The heavy velvet curtains drew back and the play started. Adele didn’t know much of the play other than it had first shown in New York before traveling across the world. It started and the characters were introduced, starting with a nobleman who had a secret wife living across a lake—one he loved but was ashamed of. Adele frowned as the plot of the play developed. He admonished the girl for her peasant ways when he was really upset that he couldn’t marry a lovely and also wealthy noblewoman whose attention was being vied for by a number of characters.
Adele couldn’t stop the play from resonating with her own situation. There was a distinct difference in that the character in the play did or had loved this woman he had married in secret. This was a huge point of difference with her own life, because her husband had never loved her. She hadn’t immediately realized Lysander’s dislike and contempt for her. He’d been beautiful and perfect when he had first been introduced to her.
Adele looked up at the facade of the house in Mayfair as they arrived right on time. Her father had been very nervous for this dinner and he’d even come and advised her on the dress she was to wear.
“This is a very important dinner,” he’d said to her gravely. “We are meeting the Warburtons—a very important and distinguished family. Their importance goes back for generations and having association with them shows a distinct improvement in the position of our family name.”
They’d arrived in her father’s best carriage, which was newly imported from France with dark burgundy lacquer reflecting every point of light. Father was very proud of this carriage and would use it anytime he wished to impress someone. Adele suspected that her father would have dearly liked to have a family crest to paint on its side, but it was instead decorated with some elegant swirls in a special metallic paint brought over from Russia.
They were dressed in the latest Parisian fashion and Adele knew her dress was gorgeous. As it turned out, they were better dressed than the family they were there to meet, having been shown into a parlor where they were introduced to the family, a man, his sister and a son. The house was older and less sumptuous than their own, but these people were better than them, irrespective of how richly decorated their possessions were. It was an inescapable fact that this family was of the right background and they were of the wrong, and all the money in the world wouldn’t change that.
Adele showed every politeness as had been ingrained in her from a young age. Her school had ensured that she knew every point of etiquette for handling herself in just such situation as this. She knew she would embarrass her father if she did anything wrong and she had to combat her nerves to clear her mind, but she couldn’t dismiss the fact that she was quietly terrified.
Their son was young and handsome, maybe even the most handsome man Adele had even met. He had brown hair perfectly cut, blue eyes and strong features. He cut an attractive figure as he looked relaxed if not a little bored sitting on one of the settees. His forefinger played with the rim of his glass as they chatted lightly prior to being called by the dinner bell. Adele noted how different his hand was to hers—bigger and stronger, and masculine. She had never noticed a man’s hands before, but she noticed his.
In his presence, she felt self-conscious, but she was spared from notice, although she was placed opposite him when the dinner bell was finally rung. His clear eyes scanned the table and Adele looked down to her lap every time his gaze went anywhere near her. Her breath hitch whenever he would look at her and she was sure her face blushed to show it.
The men discussed politics and business throughout the dinner. Lysander had a clear, deep voice and an obvious distaste for some of the political manoeuvring that had been consuming everyone’s attention of late.
She joined her mother and Lord Warburton’s sister, Isobel, when it was time for the women to retreat to the parlor. The woman chatted about some landscaping changes that were proposed for Hyde Park. Isobel was kind enough, but even the light conversation couldn’t make up for the fact that they were virtual strangers.
When it was time to say farewell, Adele’s hand shook slightly as Lysander obligingly took her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. His lips only made the barest of touches, but Adele didn’t care, it made her heart race all the same.
“That man will be your husband,” her father said when the carriage had taken off down the street. Adele blinked to take in the astounding information; it didn’t seem real. When she imagined her husband, she hadn’t even contemplated someone as handsome and intelligent as Lysander Warburton. Collecting herself, she felt her breath and heartbeat quicken as she absorbed the news. She had never in her wildest dreams hoped for such a match and she didn’t even dare think about how well her future looked.
Adele watched the scene unfold when the nobleman’s friend tried to have the peasant girl murdered to free his friend to marry the well-placed and beautiful noblewoman. Adele felt her heart constrict. She wanted to leave, not just the play, but all the feelings it brought out of her, but she was stuck. There were people on both sides of her and she would disrupt the whole room if she got up and insisted people let her get out of the row.
Instead she closed her eyes and tried to think of Samson and all the good things he had brought to her life. Thinking of her husband hurt and she hadn’t come all this way for that hurt to follow her. She should have tried harder to decline the evening and this was her punishment for not standing her ground. She would be well and safe in her little room. She liked her small life here; it was simple and it was easy.
The play ended with the nobleman lamenting how his wife had been treated and they left happily together. Love prevailed and conquered. Real life wasn’t like that, she knew. Love didn’t always win; sometimes it lost.
