An Absent Wife (8 page)

Life on board the ship settled into a rhythm.
The lack of news was a bit disturbing as there were no newspapers each day to inform of the goings on in the world, nor any new information coming in. The ship was self-contained and it didn’t take long to get to know the people traveling with them. Lysander had now met all of them. None of them were acquaintances he would normally keep and it was unlikely that he would at the end of the voyage, but some proved interesting company in the meantime. It was quite the fashion to keep interesting company, but Lysander had never been an ardent pursuer of tides of fashion.

Adele was more circumspect; she held to her own company more.
Perhaps she was used to it, living in the country, and that was how she preferred it. He’s always assumed she preferred a quiet life; although all his assumptions about her went out the window since she crossed the world to conduct an illicit affair with a lieutenant. It seemed so out of character, but perhaps he’d never fully understood her character.

She’d been so quiet and demure
—so colorless and purposeless. He knew that she attended church every Sunday without fail, as she’d done the one just passed. The chaplain on the ship had held service and she’d attended, no doubt praying over her sins—of which there actually were some grave ones. She was exactly the same as before, quiet, reserved and completely unengaging.

He would watch her as he came across her.
While this was a handsome and large ship, there were only so many places one could go. She seemed to prefer to sit on the promenade on the far side of the ship from their cabins. He wondered if she was trying to ignore him. Well, he’d found her hiding place—not that he was all that interested. His anger with her seemed to have dissipated somewhat now that he was back to deal with her—something he’d avoided as much as possible throughout their marriage. Perhaps because he knew she was unhappy. Her unhappiness would suck what little joy there was out of any room. They were both unhappy.

She sat reading most of the time, with a hat covering her face.
She did look elegant—more so than he remembered. Surprisingly, his new acquaintances thought her charming—a bit aloof, but a fine woman. That had surprised him, because they were never qualities he’d seen. But perhaps their history had tainted his perception of her.

The past sat in his
conscience, painfully demanding to be acknowledged. It was all tied to her—nothing to do with her and everything to do with her. He’d sold his soul for wealth and there had been a price.

He’d clenched his fist a thousand times on the walk over to the Sommerstock’s house in Mayfair. He didn’t normally walk, but this was a day he dreaded and he needed time to think. The bans were set to be announced in the paper tomorrow and he needed to tell her before she read it. There was a part of him that just wanted to leave it and not deal with the distress. It was the coward’s way and he saw the appeal of it, but he wasn’t a coward and he cared too much about her to let her find out through reading it along with everyone else.

But h
e’d left it to the last minute, hoping to find some way of avoiding this—of changing his father’s mind. But all his father saw was the repair work required for their neglected properties; he was already planning the work and waiting for the dowry to come through.

Cassandra’s house loomed in front of him.
This was going to go badly. He wondered if he should consult with Ralph before—about how to break the news to his sister, but she deserved to be the first to know.

He knew
Cassandra had expectations. Their romance had developed slowly—she being the sister of his best friend, Ralph, whom he’d met the first day of school and they had been inseparable ever since. They had the same circle of friends and they were jointly the center of that circle.

Cassandra
had come along after her coming-out. She was dazzling and he’d been captured by her beauty and wit. She ruled the world and she knew it. Her fit into their group was perfect and she added color and sparkle, and a sense of excitement they hadn’t known they were missing.

She’d let him kiss her.
They all attended events together and kept tight company to the envy of others. He’d loved being part of the group that everyone envied. It had been a magical time and all had been as it should have been.

Swallowing hard and c
learing his throat, he knocked on the large, lacquered front door. As expected, the Sommerstock’s butler gave him entrance and announced his arrival.

Cassandra, her mother and aunt were receiving and there was another woman present
whom he didn’t know. Briefly, he wondered whether he should retreat and come back another time, but he had left it so long, he didn’t have any more time.

“Lysander! Lovely to see you,” Cassandra’s mother said.
She’d always liked him and encouraged the friendship between him and her daughter. “Isn’t it a wonderful day? This is Mrs. Wellers, an old friend of mine. This is Archie Warburton’s son,” she said to the other woman who appeared about the same age as Cassandra’s mother.

“
Ooo,” Mrs. Wellers said. “I’ve known your father for a long time. Aren’t you a handsome young man?”

Lysander would normally be quite happy to engage in this type of conversation with
Mrs. Sommerstock and her acquaintances, but not today.

“I need to speak to Cassandra,” he said
nervously. They had been on a first name basis almost from the start.

Her mother considered him then exchanged glances with her daughter.
A smile spread across her face. “Of course. Please, use the dining room.” She pointed at the door to his left. He knew the dining room was there; he knew most of the house.

