An Absent Wife

by Oster, Camille

  Sitting in the carriage as it drove through Mayfair, in one of the more formal gowns the staff had retrieved from Devon, she tried to still her hands and hide the nervousness she felt. Her situation was her responsibility and she should be prepared to bear its consequences. Having chosen to run off with a man that wasn’t her husband, she should be prepared to face the consequences of her action, and now was the time to do so.

  It was hard to make out Lysander’s thoughts in the dark of the carriage, but he’d surveyed her gown and countenance as she’d descended the stairs earlier, and said nothing. He hadn’t look dismayed, so she’d assumed that her efforts had been sufficient.

  She steeled her resolve as the carriage door was opened by an attending footman on their arrival at their destination. Lysander stepped out, turning to help her out before leading her up to the entrance. Smiling timidly, she followed at his side, trying to hide the uncertainty she felt.

  “Madame Allworth,” he greeted the evening’s hostess. “It is an honor to accept an invitation to your lovely home this evening. May I introduce you to my wife.”

  “Ah, Lady Warburton” Mrs. Allworth said. “The elusive wife. We’ve always known you had one, but had always wondered what manner of sprite you hid away in the country. And here she is—a lovely creature.” The woman smiled, but there was a certain tightness to it as her traveling gaze held a hard edge. At least politeness kept their opinions at bay, Adele thought.

  Lysander turned slightly. “Harry, you remember Adele.”

  “Of course I do,” Harry said, not quite looking her in the eye. She’d met him a few times and she’d never liked him; he’d called her frail as a bird the first time she’d met him and she hadn’t quite warmed to him since—not that there was much to warm to; he’d dismissed her as readily as her own husband had.

  As they walked into the salon, Adele prayed that Lysander wouldn’t leave her on her own. There wasn’t a single person in this room that liked her and that included the two men standing next to her. She smiled bitterly at the thought.

  “Would you like a refreshment?” Lysander asked. She nodded, but regretted it as he moved away to the table serving refreshments, leaving her in the company of Harry.

  “How is it, being back in London?” he asked without much intonation in his voice.

  “Hyde Park is a gem,” she said with a smile, while noting the whispers and attention she received from the other attendants.

  “Bit of a walker, are you?”

  “Yes, I suppose.” And with that, they had nothing further to say until Lysander returned to the relief of both.

  “I think the evening went well,” Lysander said as they traveled home again.

  “Yes,” she agreed, thinking back on the uncomfortable evening she’d suffered through. People’s curiosity about her was consistent, even though they did try to hide it. She wasn’t much of a card player, so she’d stood by when Lysander had accepted the obligatory game—it had after all been the purpose of the evening. They were the first to leave, but it was already late. Society in London tended to run at a later schedule than elsewhere. “I think I shall retire for the evening.”

  Leaning her head back, Adele congratulated herself on surviving her first foray into society. And without incident, too. She didn’t deceive herself into believing she was accepted, but neither had she been cut.

  The carriage ride wasn’t long and Lysander took her hand when he helped her out. She felt the contact much more than the mere touch justified and wondered if he’d come to her that evening—not feeling comfortable asking.

  She would prepare in case he did, telling herself sternly not to let her mind attach undue meaning to these intimacies. After returning to her room and undressing, she combed her hair, trying not to feel the anticipation running through her body. The previous night hadn’t, by all accounts, been a riveting encounter on its own merits, but their history made it important beyond the mere mechanics of it.

  Stopping the slow strokes of her hair, she listened to the movement in the house. Lysander was coming up the stairs and she waited to hear what he did. A slight knock on her door made her breath hitch.

  “Am I unwelcome?” he asked when he moved inside the door, in exactly the same way as the previous evening.

  Placing her brush down, she turned toward him. “No.”

  He nodded slightly and looked around the room as the moment of awkwardness stretched. Adele moved to the bed and placed herself on the covers, tension making her body feel heavy and stiff. She couldn’t help herself watching as he took his jacket off and continued to undress, his movements slow and meticulous. She was nervous again, anticipating what was to come—and with a more pronounced hint of curiosity along with dread and resignation.

  He left his shirt on and she would see that he wasn’t entirely unprepared for the activity to come. As he kneeled on the bed in front of her, she couldn’t help feeling heavy anticipation as she spread her thighs for him. Unlike the previous night, he didn’t position himself immediately; instead letting his eyes linger on her for a moment. Adele felt a spear of concern that he’d changed his mind and regretted his decision to seek her out that night.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked. More than you’ll ever understand, she wanted to say, but knew he was referring to the previous night. “If this will be uncomfortable for you, we can forego and recommence another night.”

  “No, I am fine. I wish to proceed.”

  With a nod, finally, he moved, shifting to position himself between her thighs. His entrance smoother this evening; her body seemed a little more willing to accommodate him, and she felt herself stretch as she yielded to him, taking him with some effort. Biting her lip, she tried to sort the things that were going through her mind, and the mismatched signals from her body, purposefully quelling any sensations that were unnecessary.

