Ihave no objection to leaving Trescott.
However, when I awaken on our last full day in the place, our nearing departure makes me a bit melancholy.
While I know that Annabelle has bad memories—some very recent—at Trescott, I have come to love the place. After all, I have verygoodmemories here, the best of my life, and it unmoors me a bit to imagine the two of us in a new location.
I have to wonder—will my rich, beautiful wife still be interested in me once we return to London? Surely, she has friends and former lovers who will try and claim her attention. Perhaps, I will quickly pale in comparison.
I have been to London many times, of course, but it always overwhelmed me. Despite belonging to a club there for years now, and having made such good friends through it, my membership was only granted as a favor to my father. In truth, I have never lived in London for longer than a few months at a time between posts. My father often encouragedme to reside there in these intervals, so that I would acquire what he called “city polish.”
During these times, I attended the theaters, visited the fashionable shops, went to the opera, dined at the famous coffee houses and taverns, and, of course, frequented my club daily. Nevertheless, I don’tknowLondon the way Annabelle clearly does.
Hell, in London, Annabelle de Lacey isn’t just infamous—she isfamous. I know enough of London, and enough of her life there, to understand that there exist milieus in which her notoriety makes her fascinating—and desirable.
With these thoughts swirling in my head, I peer down at my sleeping wife. I heard her stirring this morning and was vaguely aware of her warm presence leaving the bed. But if she left, she clearly returned and fell back asleep.
God, she is beautiful.
In sleep, her expression holds a blend of fierceness and vulnerability. She always expects herself to be strong. What would it be like if she let me be strong for her? What might then happen between us?
She confessed last night that she felt things for me. Those feelings scare her. It wasn’t a declaration of love. But it felt close.
As if she senses my attention, her eyes flutter open.
There is no hiding that I have been looking at her.
“Alfred,” she gasps and then begins to laugh. “Have you been staring at me all morning? Am I really such a fascinating object when I sleep?”
“Yes,” I say, my cheeks heating. “I like watching you at rest.”
“What time is it?”
“Notpast nine.”
She shakes her head in disapproval. “You should have woken me.”
She sits up and, immediately, her countenance turns—almost as if she is in pain.
“Annabelle, are you well?”
She shakes me off.
“Of course. I just sat up too quickly. I must dress. We have things to see to before we leave. In town.”
Annabelle rises from the bed and walks quickly towards her bureau.
“I will see you downstairs. In the breakfast room. I will only need a quarter of an hour to dress. And then we will go out.”
I nod dumbly, hating that she is putting distance between us once more. Last night, she seemed so open to me—like her feelings for me were real. But now she seems as she always does, very fond of me, but in a way that remains firmly within her control.
But I know not to complain. And the truth is that even if I feel disappointment in her brisk manner, it is still many leagues better than the alternative: no Annabelle at all.
I wait for her downstairs, perusing the newspapers. As usual, I skip over the scandal pages. I have no desire to read what they are saying of me. My friends have already given me a taste in their letters and it is enough to know the contours.
When Annabelle appears in the breakfast room, we dine in near silence, both of us occupied with the newspapers. She does not seem upset, merely contemplative, and she eats her tea and toast slower than usual. I wonder again if she is ill, but she took the question so poorly the first time, I don’t want to repeat it. Itworries me, however, that she might be ill. If she continues to be poorly, I will insist that we delay our trip to London.
The idea does not displease me.
Soon we are seated in the carriage, on our way to visit town for the first time since Mr. Thompson discovered us in the church. Since our marriage, too.
