Page 50 of Loving Mister Stratford
Below are the directions of where I am staying. I trust you to respect my work and remain here in Town while I am away. My family have been notified of my absence and, I feel safe in assuming, will be available should you require anything at all. My father and his solicitor have been asked to see that monies from my portion are disbursed to you to use as you see fit, but he will, I am sure, advise you should you have any questions in that regard.
You know me well enough by now to have come to the conclusion that I am not an eloquent man. Words and expressing my emotions through them do not come easily. I hope that you will discover joy and fulfillment in my absence, as I anticipate I will with my work. One thing you have always done is respect the place my passion holds in my life and now, though I suspect it will not be easy for you, I request that you continue to do so. It is my hope that our lives may run comfortably parallel; two roads traveling in a complimentary fashion, but never interrupting the other. My work is my life, and now you have the freedom of the Stratford name to discover yours.
Regards,
Simon
The finality of it all left Odette reeling. Her sorrow cut off her air as effectively as a hand to her throat; her chest was congested with a thick, choking fog of it. Tears began to dot the paper, the words blurred and swam in her eyes until she could no longer see through the torrent of emotion pouring from within her soul.
Meredith and Lily arrived before luncheon to find Odette still lying in her bed burrowed beneath the Simon-scented coverlet and pillows. After receiving their own letters from Simon, they’d brushed past the poor butler and worried maid to burst into her bedchamber in a flurry of skirts and pelisses, comforting words and hugs.
Like the true sisters they were, they made no comment or sideways glance when they found Odette too despondent to dress herself, too listless to eat. Instead, they set about making her more comfortable. Lily ordered strong tea and some sweet pastries; Meredith drew back the blinds and helped Odette into a clean shift and her wrapper. Together they piled onto the bed, sitting in silence or chatting, comforting her and holding her—whatever Odette needed at that moment.
Though they had no answers for her and needed to provide a steady supply of handkerchiefs, they reassured her again and again that they were going nowhere. A deep part of Odette appreciated their efforts, but she was first and foremost lost, vacillating between anger and hurt, sadness and mortification. What could possibly have changed so drastically from one day to the next?
Several days passed and Lily and Meredith remained as determined as ever to provide her the solace and reassurance that they felt she deserved.
The countess didn’t intrude, but she consistently sent her well-wishes along with Lily and Meredith and included tins of biscuits and shortbread from their cook at Aldborough House.
Odette’s mother made not a single appearance, though she’d heard a whispered conversation between her sisters-in-law that word had been sent to her without a reply.
It took hours of effort and quite a bit of coercion, but Odette was eventually convinced to dress and tag along for a mindless shopping excursion. She felt like a ghost as she trailed along in their other women’s well-meaning wake. She couldn’t even bring herself to smile politely when Lily made a particularly humorous observation about an unfortunate stuffed swan perched upon a hat in the milliner’s window.
Though Odette went through the motions of tea and social niceties, she felt hollow. There was a soul-deep ache in her breast and she felt unmoored from it.
Two weeks passed before Meredith was able to convince Odette to join a ladies’reading society with her. It was apparently a rather exclusive group, but Meredith promised she could gain her entry if she so desired. It had been weeks since Odette had picked up a book and she was nervous that the material would be out of her depth, but Meredith insisted she would be welcome into the fold.
The first meeting of the reading society took place the third week after Simon took his leave of London. She knew Meredith was right—finding something to occupy her mind would be good—but it was one of the most difficult things she’d ever had to do. On top of the usual social anxieties where she wondered how she would fit into this circle, she now had to put on a pleasant face and pretend her husband hadn’t recently abandoned her.
Meredith retrieved her in the elegant Sommerfeld carriage, reassured her several times over as they wound through the streets of Mayfair that all would be well, and they were deposited on the front step of the expansive home belonging to the Duchess of Moreton. It wasn’t long before Odette was enveloped in a warm, welcoming atmosphere. A dozen or so women were clustered in the duchess’s beautiful, airy sitting room, chattering and sipping tea, devouring an obscene amount of sweets curated by the duchess’s brilliant cook. Their hostess and patroness was far younger than Odette had managed. She was breathtakingly beautiful, intelligent, and so clearly wise beyond her years. Meredith had whispered that the absent duke meant Lady Moreton could host these events and meetings without fear of interruption or censure of their oft-incendiary reading materials.
