Authors: Camille Oster
After a fitful sleep, Adele woke. The thoughts of the previous night returned to her immediately as she lay in bed. The kiss—it haunted her. Why had he done it? It wasn’t his right to take it. Actually the whole idea around what his rights were just hurt her head to think about. It seemed ridiculous to say that a man wasn’t allowed to kiss his wife, but under the circumstances, due to their distance and separation, he shouldn’t have done it.
He’d unlocked the want she’d carried
for him for so long. She’d thought she’d managed to get rid of it, but it had flared to life and he had given of himself. Her fingers still tingled with the touch. Closing her fist, she tried to make the lingering sensations go away, but they refused to budge, along with all the after-effects on all her other senses—taste, touch, smell and sound. He intruded on all of them.
She decided that she needed to go for a brisk walk. The coolness of the spring morning would wipe away these ghosts. After having
Kathleen help her dress, she left the house, with her bonnet firmly in place and a parasol in case it rained, or the sun shone, or some ruffian became rude. She just felt like she needed something in her hand.
She’d walked much further than she’d intended, marching across the vast green space, almost catching her skirt between her legs a few times in her relentless pace. It was too early for most, certainly for people there with the aim of being seen. Finally she sat down on a bench to let her heart slow. The bench was covered with dew, but she didn’t care.
The images and sensations she’d run from returned immediately and she groaned with dismay. She knew it; she’d fallen right back into the trap that had held her for so long. She had to be harder than this. He was going to divorce her and she should be looking forward to the freedom and the idea that she wasn’t beholden to anyone—someone who took with
no thought to the consequences.
Adele had walked so far, she was absolutely exhausted when she returned, and famished. She ordered her breakfast brought to her room, needing the comfort of her inner sanctum. The house was quiet and she assumed that Lysander had gone out to do whatever it was he did during the days.
“The Master has left a note for you,” Lysander’s manservant said as she moved toward the stairs. “I asked Kathleen to place it on your dresser.”
“Oh, thank you,” Adele said, turning up the stairs. She had no idea what this note would say. Perhaps he would apologize for the previous evening—for engaging her emotions and desires when he shouldn’t have. But it wouldn’t; he’d have no idea what he’d done or what it had cost her.
Please accompany me to the opera this evening if you should be so of mind.
Your Servant, Lysander
Adele read the note over and over, like she used to do to dissect every possible intention he could have put in there. He was asking and not demanding, which was a change. Perhaps the previous night had highlighted the need for reason in him as well. She turned the note over to see if anything was written on the backside. Her name was written on one side of the folded note, written in his beautiful script with a large flowing ‘A’. She scrunched the note up and placed it back on the table.
The opera. She’d never been to the opera—a place that required a husband’s accompaniment. There was something very attractive about the idea that her husband was taking her somewhere only he could, like she was achieving a status that had previously been denied her. But she couldn’t think that way—he was letting himself be seen in public with her for the sake of their child. Her hand traveled to her stomach; its flatness taunting her hope.
She couldn’t deny that she was curious about the opera. It was both mature and a little bit risqué.
She did want to experience it—should be grateful as her future as a divorced woman lay in a small cottage somewhere unseen.
When Lysander returned a few hours later. Adele had taken to her room, he was informed. Striding upstairs, he gently knocked on the door. The idea of attending the opera had come to him in the morning. He wasn’t normally a fan of the over-dramatic, but it had suited his mood that morning.
“And have you decided to accompany me this evening?” he asked, almost a little teasingly. He knew she craved new experiences and this would please her.
“I am afraid I do not really have anything appropriate in my wardrobe,” she replied, looking sorry and disappointed. At some point, he’d grown to despise that look, having had it directed at him a few times during their travels. “My wardrobe is mostly suited for church fetes.”
“Ah,” he said. “Although I do suppose it is not an insurmountable barrier. We could potentially find something
among the more ready-to-wear stores. Perhaps not the most distinguished of dresses, but I am sure we can find something that will do for the evening. Tomorrow you can call the dressmaker and have a proper one ordered.”
“I’m not sure...” she started, but stopped and shook her head slightly. “I don’t know how long it will take to find a dress.”
“Surely it shouldn’t prove that hard. Come,” he said holding out his arm. He hadn’t intended on taking her shopping today, but when the idea presented itself it didn’t seem like a distasteful one. Spending the day with her reminded him of Venice. He ordered the carriage to be brought out for them and they waited a few moments in the vestibule in silence. Adele looked flushed and lovely. Her walk had made her cheeks rosy, and her lips full—perhaps that wasn’t the walk. Her trim waist, and her hips were buried under yards of silk. He felt a strong urge to drag her upstairs, back to bed, where he’d discovered her nature the previous night. His exhaled slowly, letting his breath expel some of the thoughts that were nipping at his mind.