Chapter 6
Adelaide’s port wasn’t the same degree of chaos that India had been and he silently thanked the fates for it. He felt that even the long voyage here hadn’t been enough to recover from the assault on the senses that was India. The port was busy, but orderly and there were carriages for hire waiting patiently to transport new arrivals to the city. After engaging one, Lysander watched the countryside pass. It was so very different from what he knew, and he couldn’t quite believe that he was on the opposite side of the globe. The plants were different, the birds were different and the light was again, different. It seemed his wife had led him on a merry chase around the world—if she indeed was his wife.
The town was also different from what he’d expected—not that he had many expectations, but it was all new, built in the latest architectural style—a completely modern town, with meticulously planned and maintained streets, and large parklands between neighborhoods. He didn’t see telephone lines, which were being rolled out across London, so they were behind London in that respect.
His countenance darkened when he considered the reason he was there—to chase down a woman who may or may not be his wife. In his gut he knew it was. He wasn’t sure why; he’d never observed any deviousness in her, but looking back, her constant cool reserve was bound to hide something. Perhaps that was just the nature of her class, he thought maliciously. It was an unfair assumption, but he felt he needed something to funnel his anger toward.
Taking rooms in a nice hotel in the center of the city, he would convalesce after his long journey. The hotel had all the services he would require—even good quality Ceylon tea that he was partial to. It served a mix of clientele, but that was typical of hotels in far-flung places, he’d noted.
After he was sufficiently recovered, he sent out a note to the Town Hall to enquire about a new female entrant in the community by the name of A. Ellis. He had to admire the efficiency when a note returned only a few hours later saying that Mrs Adele Ellis was now a teacher at the school in Young Ward’s Gilles Street.
Scrunching up the note, Lysander threw it in the fire. Surely that couldn’t be his wife? There had to be some mistake, an innocent mistake that he would laugh at later. His wife was dead and her body lost due to
some mishap in the chaos of India—that made sense. Him chasing after some ghost across the world didn’t. He should turn back, go home and forget all about this. But he couldn’t; he was here and he had to see this through. It was his duty.
The carriage delivered him to a small wooden building that was the school house, with two windows, one on each side of the door. It certainly was different from his education at Eton, where old, hallowed walls steeped in tradition, told of their place and responsibility. This was a small little house—a true education here seemed impossible.
The door was painted light blue and it creaked as he opened it. A few blemishes scarred the door that was otherwise new. Children, he realized—they were rough on everything. Not a topic he usually considered—likely because the idea of acquiring them by his wife had been so unappealing.
The door opened to a large room where light shone in on a woman who was tidying a desk along the far wall. She wore a brown gingham dress with a tightly corseted bodice and a large skirt. With clear relief, he knew instantly that he’d made a mistake—until the woman looked up and he saw the face of his wife. The picture didn’t make sense for a second—the face, the place and the dress didn’t match.
Her eyes widened and he saw fear in them. Blood rushed to his head, making him feel light-headed. A rush of emotion overwhelmed his ability to speak, but he moved forward to her and took her by the neck when he reached her.
“You liar,” he managed to spit out. Her eyes were still large and disbelieving. “Do you have any idea of the embarrassment you’ve caused me? You’ve made me the laughing stock of London. You deceptive whore.” He was babbling, not really knowing what was coming out of his mouth, but all the suppressed anger and embarrassment flooded out of him. Being cuckolded by an unworthy man, exposed to the ridicule of everyone he knew, then being deceived to travel across the world in a vain effort to show her memory some respect. And this is how he was treated.
“You dress up in the guise of a respectable school teacher when we both know that is far from the truth. Do you think any of the parents of these children would like an adulteress and deceiver teaching their children? This dress looks ridiculous on you. You are ridiculous.”
Her mouth parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, her lips were pink and plump. A mouth she’d given to other men, and who knew how many he didn’t know about. Her thin neck was warm under his hand. He was affecting her ability to draw breath and he didn’t care at that particular moment. An impulse to squeeze flashed through him and it was tempting. Her large eyes were pleading with him.
And then there was that matter of her not being dead, which meant she was again his wife and his problem to deal with. A problem from the start to the very end. Why had he been afflicted with this burden? An unsuitable and untrue wife. He could see her with her man in that room in Calcutta, giving herself to him with abandon. He felt pure rage. The whore.
Before he knew what he was doing, he had her skirt bunched up around her stomach, her body exposed as he ripped the material underneath. He is the only one she should have given herself to, but he was the one who got nothing. Something in the back of his mind told him it wasn’t so, but he was too angry to listen—his emotions at such extreme levels he couldn’t think or reason. The feeling was unbearable, cutting off air to his lungs and blood to his mind.
With a sharp movement and before completely realizing what he was doing, he was inside her and pleasure intermingled with his rage, making him a slave to the driving sensations. Two or three sharp thrusts and he found release, everything flowing out like a vent released on held back high pressure steam, draining him of absolutely everything. Collapsing down on the desk, his put his hands out on either side of her as she was positioned on the desk, supporting himself. He felt faint. He was unsure what had just happened or how he had gotten there—too tired to think of anything.
