Harry had only been a peripheral friend at the time, but he was the only one who’d stuck by him and they had become true friends since. Loyalty turned out to be a most admirable quality, Lysander had learnt, and Harry had it no matter what happened.
Lysander had become content with his life, but he sometimes wondered what his life would be like if he’d married Cassandra, particularly if his father had seen Cassandra as a suitable bride, which she was—but his father had been distracted by their diminishing wealth. Lysander was not the only person by far to marry into wealthy families of lower classes; it was a common occurrence, but there was an ongoing stigma attached.
None of this was technically Adele’s fault, but he had been too angry at the time to see that, and perhaps too young. He’d blamed her for all of it. He’d never warmed to her. The results of their joining stared him in the face even as the fortunes of his former friends suffered, while his family remained strong and wealthy due to the fresh infusion of funds that the Fowler family had afforded them. Wealth wasn’t everything; he often tried to convince himself that it was of upmost importance, but in his heart knew it wasn’t. Maybe that was something she discovered in her Lieutenant. He felt a flash of anger, but neither fed it nor analysed it.
Chapter 9
Adele stayed in her cabin during the mornings, where tea, eggs and bread were brought to her. She'd join Lysander at lunch, when they would dine in the salon, then again at supper time. They spent no time together otherwise. Late mornings, she would find her table and chair on the shaded side of the ship and read, while in the afternoons she rested. Her life in Adelaide required much more activity; managing the children, then making her way home to eat supper with the girls in her boarding house.
But the weeks seemed to flow by, even though she did very little during the days. Having a routine helped, she knew. If nothing else, there was routine to adhere to.
It took some adjustment to consider herself Lady Warburton again, let alone Lysander's wife. In truth, she'd never spent this much time with him throughout their marriage. Still, she felt less married than she had before. There was a vast amount of things that had happened to her since she'd considered herself his wife.
He'd apologized to her, which was something he'd never done before—for anything. She'd spent a great deal of time wondering what had gone through his mind when he'd found her. He'd trespassed on her person and she wondered if he hated her. His actions seemed to indicate that he did, but then he had apologized. He hadn't shown much of any emotion since, not even the distaste and dismissal she was presented with before she'd left him.
"There you are, my dear," Mrs Callisfore said one late morning as she sat on the promenade and read. Mrs Callisfore placed her bulk down heavily in the chair, while placing her cane to lean against her knee. "My knees fare better in the heat, but they are still trying. If there is one thing I could recommend, it is to never grow old."
"I wish I could promise you that, Mrs Callisfore, but I'm afraid I haven't found the means to avert it," Adele said kindly.
"I suppose it's better than being dead," the woman said and rested her hand on the edge of the table. "Where is that handsome husband of yours?"
Adele wasn't entirely sure. "I believe he is reading in the smoking room."
"Ah, the gentleman's retreat. I wanted to invite him, both of you, to a reading tomorrow night. Mrs Fullfer is reading her translation of ancient Persian poetry tomorrow night. Strange woman. What manner of woman is fluent in ancient Persian? I'll never understand. But I thought your husband might find it interesting."
"I'm sure he will," Adele said with a measured smile. She wasn't entirely sure if her husband would be interested in ancient Persian poetry or not, but she knew he liked to do things in the evenings. She would retreat to her cabin after supper and he would sometimes attend various activities on the ship. Listening through the walls as she lay in bed, she’d hear him return in the evenings.
"A fine man, your husband. You must be a lucky creature to be the wife of such a man—and titled, too."
Adele smiled again, still astounded that people couldn’t see the dire and unenviable state of their marriage. Looking down, she twisted a handkerchief in her lap. She wasn't sure what this woman would think of her husband if she knew that the only time he touched her was when he forced himself on her in a state of rage after finding her hiding on the other side of the world. She would never mention it; it wasn't a true account of his character. It was known that there were violent and unreasonable husbands from which women had to flee. Lysander wasn't one of those. The only time she'd seen any temper on him at all was when he'd first found her in Adelaide. Instead she smiled. "I will remember to tell him."