Cassandra rose and walked toward him
, looking pleased and expectant, and he knew that the conversation she was expecting was different from the one she was about to have. As discussions in private were typically reserved for the most private of discussions, he suspected that the parties present expected that he would be proposing. He truly wished that was the case, but it wasn’t. He was about to do something devastating.

Closing
the sliding doors behind them, she turned to him, wearing a lilac-colored dress that went beautifully with her features, and in the latest fashion. She always managed to dress in a way that was admired by others.

“I’m so glad to see you, Lys.
You can’t imagine how boring it is to sit through all these callers. Utterly dull—not an interesting thought between them. You will come to the Hallington event next week, won’t you? It would be lovely to spend a few days in the country. I do need to get away from London for a while, with all the dramatics going on. Did you hear about Harriet and that Ralston man? Unbelievable. Who would have thought she had it in her?” She was chattering; she did when she was nervous.

He stood by the fireplace avoiding her eyes.

“What is it, Lys?” she asked, concern lacing her voice, knowing him well enough to perceive that something was wrong.

He didn’t want to say it; h
e wanted to stay cordial. He wanted to stay at the point where a future for them was possible.

“Cassie,” he started, his voice sounding gravelly.
“Something has happened.”

“What?
Is anyone hurt?” She rushed over to him.

“No,” he said and took her hand, feeling her warm, smooth skin under his fingers.
He loved her. And he didn’t want to do this. He still couldn’t meet her eyes. “My father...” he started. He had to take a moment and form his words, and also to clear the lump he felt in his throat, “has made an agreement-”

“No, no, no,” she started.

“I am to marry.”

His world shook momentar
ily as she slapped him. A sharp ringing took over his hearing, but he knew he deserved it. Well, not him, his father, because this was his doing.

“No, you can’t do this to me, Lys,” she said and started pacing the room.
“Lys, why have you done this?” There were tears in her voice; he could hear it even if he wasn’t looking at her. Seeking her eyes, he saw they were as large as saucers.

“You know why,” he said, defeated.
The Sommerstocks had gravitas and respect, but not a great deal of funds; nowhere near what the merchant Fowlers had. That was the difference between genteel and the trade class these days.

“Who is she?” Cassandra demanded.

“Just some girl. She’s not important.”

“And you’ll marry her?”

“I have to.”

“You don’t have to,” Cassandra said sharply.

“You know I will be disowned if I don’t. I wish I could say that it didn’t matter, but it does. You would never accept living in poverty. You weren’t made for it.”

Cassandra continued pacing.
They both knew it was true. They’d both been ruthless with acquaintances who lost their fortune and position. Being poor was worse than being diseased. If she was able to accept it, he would, but he knew that she would be miserable if they had to live in such reduced circumstances; losing their position in society and their prospects for the future. There was little recourse for a poor gentleman; they couldn’t take employment and could only hope that their family would take pity on them and leave them something in their will—ideally some wealthy childless aunt would leave them a decent-sized house, but those types of aunts were in short supply. Cassandra would hate that life and her bitterness would soon ruin their love. It would not be a life he’d enjoy either.

“I will always love you, Cassie.”

Her tears made a sound as they dropped on the wooden floor. He heard the door slide sharply and Ralph stepped in, his mother following, looking concerned. She rushed over to her daughter and put her arms around her.

“Get out of here, Lys,” Ralph demanded.
The harsh look on his face spelled that he wasn’t welcome anymore. He wanted to explain, but he was smartly shown out to the street by the butler and the door closed behind him.

Lysander watched the reading woman who was leaning slightly to her side to avoid the sun that was encroaching on her spot.

None of his friends had attended his wedding.
He’d understood their reticence, but it had proven permanent. He’d lost his whole group of acquaintances, being judged by them as grasping and uncouth, marrying into the lower classes to improve his position. The desertion of Ralph had hurt the most; it had proved even longer than Cassandra’s anger. Cassandra hadn’t spoken to him for a whole year, although she had eventually forgiven him, or said as such, but while Ralph was polite and cordial, their familiarity was a thing of the past.

Harry had only been a peripheral friend at the time, but he was the only one who’d stuck by him and they had become
true friends since. Loyalty turned out to be a most admirable quality, Lysander had learnt, and Harry had it no matter what happened.

Lysander had become content with his life, but he sometimes wondered what his life would be like if he’d married Cassandra, particularly if his father had seen Cassandra as a suitable bride, which she was
—but his father had been distracted by their diminishing wealth. Lysander was not the only person by far to marry into wealthy families of lower classes; it was a common occurrence, but there was an ongoing stigma attached.