He’d been angry this morning, furious in fact—the ghost of Samson
Ellingwood had taunted him again, having coaxed the passion in her. He’d spent months on end ensconced in her bed and in her body, and he, her husband, was only there on reprieve for the sake of filling her belly with child. They were childish thoughts, he knew, but he couldn’t help feeling them. He knew at the core, it was his fault, but he still didn’t have to like it, any of it. But it was all too late now, the die had been cast and the consequences were clear. The time for choices was past.
He moved to the door as he heard the carriage pulling in. “Come.” he said as he walked down the stairs and ordered the carriage toward
Oxford Street.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been to
Oxford Street,” she said once the carriage was in motion. “I used to go quite a bit when I was younger, perusing the store fronts.”
“Admittedly, I go very rarely.”
“I suppose it is not a favorite activity of yours?”
“Decidedly.”
“I can do this on my own,” she said and his eyes left the scenery passing by to find hers. She seemed to be considering him.
“I am sure I can manage for a day. No doubt it will be unbearable, but I will muster through.” He was jesting and she seemed to take it as such. He watched as she turned her gaze away.
It didn’t take them long to arrive along Oxford street, which was busy with shoppers. There were women of every age, and men of a certain age—the young ones who seemed to spend an inordinate amount of their concern on their appearance.
They f
ound a store that offered ready-to-wear dresses. The store itself was warm and sumptuous in the way the French preferred. There was finery of all sorts. He felt like he was intruding on a boudoir, a forbidden place filled with lace and silks, dripping in womanliness.
Adele spoke to the
proprietess, an older French woman who would have been a great beauty in her day. The woman seemed to know exactly which dresses would suit the occasion and urged Adele to follow her along to the display of dresses. Lysander sat down on the red velvet sofa next to the dressing pedestal and the large gilt mirror.
Adele walked back toward him. “She says the fashion runs to dark, heavy fabrics.”
“I doubt anyone would know the fashion better than she.”
“She is getting a dress,” Adele said, looking slightly uncomfortable. The woman returned with a dark bundle on her arm and waved Adele over to the curtained dressing
area, where she disappeared into the hidden places only women went. Lysander looked around the store and out to the street. This dress would be dear, but he didn’t begrudge her—feeling slightly ashamed that his wife didn’t have the appropriate dress for such entertainment.
He wondered what entertainment Lieutenant
Ellingwood took her to and if he provided her with the dresses she needed. Perhaps they spent all of their time in bed. A mere lieutenant wouldn’t have the means to provide her with the entertainment and wardrobe that he did. He couldn’t help competing with this man, for which he had the compelling and unfair advantage of still being alive.
The heavy curtain drew aside and Adele emerged, wearing a dress made of dark velvet. Her skin lo
oked creamy pale in contrast and his breath drew as she emerged. She looked lovely as she took her place on the pedestal and women surrounded her, adjusting the dress to suit. The dress had short sleeves and her bare arms rested at her sides as she let the women do their work. The intention of the dress was that she wear long gloves with it, covering up her arms.
“It pleases, yes?” the
proprietess asked him. She was justifiably smug in her presentation and creation. He nodded slowly, not distracting himself for long from his wife’s form, feeling himself tightening. It was just a dress, but the effect of it was stunning—the dark color which countervened the prevailing brighter daytime colors in mode at the moment. The neckline at her back was lower, subtlety revealing pale skin on which a wisp of escaped hair lay, teasing.
“It will do,” he said. “Will it be ready for this evening?” The woman made a wincing noise, which he knew was part of the negotiat
ion process. Adele was measured, pinned and outlined while he finished the negotiation for the dress, for which the French woman drove a hard bargain, because they both knew he wasn’t leaving without purchasing the dress.
He waited while Adele was taken
to the back of the store to dress again, watching out the window where the weather was darkening.
“I wasn’t
aware a ready-to-wear dress would be of such quality, but it is a lovely dress. Thank you,” she said and he turned to her.
“You are welcome.”
“The dress needs some gloves,” she said and moved toward a display.
“Yes,” he
agreed following her to stand by her, to survey the selection. She picked up a set of long, dark silk gloves.
“Do you think anyone will notice that these are not an exact
match? A lighter green would also go well.”
“Or these,” he said picking up the gloves that were a similar colour to her skin.
“You think these are better?”
“They are tempting.”
“Tempting?”
“The
color of skin, but not skin. A representation of the skin underneath, of the hidden—showing what is there, but impossible to touch.” His thumb stroked along the silk of the gloves in his hand. “A bit of cruelty.”
“We are not cruel,” she sa
id and reached for the gloves with her already gloved hand hiding her skin away, forbidding accidental touch.
