by Eva Shepherd
Yes, it was time to put an end to her marriage.
She picked up a pen and pulled a sheet of paper from the desk drawer. Divorce was the only answer. The ensuing scandal would horrify her father and he quite possibly would never forgive her, but if she did not break completely with Oliver she would never move on. A clean break was essential if she was to put this marriage firmly behind her.
With new determination she dipped her pen in the ink bottle and, before she could debate the matter further she composed a straightforward letter to Oliver, informing him that she would be divorcing him, that their marriage had never been more than one of convenience and it had served its purpose. She also informed him she wanted nothing from him. Would make no claims on his estate, that she would enter into no further communication with him and would appreciate it if he did the same, and she would be consulting with a lawyer immediately.
When she had finished, she ran the blotter over the ink and read what she had written.
It was blunt, to the point, and that was all that was required.
That done, she picked up his letters, took them over to the empty fireplace, struck a match and watched them burn. She should have felt some satisfaction as the pages curled up, turned brown at the edges, then burst into flame, but she didn’t.
It was the end. The end of her marriage. The end of her time with Oliver. There was no denying how happy she had been when she was with him. But there was also no denying how much sorrow she had felt.
No, now that the blinkers were off her eyes and she could see him for who he truly was, she knew that if they remained married all she would feel from now onwards would be sorrow. And that was not something she could tolerate.
Rosie and Nellie had both argued that she should give Oliver a chance to explain. As much as she respected her friends’ opinions, she knew she wouldn’t do that. She could not trust herself. As soon as she saw him her resolve was certain to falter. One look at that handsome face would cause her to forget her pain, her humiliation, just so she could have him back in her life again.
She turned her back on the still-smouldering letters, pushed the bell for the footman and handed him the letter.
She had made the right decision. There was no going back now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The lawyer listened politely while Arabella detailed her reasons for wanting to divorce Oliver, then drew in a long, deep breath and stared at her from behind his large mahogany desk stacked with thick legal books and piles of paper.
‘I’m afraid, my dear, it’s not as simple as that. While your husband could divorce you for adultery, the law does not make the same provisions for the wife. If you’re to divorce your husband, then you’ll have to prove he’s not only committed adultery, but also subjected you to unbearable levels of cruelty.’
Arabella fought to hold back her tears. Surely spending your wedding night in your mistress’s bed constituted cruelty, but it seemed the law did not see things this way.
‘Another option is an annulment.’
She blinked to clear her eyes and sat up straighter. ‘Yes, let’s do that then.’ That way they could also hopefully avoid a scandal while still putting an end to this farce of a marriage.
‘Of course, you’d have to prove that the marriage was never consummated.’ He waited for Arabella to answer.
‘Oh, I see,’ he said, presumably reacting to the fierce blushing that erupted on Arabella’s cheeks. ‘And while no one would have trouble believing that Oliver Huntsbury had committed adultery, I doubt that any court would believe he had not consummated his marriage.’ He gave a small chuckle before his face resumed its serious, professional look.
‘Another option is you could return to your homeland. I believe in some States a divorce is much easier to procure than it is in England.’ He chuckled again. ‘I’ve even heard that some of them are making quite a business out of it. South Dakota is getting a reputation for people moving there to get a divorce they wouldn’t be able to get anywhere else and the hotels are doing a roaring trade.’
Once again his face resumed its serious countenance. ‘If you’re determined to divorce, then going back to America might be your best option. But really, my dear, I think you should think long and hard about getting a divorce. It rarely goes well for the woman. Consider what happened to Lady Mordaunt. She was sent to an asylum, the courts taking a dim view of women having relations with men other than their husband, particularly as she had done so in daylight hours. I believe the poor woman is still locked away and other women have been shunned by society, even when they’re the aggrieved party. Perhaps you should consider doing what so many others have done before you—live as if you’re divorced even though on paper you’re still married.’
Arabella pulled herself out of the leather chair and shook hands with the lawyer. He hadn’t been much help, but that wasn’t his fault, it was these unfair laws that made life so hard for women. But she would not give up. As she walked down the stairs and out on to the busy streets her determination increased with every step she took.
She would do anything that was required to end this marriage. If it meant she had to return to America to get her divorce, then that was exactly what she would do.
But she needed to put all that aside for now. She had a matinee performance to prepare for.
* * *
Returning to her dressing room, she went through her deep breathing routine to try to clear her mind and still her nerves. She had to put everything the lawyer had said out of her mind. She had to forget all about Oliver and get in character, something that was becoming harder and harder to do.
The continuing stress was making her nerves so bad that it was affecting her health. She wasn’t sleeping properly, was hardly eating and was constantly restless. No wonder she felt so unwell.
And she could not afford to be ill. Now that she was to be a fully independent woman, with no financial support from either a father or a husband, she would need to remain fit and strong if she was to earn her own income.