Mrs Callisfore nodded her appreciation and groaned as she rose from the chair. "This is a nice spot," she said. "I will join you in a moment of quiet reading one day, but today I've been invited to tea with that woman from Dover." Adele nodded her understanding and Mrs Callisfore slowly moved away, leaning heavily on her walking cane.
Placing a marker in her book, Adele decided to deliver the message she'd been commissioned with before it slipped her mind. Lysander was probably away from his cabin and it would be a good time to leave him a note.
Arriving back in her own cabin, she placed her things on a table, before testing the handle of his door and it opened without effort. His room was similar in size to hers, but it had a more masculine decor. These cabins were obviously built for a married couple, with one decorated for a female and the other for a man. His furniture was heavier and darker, giving the room a very different feel from her own.
His scent lingered in the room. This was his domain. Everything was neatly placed. He'd always seemed to hold a preference for neatness. She'd kept the Devon house in the same neat order—not that he saw it or her efforts the vast majority of time.
She felt uncomfortable being in his room—his space—like she was intruding. Stepping over to the bed, she saw a book on the side bed. He must be reading it in the evenings as he took to bed. Reading the gold leaf printed title down the spine, she saw it was a book on artic exploration in the far Northern Russia. Not exactly a book she'd expected to see, but then she didn't really know what she'd expected. It only went to show how little she knew him, and knowing him was something she'd strived for once upon a time.
Adele entered the room he still occupied when in residence. It was the same room he'd used all his life. It still had some things from his childhood—a sailboat that he must have used on the lake. The boat was beautifully crafted with replica rigging and gear. She'd seen it a hundred times and it was a shame that there wasn't a child to be delighted with it. She'd never seen Lysander bring it out, so she wondered why he kept it.
Perhaps he kept it for his own son, but that couldn't be on his mind as he never touched her in a way that would result in a child. He never touched her at all. The only time he'd touched her since their wedding night was when he assisted her out of a carriage, which he did strictly out of duty. He was required to assist any female out of a carriage, known or unknown—even his wife.
Walking into his bedroom, her steps echoed on the floorboards until she reached carpet. She noticed a hint of mustiness and told herself that she needed to remind the housekeeper to air the Master's room.
His effects were neatly displayed in a row. There was a comb, a nail brush and a razor hidden in an ivory case. She ran her fingers over the masculine items, feeling the textures of the cold metal, swine hair and smooth tortoise-shell under her fingers.
This room smelled of him—the merest hint, but she knew the smell well. She'd been in this room more times than she could count; to check everything was in order, but also, this was where she felt his presence. It was different from any other room in the house. It had secrets and meaning, and she was still trying to unravel them.
She knew each book in this room and she'd even read some of them. She had no idea when he'd read them or what his interests had been a
t the time. He probably wasn't aware they were here anymore, a reflection of some past interest of his, put aside and forgotten.
"What are you doing here?" His voice broke through her reminiscing. Reacting with a start, she turned to face him. She hadn't heard him enter. He placed his hat on one of the side tables.
"I am here to leave you a note, but since you are here: Mrs Callisfore wishes to invite you to a reading of ancient Persian poetry being presented by Mrs Fullfer." Her voice was strong and crisp, and she congratulated herself for not blushing and cowering at being caught in his cabin. She still had trouble holding his eyes, feeling a strong urge to look away from his blue piercing eyes.
"The writing desk is over here," he said pointing to the other side of the room. She saw suspicion in his eyes. She was effectively on the wrong side of the cabin, where she wouldn't be if her intention was to write a note. Which was her intention! She'd just gotten distracted.
"It is interesting to note that they've planned different decor for the male and female passengers." It was the only excuse she could think of. It sounded weak, but there was nothing else she could say.