Odette recognized the duchess as having sent her one of the many invitations she and Simon had received, but it was not until that meeting that they were formally introduced. She’d been instantly taken in by the other woman’s wide smile and frank manner of speech. Indeed, they seemed to share an unspoken connection as being women with husbands off minding their own pursuits. It was a rather pathetic club in which to be a member, but it was somewhat reassuring to have a woman as gorgeous and intriguing as the Duchess of Moreton among the ranks. It made Odette feel less alone, less like she’d failed horribly and had no idea why.
While all Lily and Meredith’s efforts helped to bring Odette out of her head and the dark spaces within, she was still terribly alone at night. It wasn’t even purely physical; she missed their late-night sessions in his study. She ached to curl up on the comfortable sofa and look over to watch him rake his fingers through his hair as he puzzled through a problem.
As the weeks progressed without a word, her anger-tainted sadness cooled to loneliness. She had immediately been sorry that she’d allowed Mary to change the sheets she and Simon had shared; they no longer smelled of his skin. She ached to bury her face in them and inhale deeply so she might pretend she wasn’t so alone.
One afternoon, out of desperation, she riffled through the clothes remaining in the dressing room. After some digging, she was able to locate one of the comfortable linen shirts Simon sometimes wore during his fencing lessons. It smelled of him…clean starch and soap…a hint of his particular scent. It was silly and she’d likely be embarrassed about it later, but she couldn’t stop herself from taking the garment to bed with her. She burrowed beneath the coverlet and curled her body against the soft linen, imagining her husband was there beside her.
The next morning, eyes gritty with tears and sleeplessness, Odette decided to write to Simon. He had, after all, left the directions to where he was staying. She wondered briefly if a letter would be considered an intrusive interruption of Simon’s wishes, but she sent it off before she could overthink it.
Chapter Twenty
Simon crumpled another sheaf of paper and whipped it at the floor, barely resisting the urge to snap his quill in two. He’d been ensconced at Sir Nigel’s estate on the coast of Lincolnshire for several weeks now and he had yet to complete a full draft of his essay.
If Sir Nigel had found it odd that Simon had so suddenly accepted his invitation to visit and finalize their collaboration so soon after Simon’s marriage, then he hadn’t commented aloud. A consummate bachelor of middling years, he’d never experienced the desire to take a wife or have a family. He’d inherited the small seaside manor from his mother upon her death as well as a sufficient income. As a viscount’s second son with an elder brother who already had a passel of his own children,“What was the point?” Sir Nigel had chuckled. The wiry man with small, round spectacles and a bush of curly brown hair was more than content with his life. He ventured to London several times each year for Society meetings and lectures. Other than that, he was free to pursue his work in peace.
The Simon of several months ago would have been envious of such a life.
The Simon who had arrived in Lincolnshire was left deflated by it all. He had the nauseating feeling Sir Nigel was a version of himself had he not met Odette.
Though Sir Nigel had offered Simon free use of his expansive library and roomy study, the men spoke very little, often choosing to retreat to their respective spaces like the solitary creatures they were. When they did meet, it was for hours in a language of numbers and scholars many might think quite foreign. They coordinated their research and discussed their respective contributions. Gradually, painfully slowly, the essay came together and, with it, Simon’s future. Great strides were being made in the field of mathematics, but Simon didn’t feel quite as buoyant as he’d anticipated.
The solitary work Simon accomplished only took place in fits and spurts. Some days, he’d tumble into his haven of numbers and formulas for hours on end. There was no interruption for societal obligations…no one to remind him to eat. On other days, he would lose hours staring out the window at the wild landscape, contemplating how Odette would love the peace of the gardens and listening to the crashing waves against the craggy cliffs near the edge of the estate.
There was no denying how he’d been changed by his wife. Whether or not she’d intended to do so, Odette had given him something else with which to occupy his mind. His arms ached to hold her; his body yearned to possess her again.
As if following the track of his mind, the butler appeared one afternoon with a letter on a silver salver. The servants had been instructed to leave Simon in peace, but one glance at the sender and seal told him why: It was from his wife.