She continued with her breathing exercises, but they seemed to be having the opposite effect to the one intended. Instead of stilling her nerves, those pesky butterflies in her stomach were becoming more agitated. Her stomach clenched. She felt clammy and nausea swept through her.
This was the worst case of nerves she had ever experienced. She rose quickly from her seat, upsetting her make-up kit, rushed out of the dressing room and ran down the corridor to the bathroom.
Flora was waiting for her when she emerged, carrying a wash bowl and jug of warm water.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Arabella said, wiping her mouth. ‘I’m not usually this bad, but...you know...’
Flora smiled and handed her a flannel. While Arabella was washing her face Flora gently ran her hand up and down her spine.
‘Never mind, Arabella,’ she said in a conciliatory voice. ‘You’re not the first actress who has been with child while on stage and your costume is loose enough to hide your growing belly.’
Arabella stopped, then slowly lowered the flannel from the back of her neck. She stared at Flora and shook her head. ‘No, I’m not...it’s just... I’m just...’
Flora raised her eyebrows and tilted her head.
Could she be? She had put her mood swings, her fatigue and her tiredness down to the situation with Oliver. She had even decided her courses had stopped because she was so upset and worried about her plans to divorce him. And being sick, well, that was just nerves, wasn’t it?
She could not be pregnant, not now.
The flannel dropped to the floor as her hands shot to her face to cover her mouth. This was a disaster. Of course she was pregnant. Pregnant by a man she didn’t want to be with, a man she was going to divorce. A man she knew that, despite his faults, would insist on supporting her, would insist on being a father to his child.
She wa
nted to be free of him, but now she never would be.
* * *
It was worse than Oliver had expected. Not only had one of his father’s mistresses arrived unannounced at Somerfeld Manor with her child in tow, a child that bore an uncanny similarity to the late Duke, but she had also informed his mother about all the other illegitimate children the errant Duke had fathered.
His mother had been totally bereft. Her illusions about her husband had been well and truly shattered, and Oliver was at a loss as to how he could repair the damage.
All he could do was to stay with his mother, to comfort her, to try to remind her of all the good times they had had as a family, all the things about her husband she had loved.
And his mother’s crisis meant he could not leave her. He could not return to London and solve the crisis in his own marriage. He had continued to write to Arabella, to beg her to explain why she had left him, to let him know what he had done wrong and how he could repair any damage he had done.
But she had not replied. When a letter finally did arrive, its contents were most definitely not what he had expected.
Although he had been anxious to read the letter, he had forced himself to remain calm, to not snatch the letter off the footman’s tray and rip it open to get at the contents. Instead he had walked to his desk, sat down and, with a calm bearing he had not felt, opened the letter.
But when he had read the contents his feigned calmness had evaporated. He had screwed up the letter, thrown it across the room, had paced up and down, desperately trying to release the explosive energy coursing through his body. In his mind he had argued with her, told her how wrong she was, how she should give him a second chance, until he had finally calmed down and realised that she was right.
It had only ever been a marriage of convenience, to get her out of a difficult situation and to save Lady Bufford’s reputation, in danger of being destroyed by her bellicose husband.
And hadn’t he always told himself that Arabella deserved someone better than him? Well, with their marriage over she had a chance to find that someone.
He had unscrewed the letter and read it again, then written to his own lawyer informing him of the planned divorce and telling him that he would accept whatever blame Arabella’s lawyer wanted to throw at him.
He had also urged his lawyer to do everything he could to keep the divorce out of the papers, to protect Arabella’s reputation and to make the guilt solely his own, no matter what the cost. He could withstand any scandal a divorce might bring—it wasn’t as if he had a good reputation to tarnish. His reputation had lost any lustre it might have had many years ago and society tended to be forgiving of a man, particularly a duke, no matter how he transgressed.
His short-term marriage was to come to an end. He should be grateful to his wife for granting him his freedom, but it was not a sense of gratitude and freedom that filled Oliver’s mind as the days passed by. Instead the world seemed to have turned a dull shade of grey.
But there was one ray of hope in an otherwise desolate landscape. During the weeks he had spent at Somerfeld Manor his mother had slowly started to get over the shock of knowing her husband wasn’t the man she thought he was. He wouldn’t tell her of the forthcoming divorce. She did not need to hear anything that might cause her to suffer a setback. But he knew he would have to eventually. She had asked repeatedly about Arabella and told him how much she was looking forward to seeing her delightful daughter-in-law again. All he could tell her was that Arabella was very busy with the play so was unable to get away—not entirely a lie.
As his mother’s strength came back, she had even started to ask questions about the children her husband had fathered. She wanted to know their names, where they lived, what provisions had been made for them and what sort of people they were.
It seemed his mother had more inner strength than he had ever given her credit for.
She also approved of the fact that Oliver was ensuring they were all well looked after and eventually suggested that perhaps they could be invited to the Somerfeld estate, which was their family home after all.
Once this idea had entered her head, she became quite invigorated by the prospect of filling the Somerfeld estate with the sound of children’s voices. It was obvious his mother was well on the way to recovery.