Leaning back on the side table, he crossed his arms and considered her. "Yes, they have been particular in their detail."
Silence prevailed, stretching uncomfortably. It was one of the few times they were alone. Their typical association was in the salon or on the way there.
"What are your plans when we return?" she finally asked. The thought had plagued her and she didn't often get moments in private in which to ask.
Looking down, he crossed his ankles as well and looked out the porthole. "Did Mrs Callisfore invite me or did she invite us both?"
"Technically the invitation was for the both of us," she admitted. She wanted to lie, but she didn't feel comfortable lying to him, which was paradoxical considering she had conducted such a grave ruse about her own demise.
"Then we shall both attend."
Looking down at the floor, she nodded. She didn't usually attend any evening activities. She wasn't entirely sure why he wanted her to join him. It didn't go unnoticed that he didn't answer her question. She wondered if he was trying to punish her by keeping her fate unknown to her. She wasn't entirely sure it mattered; she had no power in this situation, having to comply with whatever he wanted. It was her duty; what she'd swore to do when she'd given her vows, and it was the law for that matter. She was his to do with as he pleased and if he wished to punish her by keeping her ignorant of his intentions, then it was his choice. She didn't even have a moral right to wish better treatment from him.
"As you wish," she said and retreated back to the connecting door between their cabins. Closing the door behind her, she leant on it and closed her eyes. She wasn't sure if she would be more comfortable if he was angry with her, but they were back to nothingness. But then perhaps he just hid his anger well.
He wanted her to accompany him to the poetry reading. He was still presenting her as his wife; as a united couple with no indication of their true state. Perhaps he was trying to show her the things he would deprive her of when they returned. She didn't know what she preferred, but she suspected it would be uncomfortable whichever way he chose to handle this.
Chapter 10
Waiting for her to emerge from her cabin, he noticed the gentle movement and remembered that he was on a ship. It was so stable most of the time, he’d forgotten entirely. Impatience nipped at his heels as he waited, but he wouldn’t rush her. The woman’s toilette was a thing of mystery—something for men to be unaware of.
He’d learnt her routine now, and he knew where she was most of the time, ensuring he went out of his way to avoid her. He wasn’t afraid of a confrontation as such, and he didn’t even think she’d make a scene—unlike Evie, who would be in full dramatics. Evie liked dramatics; she was animated and full of life, and it had been what had drawn him to her. But she could also be trying, because sometimes he got the feeling that it was more about the dramatics for Evie than the purpose for them. It grew tiring. He went long stretches without seeing her, which only increased the probability and nature of the dramatics—putting him off seeing her for even longer stretches. But eventually his needs outweighed the unpleasantness. She’d been his mistress for three years now, but he’d started thinking about the idea of letting her go and finding another—a task he’d never gotten around to. He didn’t understand the men who changed their mistresses each month—just the sheer unpleasantness involved put him off.
Finally, Adele emerged from her room, wearing the yellow gown he’d seen quite a few times now. “Have you nothing else to wear?”
“No, I don’t.” She looked at him and he wondered if he saw defiance there. It wasn’t blatant, but he suspected he saw flashes of it. “My wardrobe was minimized with other purposes in mind.”
Lysander frowned. It was unfortunate—keeping one’s wife in one gown was untenable for a man in his position, but then there was nothing for it. He couldn’t very well, have a new wardrobe made in the middle of the ocean. Or maybe he could; he should enquire, he told himself. Money did tend to solve any problem.
Holding out his arm, she took it as they started walking toward the salon. She kept her hair simple, perhaps too simple for the fashion, but it did suit her. It had a certain elegance to it—elegance he’d never noticed in her before.
Perhaps the trying nature of his voyage and the inherent dramatics of finding his wife halfway across the globe, was having a strange effect on him. All of a sudden, he was finding his demure and tedious wife elegant.
