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 pressure 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 nature, 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.
Chapter 29
Lysander did make his way to his bed some time during the night and he was glad for it. It was late in the morning by the time he woke with a start, but he had a distinct mission that day. After washing, he dressed in clean clothes and prepared for the day ahead. He hadn’t felt this resolute for some time. There was definitely a purpose for the day and he was going to achieve it. It was amazing how much better he felt now that he had a reason to get up in the morning.
Leaving his room, he stared at Adele’s closed door, knowing most of her things were still in there, but he resisted the urge to look inside. He didn’t want hints today, or to guess at her intentions; he needed answers and he wouldn’t be finishing the day without them.
Again he noticed the stark solitude of the house; it felt like it was waiting for something. He breakfasted in the quiet dining room and read the paper, suppressing the eagerness that wanted him to skip the routines of the day. He wasn’t a stickler for routine, but he wanted to wake up properly and be at his best—which admittedly, would have been helped if he hadn’t gone on a mission to drink the city dry last night.
Vaguely, he remembered Harry coming and dragging him out, but he recalled none of what they talked about, except he did remember the question: how could she welcome him into her body so thoroughly if she cared nothing for him? There was an answer there—knowledge he needed; he just needed to confirm his suspicions—and it would happen today.
He didn’t order his horse around, or even the carriage; he would walk, needing the space and the exercise to clear his head. He needed his wits about him for this conversation.
The day was bright and cold, and the city was fully awake by the time he made it out onto the streets. He felt anticipation running through his blood—a conclusion was drawing.
Isobel’s glossy black door was closed and there was no sign of life behind the white facade. A quick knock, brought one of her footmen to the door, giving him entry. “Madam is in the salon with the little one,” the man said. Lysander didn’t really know Isobel’s servants well, but he nodded.
“I am here to see Lady Warburton.”
“She is in the parlor upstairs.”
“I see.”
“I will announce you.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Lysander strode forward and up the stairs.
“Lysander,” he heard Isobel calling from the salon.
“Isobel,” he acknowledged and kept walking up. Isobel came running out of the salon and up the stairs, but he was quickly at the parlor, where Adele sat. She looked up at him as he entered the room, needle held over her embroidery. “I need to speak to you.”
“Lysander, this is underhanded, barging in like this.” She came around in front of him standing between him and Adele.
“I need to speak to my wife. How can that be underhanded?”
“You could have let us know you were coming. It is not a good time.”
“I recognize that you are trying to help, Isobel, but do not place yourself in my way. And this is a conversation that cannot wait. Now if you would give us a moment.” Isobel didn’t look like she was moving, so he grabbed her by the arm and walked her to the door.
“Lysander, this is my house.”
“And this is my wife. Do not interfere.” He placed Isobel on the other side and gave her a warning look.
“It’s alright, Isobel,” Adele said, smiling at his aunt. “I am sure he is not staying long.”
Closing the door firmly, he turned to his wife, who was standing now, her hands wringing in front of her. “What do you want, Lysander?” she said, tension apparent in her voice.
“I want some answers.” Now that he was here, he didn’t know how to start this conversation.
She stood waiting, clearly not happy with this intrusion. After a while, she said, “Fine. Ask your questions.”
“When you invited me into your bed—,”
“Oh please, you cannot be serious,” she said turning away.
“I am serious,” he said, stepping closer, knowing it sounded ridiculous, but he had to ask this. “When you invited me into your bed, it went beyond the sheer mechanics of reproduction. You—,”
“Enjoyed it? It is sex, Lysander; it is pleasurable, even to us.” She turned back to him, facing him square on.
“I am not an idiot, Adele—don’t treat me like one. I know much more about sex than you do.” Admittedly, she knew more than he wanted her to, particularly in regards to the other man she’d been with, but that didn’t make her greatly experienced.
“Are you trying to make a point?”
