An Absent Wife

by Oster, Camille

  To Adele’s relief, Lysander had booked them separate cabins and hers was as fine as any hotel room she’d ever seen. His means stretched further than Samson Ellingwood’s could.

  Pulling off her gloves as the man left her cabin to see to Lysander, she sat down heavily on the bed, feeling her energy drain from her. It had all just become real; she was heading back to the life she had left behind, with the man she had left behind. Or else she was heading back for divorce and the uncertainty and potential poverty that came with it. A divorce would mean the end of her existence in respectable society, but that was a decision she’d already made when she took up with Mr Ellingwood.

  She’d thought she’d made her escape, but here she was again—a prisoner in this marriage. Biting the nail of her thumb, she wished she could behave childishly, cry and scream—throw a tantrum to show how displeased she was. But she wasn’t a child; she was a married woman, and handling setbacks with grace was part of that responsibility.

  She rested for a while, until there was a discreet knock at the door adjoining what she assumed was Lysander’s cabin. She knew it was sometimes a feature that was provided to married couples; although she couldn’t see her husband utilizing it. It would be a substantial change in their relationship. Although, his reaction when he saw her had been unlike any reaction she’d ever received from him. But she knew it was an act of anger rather than ardor.

  “Will you accompany me to the salon for supper?” Lysander asked when she opened the door, his face impassive. “We will be going in half an hour.”

  Adele felt his eyes on her, they were again neither kind nor hateful—they were just indifferent. Knowing it was a request more than a question, she nodded. Perversely, she wasn’t entirely sure which one she preferred, indifference or hatred. They hadn’t discussed what had happened—they’d discussed nothing at all. But apparently, he would be associating with her publicly.

  She dressed in her yellow gown, which was the only thing she had that was fine enough for dining in a salon. She’d left all her other worthy dresses back in India as she’d departed for a new life, one she’d assumed wouldn’t include fine gowns.

  Looking herself over in the mirror, she noted that she looked drawn; although the sun of Australia hid the pallor she would normally have in England. She was still disbelieving at the turn of events, but perhaps this was as it should be and it was her mad escape that had been the unbelievable part.

  Lysander was waiting outside when she stepped out of her cabin, closing the door behind her. She’d placed the key in her purse and tentatively took his arm. Touching him felt strange. He’d never seemed quite real to her, but here he was, warm flesh and blood.

  They dined at the large table headed by the Captain—a Captain Harrow, a retired Naval man with a manicured white beard and shrewd eyes. The salon had a large glass dome above their heads, which showed the stars above, and the walls were covered with silk and wood. It was a beautiful room, no expense had been spared in furnishing the ship. The other passengers were a mixed lot, mostly wealthy Australians and some Government officials—people they would be dining with for months.

  An elderly woman sat to Adele’s left.

  “Such a lovely couple,” the woman said in a voice that had a slight tremor. “Are you on your honeymoon?”

  “No, we have been married for some time.” The idea that anyone would see them as a lovely couple was strange—they were anything but. It seemed the rift between them wasn’t visible to everyone, while Adele would have thought it was as obvious a sign floating above their heads.

  Turning back to her right, she surveyed the man next to her—her husband. He was being spoken to by a man he didn’t approve of, looking arrogant and distant. He was handsome; he always had been and his maturation had not diminished his good looks. It is how she was used to seeing him—arrogant and distant, in the portraits that covered the walls in the Devon house.

  When there, she would stop and look at him whenever she walked past the main hall—the large portrait of him on the left wall. She had stood in front of that portrait countless times. There were another two of him, one as a toddler, which she could never really align in her mind with him, and still another from when he was around sixteen and not yet a man. That portrait in the main hall was more linked to the idea of her husband than the man sitting next to her. She was familiar with all its lines and shadows, the fall of his clothes and the distant look in his eyes. The living man next to her was much more difficult to comprehend.

  The next morning, Adele sat reading on the shaded side of the ship in a white rattan chair with a cushion to soften the seat. A tea service had been offered and accepted.

  Luckily, her absorption into her book seemed to signal to other passengers that her privacy was preferred on this occasion. Sipping the tea, she tried to read, but her jumble of emotions was stopping her from focusing. She’d taken the direction that if she ignored her emotions and acted calm, her insides would eventually follow suit.

  “There you are,” she heard the voice of the man who was her husband. “I wondered where you were.”

  Adele considered if she was supposed to have told him of her planned activities for the day. “Naturally I am not far away. It is unlikely that I would have jumped the rail to make my escape.” They were still traveling along the Australian coastline, but she wasn’t quite that daring.

  He looked uncomfortable for a moment before sitting down, pulling up the material of his light green traveling suit. They had never traveled together before; she wasn’t entirely sure he liked traveling. Having him there was uncomfortable; she didn’t know what to say to him. She knew her own crimes as did he. But he had sought her out and she was sure it wasn’t to be sociable.

  “I wanted to discuss what happened,” he started, staring out into the ocean, squinting with the light of the harsh Australian sun. He was clearly not made for this climate. She had struggled with it herself, but had accepted it as her new home. Distracting herself by her thoughts, she knew she wasn’t ready for the conversation he was embarking on; it wasn’t one she wanted to have. “I am sorry for how I behaved,” he said after clearing his throat, looking down at his brown leather shoes. She didn’t know where he got his shoes, things a wife should know. She knew none of these things about him. He looked extremely uncomfortable. “I wanted to apologize for what I did. I have no excuse for it and I can’t quite understand where that behavior came from.”

  Embarrassment crept up her face as she took in his words and their meaning. She looked away; she didn’t want to have this discussion or to consider the intentions behind what he did.

  “I can promise such will never happen again.”

  She wasn’t sure she could accept his promise. It was evident that she could push him to the point of grave anger, which she hadn’t known was possible. The only emotions she had ever observed in him were annoyance and disapproval.

  “I accept your apology,” she said stiffly. “We will never speak of it again.” Along with his promise, she wasn’t sure she did accept his apology either. While he had imposed on her, he was within his right to do so. She appreciated his apology, but it couldn’t go far to mend the rift between them, not when the greater grievance had been their marriage and their whole association. The incident for which he was apologizing for was a fleeting moment that, in accordance to his own estimation, was out of character.

  He nodded and rose. “I will see you at lunch. You, of course, have the run of the ship for your diversion.”

  It was an attempt at generosity and she accepted it as such despite its awkwardness. He could, after all, lock her in her cabin and forbid her to speak to anyone. He was fully in his rights to do so and it was her duty to comply.

  Chapter 8

  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 ta
ke 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 he’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 clearing 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; he 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 momentarily 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.