  Withdrawing, he pushed into her again and she felt the jolt of sensation as he buried himself deep inside her. She’d discovered the pleasure of a man’s bed, but in another man’s bed. She couldn’t afford to pursue that here, with him, because there were such complexities between them. Lysander was going to divorce her and she couldn’t afford to spend another ten years pining after him, dreaming of just this. She closed her eyes.

  His movements grew firmer and she felt the pleasure of it caress her insides, refusing to feed its gentle insistence. His body drew nearer; until now he’d kept his distance as much as practical. She felt his hand on her hip, urging her hips closer to his. His groan of pleasure drew one of dismay from her; she wanted to just give herself over to this primal, base undertaking. Keeping her eyes firmly shut, she tried to distract her mind.

  Then she felt his lips on hers, the merest touch as first, growing firm. The touch unlocked something in her, which she unwillingly lost control over. He deepened the kiss and it broke through every barrier she’d ever managed to place. Her body flared with fire; sensation stealing through every part of her. Her whole body tensed around him, urging him deeper with desperate need. Her tongue met his exploration and her body suffered shocks of deep, piercing pleasure as his thrusts came to full emersion.

  She needed more, much more; her hands ripping at the buttons of his shirt, giving way by force to reveal more of him, his chest and skin. Warm, hard muscle met her hands as she let them roam over his chest and along his back. He slowed, and again Adele felt a spear of concern that things had gone too far for him, that he was unwilling to be touched by her. She sought out his eyes, but couldn’t make out any meaning in them. He was staring down at her in stillness. Her core still pulsed around him in belated response.

  Slowly, he leant down and kissed her—his lips soft and parted. Adele felt the pleasure of the kiss suffuse her mind and push away the confused apprehension she felt. She felt the tip of his tongue run along the sensitive inside of her lips. Mentally, she begged him not to stop; her body was wracked with painful tension, and he seemed to hear her beseechment, because his hips ground into hers, send
ing sharp waves of pleasure through her. His hands traveled along her backside, holding her to him, increasing the driving friction between them.

  Her body moved in unison with his, meeting each thrust, drawing as much sensation and friction out, as small moans escaped when it became too much and she started to violently convulse around him. He slowed again for a while as her body completed a series of writhing convulsions, then he kissed her again, leaving her no room for air or peace. His tongue demanded entrance and explored her mouth, before moving to her neck, teasing her skin as the hardness of him inside her slowly ground into her. Her release hadn’t even addressed the painful tension she felt.

  His hands urged her arms up above her head, where his other hand gently held her wrists as his fingers ran along the sensitive skin of her underarm, eliciting small moans from her as he teased her with gentle but ardent undulations from his hips. She could barely breath, feeling completely undone both physically and mentally. This was everything she’d ever wanted—being desired by her husband, having her body worshipped by him.

  More forcefully, he moved into her, drawing out the friction between them, sending new and powerful sensations cascading through her. She was completely at the mercy of this, every bit of her body in tune with his movements and ministrations. His hand still holding hers above her head as his movement became more forceful, driving into her, to a new, shattering release. Arching into his release, his groans filling her ears and her mind as shudders wracked him.

  His weight was completely on her when her mind gained some semblance of order. Her limbs tangled in his and she felt like crying, but also too uncertain to move. He withdrew from her, pushing himself back to sit on the edge of the bed, looking confused and maybe even dismayed.

  Adele turned on her side, away from him. She couldn’t quite get a handle on her own emotions as all her feelings seemed to have rushed back, leaving all her work to get rid of them for nought. He shouldn’t have kissed her; it was the kiss that had done it—undone her. She refused to turn and acknowledge him as he rose and left.

  Chapter 19

  After a fitful sleep, Adele woke. The thoughts of the previous night returned to her immediately as she lay in bed. The kiss—it haunted her. Why had he done it? It wasn’t his right to take it. Actually the whole idea around what his rights were just hurt her head to think about. It seemed ridiculous to say that a man wasn’t allowed to kiss his wife, but under the circumstances, due to their distance and separation, he shouldn’t have done it.

  He’d unlocked the want she’d carried for him for so long. She’d thought she’d managed to get rid of it, but it had flared to life and he had given of himself. Her fingers still tingled with the touch. Closing her fist, she tried to make the lingering sensations go away, but they refused to budge, along with all the after-effects on all her other senses—taste, touch, smell and sound. He intruded on all of them.

  She decided that she needed to go for a brisk walk. The coolness of the spring morning would wipe away these ghosts. After having Kathleen help her dress, she left the house, with her bonnet firmly in place and a parasol in case it rained, or the sun shone, or some ruffian became rude. She just felt like she needed something in her hand.

  She’d walked much further than she’d intended, marching across the vast green space, almost catching her skirt between her legs a few times in her relentless pace. It was too early for most, certainly for people there with the aim of being seen. Finally she sat down on a bench to let her heart slow. The bench was covered with dew, but she didn’t care.

  The images and sensations she’d run from returned immediately and she groaned with dismay. She knew it; she’d fallen right back into the trap that had held her for so long. She had to be harder than this. He was going to divorce her and she should be looking forward to the freedom and the idea that she wasn’t beholden to anyone—someone who took with no thought to the consequences.

