maybe I can have a few more drinks and you can bring it to me.”

“As with any legal document, it’s generally best to sign them when you’re not inebriated.”

“Adele wouldn’t challenge me.  I think she actually wants me to sign it more than you do.”  Silence stretched between them for a moment.  “She rejected me,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Lysander
asked with a pained grimace, clearly disbelieving a word Harry was saying.

“If it truly aggrieves you, then yes, I am—but if you are upset merely because she has enough sense to want the end to this farce, then how could I be sorry?”

Lysander closed his eyes.  “I know what you’re saying, but why don’t I feel it?”

“I don’t know, Lysander.  It makes no sense to me.”

Sobering, Lysander stared at his friend.  “If this marriage ends, I won’t marry again.”

“Well, if that’s what bothers you, then it’s a stupid statement to make.”

“Adele was the perfect wife and I made a complete cockup of it.”  To Lysander’s surprise, Harry didn’t actually argue with the statement, even though he usually rushed in with a list of Adele’s crimes.  “And she is so giving.”  Lysander tried to articulate what he meant, but couldn’t quite find the words.  “How can someone give like that and care nothing for you?”  Actually, that question rang true.  He felt goose bumps travel over his skin.  Now that he’d said it out loud, he knew it was the question he’d been grappling with for weeks.  He looked at Harry with astonishment.  “How?”

Harry sighed deeply, looking
back at him.  “That’s not a question I can answer.  But it’s also not a question that one should ask when in this state,” he said indicating to Lysander’s body.  “My carriage is outside.  Some sleep will likely do you a world of good at this point.  Try philosophizing when you’re sober.”

Nodding slowly, Lysander watched as Harry rose, indicating for him to follow.  Perhaps it was time to go home.  Actually, he wanted to rush over to Isobel’s house and demand an answer to his question.  At least he had the question now, the one that had been preying on his mind,
previously unable to form itself into cohesion.

Harry dropped him off at home and Lysander dropped heavily into the chair in his study.  Throwing a glance at the clock, he saw it was after midnight.  He certainly couldn’t go demanding answers at this time of the night, and Harry was right—they’d never let him in the house in this state.  He just hoped he’d remember the question in the morning.  His eyes grew heavy and he fell asleep, knowing he would be stiff
when he woke, sleeping in this position.  He must be sobering up if such a concern crossed his mind.