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.
Chapter 17
Annoyed and restless, Lysander sat in Evie’s parlor. He didn’t want to be there, but things would only get worse the longer he left it, and he’d left it long enough as it was. He’d had to buy her a trinket to mollify her displeasure at having been ignored. But the truth was that he didn’t want to be there. Evie was pacing, ranting at how embarrassed she felt at being completely overlooked.
It was her passion and liveliness that had drawn him in the beginning, but he’d grown tired of the dramatics, even before he’d left for India.
“You will, of course, be divorcing her,” Evie said, her russet curls bouncing as she sharply turned. “Have you started proceedings? I was so happy for you when the news came that she’d died. And then for it not to be true. How fate is cruel.”
“There had been a misunderstanding on behalf of the Colonial Office,” he said, but he wasn’t sure why he was justifying it. He didn’t want to talk about Adele with Evie.
“You are a saint letting her stay in your house.” He hadn’t told Evie that was the case, which only went to prove she knew more about his life and goings on than the things he told her. “You should free yourself of her at the earliest opportunity. You deserve so much better.”
He knew full well that his wife’s death had been seen as nothing but an opportunity to Evie, who fully intended to do everything in her power to take on the position herself. He didn’t want to hear Evie’s opinion of his wife. Neither she nor Harry had a true understanding of the relationship between them—not that he could claim to understand their relationship either.
“While she is here,” he said. “It is only right that I not dishonor her.”
“Dishonor her?” Evie said, completely astounded. “She ran off with another man and you had to go retrieve her, and you are worried about dishonoring her? Lysander, darling, you are too soft-hearted and foolish for your own good. You cannot let yourself be deceived by her; she will say anything to have influence over you. Can’t you see that?”
Taking a last sip of the drink Evie’s housekeeper had given him, he bristled at the characterisation of both himself and Adele. “Irrespective, I will not be delighting in your company while my wife is in situ.”
Evie stopped her pacing and turned to him. “You cannot be serious.”
“While my wife is in my house, I will not dishonor her,” he repeated, standing and placing the drink he was holding on the side table.
“I might not be here when you decide otherwise,” Evie said tartly.
“As you wish.” But he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Evie saw a chance for marriage with his divorce and she wouldn’t give up on that fact until the bitter end. “By your leave.” He left, feeling relief as he exited her house. Sadly, Evie wasn’t done—it would never be that easy, and she would play on his guilt and courtesy for everything she could. He would never marry her—not for the fact that she wasn’t unsullied, because, unlike some, he truly didn’t hold that against her. He just didn’t like her enough to want to spend each day with her. But that wasn’t an outcome that Evie would accept. Again he wondered why nothing was simple when it came to women?
His thoughts left Evie behind with notable speed, and he turned his attention to the troublesome woman in his house. What he’d said was right; he didn’t feel right dishonoring her while she was here in Lo
ndon and he certainly wouldn’t engage with other women while they were to conduct intimacy.
Lysander found Adele pacing around in the garden. When they’d first arrived back in London, he’d forbidden her from leaving the house. In hindsight, it was perhaps a brutish request, but he just wasn’t sure he could trust her to return.
Clearing his throat to catch her attention, he walked toward her. “You may go to Hyde Park if you wish,” he said and she nodded her acknowledgement. Again he felt brutish, exorcising his power over her. She didn’t strictly have to comply, although compliance was expected in a wife, but he supposed he was testing her. “I have given your proposal due consideration,” he said. Her eyes sought his, then she lowered them to the ground, placing a barrier between them. “As you know, an heir is a requirement for someone in my position, so it would represent an eventuality that would please us both.” Her eyes came back to him and he saw hope and relief there, while noting his own reaction to having pleased her. Looking away, he cleared his throat again. “You will have to leave your door unlocked for me in the evenings.”
“Yes,” she said.
Feeling goose bumps, he reacted in a way he could neither describe nor justify. Suddenly, he felt distinctly uncomfortable. He was far from a prude, but this felt extremely awkward—perhaps because the purpose of this was conception and not pleasure. But that didn’t change the fact that since their brief stay in Venice, he’d had forbidden thoughts about what it would be like laying with his wife. Unwanted thoughts returned to what he’d done when he’d first found her in Adelaide, but he dismissed the uncomfortable and confronting thoughts, ones that countervened the man he wanted to be—the man he thought he was. He did hope she had forgiven the trespass. “Unless it should prove too confronting for you.”
“I am a grown woman; I think I shall manage.”
The statement actually pleased him more than he’d expected, having worried that he’d deeply damaged her through his actions.
Exhaling, he left a weight lift off him. He’d dealt with the proposal and they’d agreed on a course of action. He had probably left her a little too long without an answer—not on purpose; he just hadn’t been ready to completely give himself over to the issue—including the fact that he would have to acknowledge his wife publicly in the process.
He didn’t bother lighting more than one lamp, making his study darker than he usually kept it. Supper had been an uncomfortable and drawn-out affair, but it might have had more to do with his own tension than anything untoward with the actual meal. Adele had been flushed throughout—giving her a lovely countenance—which had actually made his tension worse.
Taking a deep swig of his drink, he wondered what she was doing. He expected that she would be anticipating him tonight. He was more nervous than he cared to admit and he tried to rid himself of it for fear that he may not be able to perform his duty. But the excitement and anticipation flowed in his blood no matter what he did, and he needed to take care in case he drank too much. Being unable to perform would be highly embarrassing.