  Adele had walked so far, she was absolutely exhausted when she returned, and famished. She ordered her breakfast brought to her room, needing the comfort of her inner sanctum. The house was quiet and she assumed that Lysander had gone out to do whatever it was he did during the days.

  “The Master has left a note for you,” Lysander’s manservant said as she moved toward the stairs. “I asked Kathleen to place it on your dresser.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Adele said, turning up the stairs. She had no idea what this note would say. Perhaps he would apologize for the previous evening—for engaging her emotions and desires when he shouldn’t have. But it wouldn’t; he’d have no idea what he’d done or what it had cost her.

  Please accompany me to the opera this evening if you should be so of mind.

  Your Servant, Lysander

  Adele read the note over and over, like she used to do to dissect every possible intention he could have put in there. He was asking and not demanding, which was a change. Perhaps the previous night had highlighted the need for reason in him as well. She turned the note over to see if anything was written on the backside. Her name was written on one side of the folded note, written in his beautiful script with a large flowing ‘A’. She scrunched the note up and placed it back on the table. The opera. She’d never been to the opera—a place that required a husband’s accompaniment. There was something very attractive about the idea that her husband was taking her somewhere only he could, like she was achieving a status that had previously been denied her. But she couldn’t think that way—he was letting himself be seen in public with her for the sake of their child. Her hand traveled to her stomach; its flatness taunting her hope.

  She couldn’t deny that she was curious about the opera. It was both mature and a little bit risqué. She did want to experience it—should be grateful as her future as a divorced woman lay in a small cottage somewhere unseen.

  When Lysander returned a few hours later. Adele had taken to her room, he was informed. Striding upstairs, he gently knocked on the door. The idea of attending the opera had come to him in the morning. He wasn’t normally a fan of the over-dramatic, but it had suited his mood that morning.

  “And have you decided to accompany me this evening?” he asked, almost a little teasingly. He knew she craved new experiences and this would please her.

  “I am afraid I do not really have anything appropriate in my wardrobe,” she replied, looking sorry and disappointed. At some point, he’d grown to despise that look, having had it directed at him a few times during their travels. “My wardrobe is mostly suited for church fetes.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Although I do suppose it is not an insurmountable barrier. We could potentially find something among the more ready-to-wear stores. Perhaps not the most distinguished of dresses, but I am sure we can find something that will do for the evening. Tomorrow you can call the dressmaker and have a proper one ordered.”

  “I’m not sure...” she started, but stopped and shook her head slightly. “I don’t know how long it will take to find a dress.”

  “Surely it shouldn’t prove that hard. Come,” he said holding out his arm. He hadn’t intended on taking her shopping today, but when the idea presented itself it didn’t seem like a distasteful one. Spending the day with her reminded him of Venice. He ordered the carriage to be brought out for them and they waited a few moments in the vestibule in silence. Adele looked flushed and lovely. Her walk had made her cheeks rosy, and her lips full—perhaps that wasn’t the walk. Her trim waist, and her hips were buried under yards of silk. He felt a strong urge to drag her upstairs, back to bed, where he’d discovered her nature the previous night. His exhaled slowly, letting his breath expel some of the thoughts that were nipping at his mind.

  He’d been angry this morning, furious in fact—the ghost of Samson Ellingwood had taunted him again, having coaxed the passion in her. He’d spent months on end ensconced in her bed and in her body, and he, her husband, was only there on reprieve for the sake of filling her belly with child. They were childish thoughts, he knew,
but he couldn’t help feeling them. He knew at the core, it was his fault, but he still didn’t have to like it, any of it. But it was all too late now, the die had been cast and the consequences were clear. The time for choices was past.

  He moved to the door as he heard the carriage pulling in. “Come.” he said as he walked down the stairs and ordered the carriage toward Oxford Street.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve been to Oxford Street,” she said once the carriage was in motion. “I used to go quite a bit when I was younger, perusing the store fronts.”

  “Admittedly, I go very rarely.”

  “I suppose it is not a favorite activity of yours?”

  “Decidedly.”

  “I can do this on my own,” she said and his eyes left the scenery passing by to find hers. She seemed to be considering him.

  “I am sure I can manage for a day. No doubt it will be unbearable, but I will muster through.” He was jesting and she seemed to take it as such. He watched as she turned her gaze away.

  It didn’t take them long to arrive along Oxford street, which was busy with shoppers. There were women of every age, and men of a certain age—the young ones who seemed to spend an inordinate amount of their concern on their appearance.

  They found a store that offered ready-to-wear dresses. The store itself was warm and sumptuous in the way the French preferred. There was finery of all sorts. He felt like he was intruding on a boudoir, a forbidden place filled with lace and silks, dripping in womanliness.

  Adele spoke to the proprietess, an older French woman who would have been a great beauty in her day. The woman seemed to know exactly which dresses would suit the occasion and urged Adele to follow her along to the display of dresses. Lysander sat down on the red velvet sofa next to the dressing pedestal and the large gilt mirror.