“Aren’t you?” He didn’t
relent his grip on the gloves as she made to take them. Her eyes sought his as they stood impossibly close in an innocent exchange. The amusement of their exchange shifted to something else, something more grave. “I never meant to be cruel,” he said quietly. Her eyes moved away from him and he yanked slightly on the gloves so they snapped back to him. “I do know that much of the responsibility lies with me.” His eyes moved lower. He wanted to kiss her and she was close enough that he could just reach down and kiss her. It might not be entirely appropriate, but she was his wife—except she was the wife he was divorcing, which meant he really, really shouldn’t.
She broke away first, clearing her throat. “I appreciate you saying that,” she said, turning her attention back to the table. “I think I perhaps need some binoculars as well. I understand they are an encouraged accessory.”
Lysander felt the loss of the moment, as it slipped away and the reality of the place and circumstance returned. “Of course,” he said, looking around to see if the appropriate accessories were available here or whether they had to go elsewhere.
The dress arrived after supper. Adele had worried
all afternoon that it wouldn’t be ready in time, but there it was. It had arrived in a large paper box and the maid had carried it up to her room.
Adele was both nervous and excited for the evening. She also felt light because Lysander had essentially apologized to her and she had accepted his apology
, believing him when he said he hadn’t intended on being cruel.
The maid laid the dress out, then came and assisted Adele with her hair.
Once on, the heavy fabric of the dress kept her firmly encased, the material feeling lush and rich under her hands. She looked beautiful, the darkness of the dress making her skin glow. She donned the long gloves and Kathleen helped with the little buttons at the wrists.
Taking
one last look in the mirror, Adele left her room, wondering if Lysander would be moved by her gloves, which he said teased and forbade. As much as she urged herself not to, she wanted him to be moved by her, for a dull ache for him had settled deep in her belly and she couldn’t shake it now. She hoped he would come to her tonight.
“The dress suits you,” he said as she entered the
parlor. She saw appreciation in his eyes and she flushed slightly, feeling breathless in the tight bodice. “Are you ready to leave?”
Adele nodded and followed him as he walked to the door. He looked handsome in his formal evening wear, reminding her of the young man she’d met so many years ago—arrogant and confident, assured of his place in the world. He still was, she supposed; hers was a little less so, but she was content for the moment. She checked herself as he helped her into the carriage—she shouldn’t get used to this; it had a specific purpose and it wasn’t
to pretend to be like this, because they weren’t merely a husband and wife out for an evening’s entertainment.
The carriage was dark inside, with the only light intruding from outside as they passed.
“Will Harry be there tonight?” she asked. She hoped not. Harry made her withdrawn and uncomfortable. Beneath his politeness, there was no doubt what he thought of her.
“No, he has other plans.” Adele hid her sigh of relief and the
n pressed her hands together to hide her nervousness, which only escalated as they drew near.
The theatre was brightly lit
, with handsome couples walking into the building—and she was about to be one of them. The reception hall was covered in rich carpet, gold candelabras and murals on the walls depicting dramatic scenes from well-known plays. The ceiling was high like a church and there was a pervasive hum of conversation. She had never seen so many finely-dressed people in one place and had to stop herself from gawking as Lysander moved her into the space.
She stepped closer to him as he stopped and greeted someone, suddenly feeling shy. These people would all know what she did and she knew Lysander was being judged on her actions. She suddenly felt the weight of the embarrassment and ridicule he’d felt, and
appreciated that he would suffer this for the sake of the child they were hoping for.
The man was saying
something about a property he’d purchased. He had great big whiskers for his sideburns, giving an odd shape to his face. His wife was elderly, covered in a brown silk dress that was ill-fitting. She seemed kind though as she smiled at Adele.
“Are you looking forward to the evening?”
“I am,” Adele responded. “It is my first opera.”
“Oh.”
“I usually prefer the country.” That wasn’t strictly true, but she didn’t want to cause Lysander embarrassment by calling their history and relationship into question.
“Understandable,” the woman said. “But the delights of the city do call on occasion. I hope you find the evening enjoyable.”
“I am sure I will.” As far as conversations went, that had gone well enough. Whatever the woman thought of her, she hid it well; although she looked kind enough to perhaps overlook indiscretions. Adele liked to think so anyway.
They were moving on, amongst the crowd of people. There had never been so much finery and jewels in one room, she thought.
“Are you fine?” Lysander asked.
Adele let go of
her tight grip on his arm. “Of course, I’m sorry. It is very crowded. I am not used to such crowds.”
“It always is. For most, it is the true purpose of these evenings—to
greet and be seen.”
“Do you know most of the people here?”
“Yes.”
“I only know you, I think.”