He wished he could say the same about himself. His lawyer had received no correspondence about the divorce, so all Oliver could do was wait. In the meantime he had decided to keep himself secreted away at his estate. During the day he took long walks with his mother, around the estate, and in the evenings, instead of partying, he could be found seated in his study, reading through the books that had not been touched for many years. He had no interest in seeing anyone else, no interest in entertaining or being entertained. It would be hard to believe if it wasn’t actually happening, but the Duke of Somerfeld was becoming a hermit.
He doubted if he would leave the estate again until he had to go to London for the divorce. He just wished he was able to protect Arabella from any adverse publicity. His lawyer had informed him he would be unable to keep it a secret and there would be nothing he could do once it went to court and was in the public domain.
Oliver knew the newspapers would eat up such scandal, knowing that coverage of a divorce between a duke and an American actress would sell scores of newspapers and keep the readership entertained for many weeks. But as long as he kept a low profile, he would do nothing to add to the scandal and the upset that it might cause Arabella.
* * *
Returning from another long walk, he saw a carriage parked in front of the house. No one had been invited and his heart sank as he approached and saw Lord Bufford’s crest on the carriage door.
It was the last thing he wanted right now, to deal with that buffoon.
Entering the house, the footman told him that Lady Bufford had arrived and had been seated in the blue drawing room.
Oliver was unsure whether that was better or worse news. Violet’s company was also something he could do without right now.
As soon as he entered, she stood up and rushed towards him. ‘You cannot, will not, involve me in this divorce,’ she said in a garbled rush. ‘There’s already gossip about what your wife plans to do and I cannot get caught up in such a scandal. My husband would disown me. I’d be ruined. You cannot do this to me, Oliver. I beseech you, please, keep my name out of this.’
Oliver took her arm and gently led her to the nearest chair. ‘My divorce has nothing to do with you, Violet. You won’t be involved. Why would you even think that you might be?’
She sat down, but her hands continued to clasp and unclasp in an agitated manner. ‘Well, I was your lover once, or have you forgotten?’
Oliver took a seat opposite her. ‘That was before I was married, adultery has to occur after the marriage. You have nothing to worry about, Violet. Your name won’t be mentioned.’
She stood again and paced the room. ‘Well, you say that, but can you be so sure your wife won’t say that you committed adultery with me?’
Oliver walked over to the mantelpiece. She was being ridiculous. She would not be involved in his divorce, but it was also obvious she needed reassurance. ‘Arabella is not like that. And in the unlikely event that her lawyer did try to say we were having an affair, which I’m sure he won’t, he would need to produce proof and no such proof exists.’
She turned and faced him, her hands clenched, her lips pinched. ‘Well, your wife could say that I told her we were having an affair.’ Her clenched hands tightened their grip and she resumed pacing. ‘And then there’s that stupid powder-room attendant. She heard it all. They could call her as a witness. I’d be ruined.’ She sank down into a chair and gripped the sides of her head. ‘If this was all made public, my husband would divorce me. I’d have nothing. I’d be shunned by society. You have to make sure she doesn’t say anything.’
; ‘What are you saying?’ Oliver asked, his teeth clenched together. ‘What did you say to Arabella? What did the attendant hear?’
‘What?’ Looking up at him, she saw his expression and gave a small laugh. ‘Oh, don’t look at me like that. It was just a bit of fun. On the night you were all celebrating at the Savoy. She was looking so smug, and you and her were so cosy, I decided to play a little trick on her. It was all a bit of foolishness at the time, but it’s come back to bite me and I have to put it right. You have to put it right. I can’t be dragged through the divorce courts.’
‘What...did...you...say...to... Arabella?’ Oliver asked, slowly enunciating each word.
‘Oh, I told her that on your wedding night after you’d deflowered her you came to my bed. I saw her walking in the garden early in the morning after your wedding night and I heard through the servants that you and she had awoken in separate beds, so I knew something had gone wrong and I thought I’d wipe that smug look off her face. But please, Oliver, promise me that nothing that I said to her will come out in court.’
Without answering, Oliver left the room, jumped into Lady Bufford’s carriage and ordered the driver to take him to the train station.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Oliver wasted no time. The moment the train pulled into the station, he leapt out, ran down the platform to the waiting cabs and ordered the driver to take him straight to the Limelight Theatre. He knew there was no need to hurry. Arabella would still be on stage and he wouldn’t be able to speak to her until after her performance, but still he urged the driver to make haste. His heart was pumping so hard and his body was coiled tight like a spring. He was incapable of keeping still, incapable of slowing down. It was as if by constant motion he could speed up time.
He arrived at the Limelight Theatre and rushed down the alleyway and through the backstage entrance. Then he was forced to wait. He had no choice. But he was finding it impossible to stay still. For what felt like an interminable amount of time he paced backwards and forward, and repeatedly looked at his fob watch, the hands of which seemed to be moving unnaturally slowly.
