Page 51 of Loving Mister Stratford
His heart choked him and he nearly speared his unsteady hand with his penknife as he broke the wax seal and prepared himself for the scathing admonishment he deserved for abandoning her.
Instead, he was shocked by the tender tone he found within.
He had to read the words several times before he believed them.
Odette didn’t fully understand why he’d left, but she had to trust that he knew what was best. The last thing she wanted to do was stand in the way of his work.
She then inquired after his health—hoping that he was remembering to eat without her there to force-feed him or bribe him.
Simon smiled wistfully.
She went on to tell him how Lily and Meredith had taken great pains to care for her. She described a reading society she’d joined and had taken a trip to the bookstore for materials. She wrote of the mundane, but he was far from bored. He heard every word of it in her voice. And his heart skipped when he saw how she’d signed the letter:
Love,
Odette
He traced her signature with his fingertips and then allowed himself several more minutes of maudlin behavior to re-read it through once more. He then carefully folded the letter and set it aside.
Simon did his best to resist, but he wound up responding after putting it off for several days. He sent off the letter with the post and his soul felt both lighter and heavier for it.
Odette received Simon’s response just as she’d begun to believe he’d never reply. She tore it open as soon as she was alone and found the words much like their author: straightforward without the frills and flowery composition so en vogue. Still, she liked to think she knew him well enough that she could sense moments of fondness within—perhaps there was hope there yet.
Simon inquired about her reading society and their current choice of works; he wanted to know how she was finding London life and whether they still needed additional furnishings for the Townhouse. She was unfolding the bottom crease of the page when a pressed purple flower fell into her lap. Amazed the petals had survived the brutal journey, she marveled at the delicate bloom still so vibrant and lovely. Curious, she found a scribbled post-script following Simon’s signature:
These flowers bloom throughout the gardens here at Cliffton, Sir Nigel’s home; I can see them from the window of the space in which I do most of my work. I thought you might like it.
Touched beyond reason, Odette pressed the note and the flower between the pages of her favorite book of poetry before sitting at her desk to pen a reply.
Several more weeks passed in this fashion. Simon would sometimes take a week or so longer to reply than was normal, but he would always reply. Odette knew the deadline for Simon’s research and paper loomed close, yet not once had he mentioned or even hinted that he would return to London (to her) anytime soon. Rather, he mentioned how his colleague was discussing a trip to Germany to meet with a brilliant young scholar whose work would complement their research.
Her stomach had plummeted with foreboding, but she remained true to her resolve that she would allow Simon to do what he felt was necessary to achieve his goals. She refused to be the anchor preventing him from setting his course, even if it pained her to do so.
Despite feeling poorly, Odette hated to cancel plans with her sisters-in-law. They’d been so kind to her since Simon’s departure; Lily had even stayed in London longer than planned to be there for her. Truly, these women had gone above and beyond to comfort her and ensure she was alright.
This was why, when she’d awoken to a sour, roiling stomach the morning she was scheduled to accompany them to help Meredith pick a new gown for an upcoming event, she did her best to choke it back. She hadn’t been successful…but she did wind up feeling vastly better after the fact.
“I should have listened to Cook,” she moaned. She had mentioned to Odette that she suspected the butcher might be selling them his wares past their prime and needed a stern reminder of just who he was serving. Odette had reassured Cook that it looked fine enough and to cook and serve it anyway. She could speak with the butcher the next time there was a delivery.“What do I know?” Her voice was swallowed by a moan; her stomach lurched when she thought of the meal.
Using water from the pitcher by the washbasin, she dampened some toweling and wiped her face and mouth. When she was sure she wouldn’t be sick anymore, she scrubbed her mouth with tooth powder and checked her pale appearance in the mirror. She could do this. She said as much to her reflection and smoothed back her hair. She was determined to follow through with her plans. Besides, she was already feeling improved. Odette took several deep breaths and began to very slowly, very carefully prepare for her outing.
And she swore to shove some of the butcher’s own product down his throat and see howheenjoyed tossing the contents back into a chamberpot.
A short while later, Odette along with Meredith and Lily arrived at the modiste’s. Aside from this extended visit to lend support to Odette, Lily rarely came to Town except to update her wardrobe. Her more relaxed life in the country allowed her to dress less formally, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to stay current with trends and would also occasionally require a gown for a more formal celebration or dinner. She liked to say she still enjoyed dressing like a lady, even if she eschewed many of a lady’s social obligations. Meredith was specifically in need of a gown for the ball she and the countess were to host together; she was under strict instructions that this must bethegown of the Season because this ball was to betheevent of the Season. Odette already planned on wearing one of the new gowns she’d purchased for her wardrobe upon their return to London.
That day seemed so very far away now.
A lifetime ago.
And she’d been a different person; so much more optimistic. So much happier. So much less alone.
Tears began to sting the backs of her eyes as the thought of returning to that silent, empty house plagued her. Though living with Simon hadn’t been the liveliest of existences, there had been something warm and comforting knowing he was near…that she had merely to walk down the hall and he’d be there for her.
Odette took another steadying breath through her nose and turned her attention back to her companions.
“Green and blue always look so striking on you,” Lily commented as she held up several fabric swatches to compare to Meredith’s complexion. Their group had been shown into a quiet sitting area set into the curved alcove overlooking the bustling street outside. After greeting them and passing them off to her assistant, the shop owner floated off to finish working with another set of customers—a mother and rather unfortunate teenaged daughter who looked every bit as miserable as Odette had felt whenever her mother had dragged her to the modiste. Odette made sure to cast a sympathetic smile to the girl. She wished she could tell her it would get better, that she’d come into her own and find her own voice and freedom to be herself, but she couldn’t make those promises. No woman in their society could. She’d come to realize how fortunate she was to have met Simon; not many husbands in his family’s social strata were as lenient as he when it came to allowing a wife to dress as she wished. Who understood what it meant to be allowed to be who she wanted to be.
“What do you think, Odette?”
