Page 34 of Loving Mister Stratford
And he did just that at every opportunity.
Much to Odette’s silent dismay, their lives returned to some semblance of what had taken place at Bridleton before their wedding. Simon disappeared into the study for countless hours at a time; meanwhile, Odette busied herself with locating items and pieces that brought her joy and, she felt, represented her personality to bring life into their new home. She’d selected new ivory papering for the walls of the parlor to compliment the hunter-green chaise and sofa she had selected with Simon’s minimal input. A new rug was next and, after days of searching, she chose one with a lovely romantic floral pattern that reminded her of the climbing ivy on the tower back at Bridleton. She was quietly very pleased with her work and the thoughtfulness she put into every decision.
Though they’d selected only one bed and mattress and Odette had hoped so sincerely (and silently) that she and Simon might return to the closeness they’d achieved back at the inn on the first days of their marriage, it was not to be. She was unsure where Simon slept, but the three nights since they’d moved in she’d remained alone in the large four-poster bed with its new pale blue coverlet and plush pillows.
A little bit of her heart chipped away and disappeared each time it happened.
She knew Simon well enough at that point to optimistically believe he wasn’t actively avoiding her, and she’d learned that she needed to be patient with him. They were still learning one another’s habits and customs. But she couldn’t help but long to get closer to him more quickly.
For the most part, she was left to her own devices during the day. She wandered the empty rooms, made lists of items each room would require to become habitable, and then sat down to prioritize those lists. After that, when she became overwhelmingly bored, she would alphabetize those lists. She read. She would have written, but she had no friends with whom to correspond. She didn’t feel like striking up a correspondence with the few girls who hadn’t treated her poorly at school—whatever would she say, anyway?
Warmest greetings, Prudence! I don’t know if you recall, but you once offered me a sweet from the tin your mother sent to you after I helped you with your French elocution. How are things? By the way, I’ve managed to quite literally fall into a marriage with the second son of the Earl of Aldborough! Can you imagine? I am quite smitten with him, though I see him less hours in a day than fingers I have on one hand…
Yes. That would go over well.
Still unfamiliar with their new corner of London and having no companions upon whom to call, she had to settle for keeping her own company. She became quite adept at holding two sides of a conversation within the confines of her own head.
Though she did her best to ignore it, a heavy fog of melancholy began to seep into her breast. It settled dark and heavy within her, though she refused to allow it to stain the rest of her life. She pasted a smile upon her face and soldiered on.
*****
There was a delay in the delivery of the dining room table and chairs Odette had ordered, so she was taking dinner in her room one afternoon.
Alone.
Again.
She’d encountered Simon on her way back to the bedroom earlier that day, bumping into him as they’d both rounded the same corner coming from opposite directions. Her heart had fluttered in that exciting way it did whenever she saw her husband. Just a glance at him brought back the flood of memories from their stay at the inn…the first time they’d been in this very house…she couldn’t even enter that parlor without her body humming with awareness. And when he looked at her with those swirling blue-green eyes of his, her knees grew weak.
“Simon! I hadn’t expected to find you up here,” she blurted out, then silently berated her for the inanity of the comment.
His face was as cool and collected as a mask as he held up a small leather-bound notebook.“I needed to retrieve this,” he replied evenly.“If you’ll excuse me, Odette.” He had inclined his head and skirted around her with a wide berth as if afraid she might latch onto his arm like a leech and prevent him from returning to his work.
Odette replayed that awkward interaction over and over again in her mind as she picked at her meal. Try as she might, it was growing more difficult for her to look past the blatantly deliberate way in which he did his best to avoid her in favor of his work. Meredith had warned her; she’d seen colors of it before their wedding. Odette had believed herself prepared to be married to a man who had a deeper, more intimate bond with his work than any other human connection, but it was another thing to live it.
If only she could have some concept of what was so fascinating to him…
Odette dropped her fork with a clatter.
Simon had come to this room earlier to retrieve that notebook.
She knew she was a reasonably intelligent woman—she had earned decently-high marks in maths back in school—but she doubted she’d be able to comprehend much, if any, of Simon’s work…but that didn’t mean she couldn’t try. If she grasped even one percent of what enthralled him, then it was at least a toe-hold in his world and it afforded her an opportunity where she might show him how much she did care about him and everything that made him the man he was.
Odette glanced around the room, but it remained a relatively impersonal space. Furniture had begun to arrive, but it was still only the barest necessities; not to mention, Simon had yet to spend a single night there. Her eyes caught on the dressing room door. Simondidhave a couple of trunks still tucked away. He refused to hire a valet and the maid had yet to tackle the task, so there they sat tucked away. Odette had stubbed her toe on one the other day, so she was well aware of how heavy the trunks were.
She dropped her napkin on the small table and headed to the dressing room. There, in the corner, were two large rectangular trunks set side-by-side. She recognized them as the ones having made the journey with them from Bridleton to Aldborough House, and then here to their new Townhouse. She spent a minute biting her lower lip in indecision before her curiosity won out. She dropped to her knees, unlatched the first trunk, and lifted the heavy lid.
The contents smelled of warm parchment, thick layers of ink, leather, and Simon. Her heart squeezed at the onslaught to her senses. Organized in thick stacks bound together with twine and ribbon were hundreds upon hundreds of sheets of parchment covered in Simon’s neat, confident script. She skimmed the top pages of a few of the stacks, but they contained a complex code of shorthand notes indecipherable to her. Another stack held drafts of what appeared to be an essay. She didn’t know precisely what she was looking for, but this wasn’t it—she couldn’t comprehend any of it, let alone form enough coherent thoughts to have a conversation about it.
Another stack appeared to be chronological correspondence with several of his colleagues. She had only one side of the conversation, so it didn’t make all that much sense to her. From what she deciphered, however, Simon appeared to be rather well-respected in this field for a man of his age. One man in particular, Sir Nigel Wright, seemed more than a little thrilled to be co-authoring a piece with him—something about using non-numerical signs in mathematical equations. Odette wasn’t ashamed to admit that she didn’t understand a lick of it, but she was still supremely proud of her husband. The way his mind worked baffled her, but it was beautiful in its unique brilliance.
Carefully, she replaced the papers just as she’d found them and closed the lid. She shuffled over on her knees and opened the second trunk. This one was filled to the brim with neatly stacked brown leather-bound journals, each was closed with its string wrapped and tucked around it to cinch it closed. There was even a small gap where Simon had removed the journal she’d seen him with earlier that day. She picked up the nearest one and unwound the string. Like the sheets of parchment in the first trunk, the pages of the notebook were filled with Simon’s writing. Less neat than the full pages in the other trunk, the first several pages were filled with a diagram with arrows she did not recognize. Another page held symbols and scrawls that quickly morphed into another symbol. She spotted a few Greek letters she recognized, but not much else. She nearly closed the notebook and moved on to the next when she spotted something different about the following page. There were no symbols or numbers. She sat more fully on her heels to read.
G has decided to hide my books. Again. I am a man of seventeen andstillmy elder brother knows precisely how to torture me–
Odette gasped and shut the notebook with a smack. The work had turned into a very private journal. It was a representation of the way Simon’s mind functioned–complex thoughts interspersed with brief glimpses of personal thoughts and observations.
She knew what sheshoulddo: lock away the notebook and forget she ever saw it.