None of this was technically Adele’s fault, but he had been too angry at the time to see that, and perhaps too young.
He’d blamed her for all of it. He’d never warmed to her. The results of their joining stared him in the face even as the fortunes of his former friends suffered, while his family remained strong and wealthy due to the fresh infusion of funds that the Fowler family had afforded them. Wealth wasn’t everything; he often tried to convince himself that it was of upmost importance, but in his heart knew it wasn’t. Maybe that was something she discovered in her Lieutenant. He felt a flash of anger, but neither fed it nor analysed it.

Adele stayed in her cabin during the mornings, where tea, eggs and bread
were brought to her. She'd join Lysander at lunch, when they would dine in the salon, then again at supper time. They spent no time together otherwise. Late mornings, she would find her table and chair on the shaded side of the ship and read, while in the afternoons she rested. Her life in Adelaide required much more activity; managing the children, then making her way home to eat supper with the girls in her boarding house.

But the weeks seemed to flow by
, even though she did very little during the days. Having a routine helped, she knew. If nothing else, there was routine to adhere to.

It took some adjustment to consider
herself Lady Warburton again, let alone Lysander's wife. In truth, she'd never spent this much time with him throughout their marriage. Still, she felt less married than she had before. There was a vast amount of things that had happened to her since she'd considered herself his wife.

He'd apologized to her, which was so
mething he'd never done before—for anything. She'd spent a great deal of time wondering what had gone through his mind when he'd found her. He'd trespassed on her person and she wondered if he hated her. His actions seemed to indicate that he did, but then he had apologized. He hadn't shown much of any emotion since, not even the distaste and dismissal she was presented with before she'd left him.

"There you are, my dear," Mrs
Callisfore said one late morning as she sat on the promenade and read. Mrs Callisfore placed her bulk down heavily in the chair, while placing her cane to lean against her knee. "My knees fare better in the heat, but they are still trying. If there is one thing I could recommend, it is to never grow old."

"I wish I could prom
ise you that, Mrs Callisfore, but I'm afraid I haven't found the means to avert it," Adele said kindly.

"I suppose it's better than being dead," the woman said and rested her hand on the edge of the table.
"Where is that handsome husband of yours?"

Adele wasn't entirely sure.
"I believe he is reading in the smoking room."

"Ah, the gentleman's retreat.
I wanted to invite him, both of you, to a reading tomorrow night. Mrs Fullfer is reading her translation of ancient Persian poetry tomorrow night. Strange woman. What manner of woman is fluent in ancient Persian? I'll never understand. But I thought your husband might find it interesting."

"I'm sure he will," Adele said with a measured smile.
She wasn't entirely sure if her husband would be interested in ancient Persian poetry or not, but she knew he liked to do things in the evenings. She would retreat to her cabin after supper and he would sometimes attend various activities on the ship. Listening through the walls as she lay in bed, she’d hear him return in the evenings.

"A fine man, your husband.
You must be a lucky creature to be the wife of such a man—and titled, too."

Adele smiled again, stil
l astounded that people couldn’t see the dire and unenviable state of their marriage. Looking down, she twisted a handkerchief in her lap. She wasn't sure what this woman would think of her husband if she knew that the only time he touched her was when he forced himself on her in a state of rage after finding her hiding on the other side of the world. She would never mention it; it wasn't a true account of his character. It was known that there were violent and unreasonable husbands from which women had to flee. Lysander wasn't one of those. The only time she'd seen any temper on him at all was when he'd first found her in Adelaide. Instead she smiled. "I will remember to tell him."

Mrs
Callisfore nodded her appreciation and groaned as she rose from the chair. "This is a nice spot," she said. "I will join you in a moment of quiet reading one day, but today I've been invited to tea with that woman from Dover." Adele nodded her understanding and Mrs Callisfore slowly moved away, leaning heavily on her walking cane.

Placing a marker in her book, Adele decided
to deliver the message she'd been commissioned with before it slipped her mind. Lysander was probably away from his cabin and it would be a good time to leave him a note.

Arriving back in her own cabin
, she placed her things on a table, before testing the handle of his door and it opened without effort. His room was similar in size to hers, but it had a more masculine decor. These cabins were obviously built for a married couple, with one decorated for a female and the other for a man. His furniture was heavier and darker, giving the room a very different feel from her own.

His scent lingered in the room.
This was his domain. Everything was neatly placed. He'd always seemed to hold a preference for neatness. She'd kept the Devon house in the same neat order—not that he saw it or her efforts the vast majority of time.