“Will you let me finish.” He still didn’t know how to proceed. He had to change tack. “You throw this marriage away like it means nothing, but when we were together, in your bedchamber, it wasn’t absent of meaning to you.”
“I never said this marriage meant nothing. It represents a great deal of pain and rejection. Lysander, please—why are you dragging this up?”
“Because this is important.”
“It has never been important to you.”
“I move you, deeply. Tell me it isn’t true. When I touch you, you shiver. When I kiss you, you welcome it.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to be honest with me. Do you love me?”
She looked him in the eyes and he saw a pained expression there, but it fleeted away to resignation. “I did.”
He couldn’t understand her definition of love; she’d barely known him, yet she claimed that she’d loved him. But her heart had been engaged when they’d slept together; he’d felt it in his bones. “Until you met Mr. Ellingwood. Did you love him?”
Adele didn’t exactly know what it was Lysander wanted, but it was obviously tremendously important to him at the moment. These were things better off left unsaid, but he wasn’t going to let them. Fine, we’ll do this, she said to herself and looked back at him. Did she love Mr Ellingwood? “I cared for him and he cared for me.”
“And if he hadn’t died, you would be with him now.” It wasn’t a question, so she saw no reason to answer it. If he hadn’t died, she would probably be in India now, and judging from the results of their time together, she probably wouldn’t be pregnant. “What do you want from me?” he asked. “Why would you welcome me so completely if you wanted nothing from me?”
“Perhaps because I had wanted you for so very long and there were residual feelings there,” she said with exasperation, trying to justify her reaction. She’d wanted him so utterly and completely those nights they’d been together.
“Residual,” he repeated. “Do you love me?”
She gave him a contemptuous look. How dared he drag this all out now? “I am looking to leave all of this behind, Lysander. What purpose will this serve? Just let me go.”
“Do you love me?” he repeated with more strength.
“I don’t know!” she yelled back at him. “I did, and it gave me nothing but misery.”
“Why would you say that you loved me when you hardly knew me?”
“Because I did. You were my husband, and I recognized you as such.”
“I wanted nothing to do with you.”
“That sentiment hardly escaped me.”
“And then you met Mr Ellingwood and everything changed.”
“No, I realized, painfully, that things were never going to change, and then I met Mr Ellingwood—someone who was interested in me, who thought I was a worthy person to spend time with.” She saw confusion and intense concentration on his face.
“And then I dragged you back here and we developed an intimacy; one that clearly showed that there was something profound between us—one that I didn’t want ended.” This was unbearable. He couldn’t seriously be expecting her to put up with that torture. “I don’t want this marriage ended.”
“I need to go, Lysander, there is too much between us.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“I love you,” he said quietly.
“No, you don’t,” she said beseechingly. “You never did, Lysander—that is the point.”
“I didn’t a year ago, but I do now. I love you and you love me. Why would we end this marriage now?”
She only shook her head, feeling utterly despondent. “Lysander,...”
He moved toward her quickly, bringing his hands up to her neck and pulling her to him, into a kiss, groaning into the kiss as it if released some pent up frustration. She couldn’t resist the feeling of the kiss as it developed, the feelings unfurled deep inside her, compelling her and mesmerizing her. And now he knew the kind of power he still had over her.
His eyes were glassy as he pulled back from her. There was no point denying the fact that she wanted more; wanted him physically, with ferocity. For all the hurt and humiliation he’d caused her over the years, she still wanted him.
“I can force you to stay in this marriage,” he said. On some level, that would make things much simpler—just removing all decisions and responsibility from her. “But I won’t. If you want to be released from this marriage, I will do so. But that is not what I want. You’ve made me care for you—love you, and if you release me now, I will suffer exactly like I made you do.”
“That is not fair.”
“No, but it is true. I have the papers; you just have to ask me and I will sign them—but know this is not what I want. I want my family. I love you and I want us to be together, properly this time. If you are intent on my suffering then you shall have it.”
An Absent Wife Page 19