He was going to say something, but another man’s presence interrupted him and he was drawn into conversation. Adele surveyed the room, watching the women and the men, all dressed to impress each other. In this dress, she didn’t feel out of place; she felt she was well up to standard. And then they moved again.
“Lysander,” another man said.
“Excellent evening. You know my wife, of course. Of course you do, you’ve known each other for years, haven’t you?” Adele’s attention was drawn to the couple, particularly the woman who seemed to have known Lysander a long time. She bore the confidence of someone who had always belonged in this society and who had never had occasion to question her station.
“
Alterstrong, you look well,” Lysander said.
“And who is this?” the woman asked, turning her attention to Adele, her voice strong and crisp like a bell. This woman was beautiful. She had golden hair and blue eyes, all complemented by a dark orange dress; its material catching every light in the room. “Is this your wife?” The woman’s attention turned questioningly back to Lysander. “My word, I never
thought we’d see the day. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Cassandra.”
“Adele,” she responded, nodding slightly. The woman’s renewed survey make Adele feel uncertain. “Lys had always told us you existed, but we had started to disbelieve him, but here you are. And such a pretty face.” Cassandra threw another look at Lysander before returning her attention to Adele. “That dress is stunning, my dear.”
Adele flushed slightly at the compliment and Cassandra’s attention returned to Lysander, and started talking about some event they’d held. She was animated and absolutely charming. She called Lysander ‘Lys’, Adele noted. The tension in Lysander drew Adele’s gaze to him. He watched the woman’s hands and when Cassandra placed her hand on his arm in a familiar fashion, he held his breath.
Frowning Adele watched his reactions to this woman and then suppressed a gasp as she wondered if he’d had an affair with
her. She watched them for a bit longer, watched as this woman turned her attention back to her husband. No, it didn’t fit. This woman was teasing Lysander.
“It was good to see you, Lys,
wasn’t it darling?” she said to her husband, who mumbled agreement, which Adele guessed he always did to his wife’s suggestions. “Perhaps it might not be a bad idea to have you over for dinner sometime, especially now that your wife has turned out to be more than a phantom.”
Adele smiled at the comment, not really knowing what else to do. Lysander nodded awkwardly. “Of course,” he said. Perhaps Lysander agreed with everything she said as well. Her manner seemed to indicate that she expected her demands to be followed.
The bell rang and everyone’s attention simultaneously turned to the stairs. Obviously they were being asked to take their places in the theatre itself. Adele didn’t feel like moving, there was something preying on her mind, demanding attention. She couldn’t quite identify it, but it sat in the back of her mind burning—something important.
“Come,” he said and held out his arm for her, and they moved toward the stairs.
When they started moving up, Lysander’s eyes moved to Cassandra’s form as she ahead of them.
It struck her with certainty and finality. It was the only thing that fit. “You’re in love with her,” she said quietly.
He ignored her or didn’t hear her, so Adele repeated her understanding again.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
She stopped moving, her mind on fire with the implications of what she’d learnt. Thoughts were rushing around, competing for her attention. She tried to search for answers in his eyes. They were holding up the migration upstairs and Lysander urged her to move.
“Please don’t lie to me,” she said to him.
He looked around feeling uncomfortable. “It was a long time ago. Now come. This is an awkward place to stop.” She let him gently pull her forward and down the hall toward their booth, which was dark when they walked through the heavy curtains, coming out to a place with two gilt chairs and a view over the loud and vast theatre. Taking her seat, Adele watched as Lysander sat down next to her, a tight expression on his face.
“Are you in love with her?”
“Of course not.”
“Were you in love with her when we married?” Adele asked, watching him intently.
“Adele, please,” he said in low tones. He wasn’t looking at her.
Adele gripped her hands tightly in her lap. He had been in love with another woman when he’d married her. So much of their history made sense now—his anger and rejection. It dawned on her that she’d never stood a chance at his affections. He must have hated her. Both of their lives had been wasted by this marriage and throughout he’d pined for another woman.
The burning
shock inside her gave way to sheer desolation. She’d caused him endless degrees of suffering and she’d had absolutely no idea. She had dashed his hopes and dreams, leaving him with a burden he couldn’t abide looking at.
The lights were being extinguished and the stage was prepared. Adele pulled out the little binoculars she’d bought for the occasion and once the singing started, she brought them up to her face to cover the tears that had started flowing. She tried her best to remain silent.
The truth was bitter, but it answered all the questions she’d had. It also confirmed that there had never been any hope.
“Do you wish to leave?” Lysander
asked quietly after a while and Adele nodded. She didn’t want to be there. She wiped her tears with her gloved hands, feeling the stains soak into her fingertips and tried to smile. “Come,” he said and rose.