Stepping back, he surveyed her as she lay on the desk trying to push her skirt down to cover her modesty. To cover the thing he’d just done. She wasn’t looking at him, her cheeks rosy with embarrassment or distress, or whatever it was she was feeling. Frowning deeply, he felt a stab of guilt, but he was too depleted to feel anything properly. Anger still licked at his consciousness, but there simply wasn’t room for emotions.
“Outside,” he ordered as his breath grew calm enough for a steady voice. He didn’t want to think anymore—about what he’d just done, what she’d done or the implications of the future. And there were implications for the future. His devious and faithless wife back in his life. If only he’d turned around this morning and returned to England in ignorant bliss, but now he knew and there was no undoing that. She was his responsibility, no matter how she acted.
She slowly stood, her eyes lowered to the floor. He wasn’t sure if her modesty was because of shame for what she’d done or what he’d done. He felt anger tickle him again, but he couldn’t rise to it. He lifted his hand to the door to urge her to walk, which she did, taking tentative steps past him.
He had his possessions moved to a different suite, one with two bedrooms. She’d argued that she had a room somewhere, but he didn’t trust her not to run off—not entirely sure what she was capable of anymore. He didn’t want her in his bed, but he didn’t trust her being out of sight either. With her in the room across from him, he would hear if she left her bedroom. He wasn’t sure that was true, but he certainly wasn’t going to share a room with her.
“We’re leaving in the morning,” he stated when they were showed into their suite for the evening. “We’re sailing for Europe.” He’d sent one of the hotel’s boys to seek information on passage, promising to pay handsomely for the service as he wasn’t feeling up to dealing with the matter himself just at that moment. He needed to sleep, feeling the need tug at him as he watched the creature that was his wife stand by the window, surveying the scene outside.
“Can I get my things?” she asked quietly.
“No.” It was ungenerous, but he didn’t want to deal with it. He had no idea what she held precious, probably gifts from her lover. He wasn’t going to traipse across town for that. Then he softened slightly. “If there is enough time in the morning, you can send a man to collect them.”
They existed in silence for a while until supper was brought to their room and served at the table. They ate in silence and Lysander read the evening paper that the hotel had supplied.
Lying in bed that night, he was unable to sleep. He had his wife back. It wasn’t a welcome development, but he couldn’t shirk his responsibility. Closing his eyes in a vain attempt to sleep, he considered what he would do with her when he returned. No solutions came to mind. It was all just one big jumble of unpleasantness. There was always the gossip resulting from her return to look forward to. If her latest caper became known, she—and he by association—would become notorious. Faking one’s own death was dramatics on an unprecedented scale. But people knew of her demise and her appearance will cause quite a stir. The only thing he could do was to stand by the idea that it was a clerical error. He despised lies, but the alternative was unbearable.
Chapter 7
Adele stepped out of the carriage at the Port of Melbourne. She’d watched the landscape pass by, wishing she had a chance to explore the city they’d arrived in just the previous day. Lysander showed no interest in the city and they hadn’t left the hotel until it was time to leave.
He’d been uniformly distant, but not unpleasant to her. She wondered if he ignored her presence most of the time. He read each edition of the paper made available and intermittently retreated to the smoking room. He was polite, but he didn’t speak to her beyond what she wanted to eat and enquiring if she was comfortable. He even went out and bought some gloves for her when she mentioned that she’d lost her pair.
It was still a relief when he left her alone—not that he purposefully made her uncomfortable—the whole situation was uncomfortable enough without either of them having to try. The worst was that she didn’t k
now what his intentions were. He’d mentioned nothing of divorce, but then he’d mentioned nothing of the future either. His only concern at the moment, it seemed, was to get them back to England. As for what would happen then, she was none the wiser. Surely, he couldn’t intend to place her at the Devon house again, to continue as before. They couldn’t continue as they had, too much had happened since then, surely.
Adele twisted the handkerchief she was holding as she looked out on the large ship that was to carry them back to Europe. It was an auxiliary steamer, which included both sailing masts and two large steam turrets. It was a very sleek ship, unlike any she’d seen before—a large vessel, with black smoke billowing from the chimneys as it was preparing to sail. Lysander urged her toward the gangway which conveyed them to an opening in the front of the ship. Adele could see goods and provisions being loaded onto the ship further down. There was also a second entrance further down the ship, utilized by persons of less means.
The interior was sumptuous and everything looked new. Every surface was dressed in glass, brass or lacquered mahogany, with rich oriental carpets covering all floors. A smartly uniformed man greeted them and showed them toward their cabins. Their trunks had been sent ahead and were apparently waiting for their arrival.
“Lord and Lady Warburton. I am Mr Manfred and I wish you welcome to the RMS Oceanic. We are very pleased to have you traveling with us on our grandest ship—the best sailing the oceans. Built for luxury travel, it has a first-class section with splendid walkways and a salon for your entertainment. Your cabins are just here and this is Hans,” he said when they came to a man dressed in a dark uniform, “who will take care of any needs you should have while in your cabin. You just have to ring the bell and he will attend you.”
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