They were directed to the room where the poetry reading was being held. Mrs Fullfer was standing at the front, graciously awaiting her start. Smiling broadly with her head held high, she looking slightly nervous—adoring being the center of attention.
With her hand, Mrs Callisfore patted the two spare seats next to her, indicating they should join her. Such a direct invitation couldn’t be ignored and Adele walked into the row ahead of Lysander, to take the seat next to the elderly woman.
“You look lovely this evening,” Mrs Callisfore said and they exchanged pleasantries. “It seems Mrs Fullfer is about to have the moment she has been preparing for. She lives in Brighton with her brother, did you know? Says the sea is soothing for her artistic temperament. There might be something to it. Perhaps some of our institutions should be moved to the seaside.”
Lysander diverted his eyes elsewhere and ignored the statement. Mrs Callisfore could be cantankerous at times, as seemed to be the assumed right of ladies of her years in relation to women of similarly advanced age.
He watched as people entered the room. There was the American couple, the Australian politician and his wife, the steam-boiler merchant and lastly the professor from New York. He knew all the persons traveling with them now—more than he’d ever wanted to, but it seemed to be the nature of these things. The distances between classes and peoples were thin or non-existent. He didn’t truly mind; he wasn’t a complete snob, but he also knew that the camaraderie that was felt in circumstances like this didn’t last once they’d reached port.
He noted that Adele’s eyes followed the American professor, in his brown suit—one that offended Lysander in both its inelegance and inappropriateness for the occasion. But some Americans, particularly the men, didn’t seem to prescribe or understand the requirements for dress for certain occasions. The disturbing idea of what Adele saw in the American man entered his mind. He’d instantly assumed that she would see the same thing as him, but then she’d run off with a lowly lieutenant, cavorting across half the world. Perhaps it wasn’t the inappropriate attire she saw, but the strong jawline, the sprinkling if gray hair at his temples and the beaming smile as he took his seat and greeted his companion.
Lysander watched his wife; saw where her gaze traveled. For all he knew, she could be looking for her next conquest. His mind traveled back to the room where she and her companion had lived in India, the large bed, where they’d slept. Likely where s
he’d given herself wantonly.
Looking down at his lap, he felt anger flare in him, at the inappropriateness of it all. Perhaps there were inappropriate thoughts in her when she looked at men like the American professor. He would never call it jealousy, but something raged in him at the thought. Beneath her prim and demure mask, there might well be someone manipulative and grasping.
“Have you ever traveled to Egypt?” Mrs Callisfore asked. He knew the question was directed to him, but he didn’t feel calm enough to answer at the moment. Keeping his face turned in the other direction, he forced himself to be calm, even if he didn’t really want to.
“No, but I had an uncle who went a few years back, and he adored it,” Adele interceded, distracting and directing attention away from his rudeness. Lysander snapped his eyes back to her and watched as she conveyed her uncle’s anecdotes. Now she was acting the appropriate and conscientious wife. She couldn’t be both saint and harlot, but she was acting both.
She’d wanted to know what he was going to do with her when they returned. He hadn’t answered. He didn’t know the answer. It was a question he’d been ignoring.
Mrs Fullfer started reading, pronunciating each word in a melodramatically somber voice. She would intermittently speed up and slow down for dramatic effect, her voice too loud and disturbing to sleep through, Lysander determined, but he closed his eyes and cursed himself for agreeing to come to this evening. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had, maybe because Adele had tried to gloss over the fact that they’d been invited as a couple.
Intermission finally came around.
“I am parched,” Mrs Callisfore said. “Be a darling, my lord, and fetch us some glasses of punch.” It was an order and he had to comply, being at the mercy of matrons—irrespective of his position, he took orders from the matrons of society. Mrs Callisfore would likely order the Pope around if he were present. Lysander didn’t strictly mind, but it did sometimes amuse him how the fairer sex really had men under their thumbs, and if anyone thought otherwise, they were fools.
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