She felt uncomfortab
le being in his room—his space—like she was intruding. Stepping over to the bed, she saw a book on the side bed. He must be reading it in the evenings as he took to bed. Reading the gold leaf printed title down the spine, she saw it was a book on artic exploration in the far Northern Russia. Not exactly a book she'd expected to see, but then she didn't really know what she'd expected. It only went to show how little she knew him, and knowing him was something she'd strived for once upon a time.

Adele entered the room he still occupied when in residence. It was the same room he'd used all his life. It still had some things from his childhood—a sailboat that he must have used on the lake. The boat was beautifully crafted with replica rigging and gear. She'd seen it a hundred times and it was a shame that there wasn't a child to be delighted with it. She'd never seen Lysander bring it out, so she wondered why he kept it.

Perhaps he kept it for his own son, but that couldn't be on his mind as he never touched her in a way that would result in a child.
He never touched her at all. The only time he'd touched her since their wedding night was when he assisted her out of a carriage, which he did strictly out of duty. He was required to assist any female out of a carriage, known or unknown—even his wife.

Walking in
to his bedroom, her steps echoed on the floorboards until she reached carpet. She noticed a hint of mustiness and told herself that she needed to remind the housekeeper to air the Master's room.

His effects were neatly displayed in a row.
There was a comb, a nail brush and a razor hidden in an ivory case. She ran her fingers over the masculine items, feeling the textures of the cold metal, swine hair and smooth tortoise-shell under her fingers.

This room smelled of him—the merest hint, but she knew the smell well.
She'd been in this room more times than she could count; to check everything was in order, but also, this was where she felt his presence. It was different from any other room in the house. It had secrets and meaning, and she was still trying to unravel them.

She knew each book in this room and she'd even read some of them.
She had no idea when he'd read them or what his interests had been at the time. He probably wasn't aware they were here anymore, a reflection of some past interest of his, put aside and forgotten.

"What are you doing here?" His voice broke through her reminiscing. Reacting with a start, she turned to face him. She hadn't heard him enter. He placed his hat on one of the side tables.

"I am here to leave you a no
te, but since you are here: Mrs Callisfore wishes to invite you to a reading of ancient Persian poetry being presented by Mrs Fullfer." Her voice was strong and crisp, and she congratulated herself for not blushing and cowering at being caught in his cabin. She still had trouble holding his eyes, feeling a strong urge to look away from his blue piercing eyes.

"The writing desk is over here," he said pointing to the other side of the room.
She saw suspicion in his eyes. She was effectively on the wrong side of the cabin, where she wouldn't be if her intention was to write a note. Which was her intention! She'd just gotten distracted.

"It is interesting to note that they've planned different decor for the male and female passengers."
It was the only excuse she could think of. It sounded weak, but there was nothing else she could say.

Leaning back on the side table, he crossed his arms and considered her.
"Yes, they have been particular in their detail."

Silence prevailed, stretching uncomfortably.
It was one of the few times they were alone. Their typical association was in the salon or on the way there.

"What are you
r plans when we return?" she finally asked. The thought had plagued her and she didn't often get moments in private in which to ask.

Looking down
, he crossed his ankles as well and looked out the porthole. "Did Mrs Callisfore invite me or did she invite us both?"

"Technically the invitation
was for the both of us," she admitted. She wanted to lie, but she didn't feel comfortable lying to him, which was paradoxical considering she had conducted such a grave ruse about her own demise.

"Then we shall both attend."

Looking down at the floor, she nodded. She didn't usually attend any evening activities. She wasn't entirely sure why he wanted her to join him. It didn't go unnoticed that he didn't answer her question. She wondered if he was trying to punish her by keeping her fate unknown to her. She wasn't entirely sure it mattered; she had no power in this situation, having to comply with whatever he wanted. It was her duty; what she'd swore to do when she'd given her vows, and it was the law for that matter. She was his to do with as he pleased and if he wished to punish her by keeping her ignorant of his intentions, then it was his choice. She didn't even have a moral right to wish better treatment from him.

"As you wish," she said and retreated back to the connecting door between their cabins.
Closing the door behind her, she leant on it and closed her eyes. She wasn't sure if she would be more comfortable if he was angry with her, but they were back to nothingness. But then perhaps he just hid his anger well.

He
wanted her to accompany him to the poetry reading. He was still presenting her as his wife; as a united couple with no indication of their true state. Perhaps he was trying to show her the things he would deprive her of when they returned. She didn't know what she preferred, but she suspected it would be uncomfortable whichever way he chose to handle this.