Unbidden, the spectre of Lieutenant Ellingwood moved around his consciousness like mist. As much as he tried not to think of it, Adele would compare him to her lover—someone she cared about, likely whose touch she craved. Not even his anger could compete with his nervousness tonight, but there was no use sitting there and deliberating. He wasn’t one to shirk something due to discomfort.
The knock on her door sounded louder than it was in the quiet house. Trying the door, it gave readily in his hand and he paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts and get his breathing under tighter reign.
The room was dark, only a single candle lighting the space and he found Adele sitting at the head of the bed, her hair undone and flowing around her shoulders, covered by a white nightgown. He paused for a moment. She looked almost ephemeral like a wood sprite, sitting there with her legs tucked under her, her hands resting in her lap. Her eyes were large and bright as she saw him. He had an irrational urge to run over to her and kiss her, but turned to close the door silently behind him.
“Am I unwelcome?” he asked when he turned back to her.
Something crossed her brow for an instant, but he couldn’t tell what it was. “No,” she responded.
Feeling a moment of hesitation, he moved closer to the bed, praying to whatever god it was that saw to such things—that his member would remain hard this evening and not embarrass him. His member had been anticipating the evening since he’d returned to the house in the afternoon, but it hadn’t become fully ready and he knew it wasn’t right now either—the tension of the situation creating a dampening effect.
Not entirely sure how to proceed, he sat down on the bed after removing his vest. Adele moved herself along the bed to lie down, her knees tightly together and her ankles crossing as she did.
He’d never seen his wife naked, but then he’d never seen her in any state of undress, with the exception of their wedding night, which he didn’t actually remember well due to the copious amounts of drink he’d had in his anger and frustration. The white nightgown showed her curves well. Her breasts were full and firm, and his body responded to the sight.
There would be no comfortable or fluid way of doing this and he just had to get on with it. Moving, he kneeled half way down the bed, unsure exactly how to proceed. Adele moved as well, positioning herself toward him, pulling her nightgown up her legs, automatically drawing his eyes to the revelation of skin along her thighs. For a moment, he was transfixed. As it turned out, there were no issues with his body achieving a proper state.
The noise of every moment sounded against the walls in the otherwise silent room as he freed himself and moved to the right position. Drawing a breath, he proceeded to push into her. Her body yielded slowly to him, allowing him into its delicious heat, divesting him of any other thoughts or concerns but the sensations that started flowing through him. Perhaps it was the length of time since he’d been with a woman or the provocative feeling that he was doing something forbidden, but he couldn’t seem to muster his usual control. His body acted on its own, pushing into her with smooth, hard strokes, without him being able to exercise much control over himself. A shuddering release overtook him quickly and surprisingly, making him strive to get himself as deep into her as possible.
He didn’t feel right laying down on her, even though he struggled to stay stable as the tension and resolution drained him. He felt disappointed. It had all happened so quickly; he felt that he hadn’t even started accomplishing the things he wanted to—like a secret garden had been opened to him and he’d just rushed through it. But at least he hadn’t embarrassed himself; he’d completed the task and had proven himself strong and resolute in the process.
Carefully, he withdrew from her, feeling sorry it was over so quickly. As he did, Adele pushed down her nightgown over her thighs—depriving him of any real look at her. He hadn’t even laid a hand on her throughout the entire process. But he wasn’t here to look or to explore; he’d completed his task and with a nod, he turned and quietly left.
Chapter 18
Still undressed, Adele sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair with slow, fluid movements. The mild morning sun shone through the windows as she prayed for her own fertility. With excitement, she realised it could be that she was with child already. Their time together the previous evening had been uncomfortable and awkward, but there was still something in her that responded with pride. After all those years of being untouched and rejected, her husband had lain with her. It had been quick and to the point, but that was how her husband was in most things, she’d learnt. Again, she told herself not to read anything into it, just as she’d told herself the previous evening. It was a necessary interaction and she was grateful that he’d agreed to it. The temptation had been strong to delve into her long-standing and discarded infatuation for him—steeling herself for falling into the mindset that had caused her endless misery.
Feeling a sense of exciteme
nt, she looked toward her wardrobe. Not only was she potentially growing with child, but he’d also given her permission to venture out to Hyde Park, and she was going to take advantage of her new freedom this morning.
Sitting in the parlor upstairs, Adele heard as Lysander arrived in the afternoon. She hadn’t quite achieved an understanding of his schedule and she felt herself tense as she heard him move up the stairs toward her. The door opened, and she put her embroidery aside.
“An invitation has arrived for a night of cards with Sir Allworth and his wife. I would like us both to attend,” he said, staying at the doorway.
“Of course,” Adele responded with a nod, not quite understanding the change in their circumstances. As for his actions, she’d assumed that he wouldn’t take her anywhere, or introduce her as his wife—but if they went, he would have to. Again, she wondered at the change—whether it signified some real change in his attitude toward her.
The calm excitement at the future that had instilled in her that morning was now fading. She’d never traveled in his society and knew full well that she was a notorious woman. Nervousness gripped her insides, but she wasn’t about to cry off. If he wanted her to present herself, she would—even for the purposes of ridicule and derision if she must. She had no illusions that she would be welcomed into his society with open arms.
“It is necessary,” he said. “For the child’s sake.”
Adele hadn’t even considered the implications for the child, but of course he was right. It was important that the child’s paternity wasn’t in question. She felt a stab of disappointment that his request had a completely practical purpose, having nothing to do with a change in consideration toward her. As he left, she chided herself on falling back to her old tendency of seeking his approval and admiration. He was never going to change and she would serve herself better to never forget that. Her attention should exclusively be on the wellbeing of this child—as his was.
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