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She watched him reach for a piece of chocolate and pop it into his mouth. She could see the slight bulge in the side of his cheek as he tucked it there to melt away more slowly—exactly the thing she did in this age when the sweetness of rationed chocolate felt like almost an illicit indulgence.
“Please have some,” he said, gesturing to the chocolate.
“It’s supposed to be for you,” she said.
He shook his head. “Chocolate is always best when shared with a good friend.”
There was something about being called a good friend that lifted her spirits. She took a piece and popped it into her mouth, imitating him and almost laughing at the thought that they must look like a pair of chipmunks.
“Now, will you tell me what brings you to my office?” he asked.
She took a deep breath. “I’ve thought a great deal since our conversation in the pub.”
“Sylvia, about that.” He shoved a hand through his hair, looking more than a little abashed. “I said something—”
“You said all of the right things,” she said firmly. “I simply wasn’t ready to hear them yet. William, I’ve decided that I want a divorce.”
She’d come to the decision on her own over the past two weeks. The fashion show and their ambitions to catch the excitement of the new ration books had necessitated her splitting her time between Mrs. Shelton’s Fashions and Winman House. In that time, she’d had the chance to watch a happy couple in the earl and countess. They clearly adored one another but were happy to let the other have their own interests.
“He understood that I almost said no when he proposed because of what it would mean for my career,” said the countess one night after a particularly long day of organizing led to a light supper and a generous glass of wine. “He promised me that there would always be time and space for my pursuits, and I promised him that I would support him and his business however he needed me to.”
The countess had smiled then and taken a sip of wine. “Of course, that doesn’t mean we aren’t without our arguments—he is impulsive and gregarious, and I am considered and shy—but in the end we find a compromise.”
Sylvia wanted that. Or a version of that that suited her. Through the shop, she’d found something that was her own. She had ambitions and desires, and she knew that Hugo would never countenance that.
But it had been her sister’s last letter that had made up her mind. When Izzie had repeated back to Sylvia her own advice about taking risks for happiness, Sylvia had known that she could not stay married to Hugo any longer.
Now, sitting across his desk from her, William blinked twice before asking, “Are you certain?”
“I’m more certain about this than I have been about anything for a long time.”
He nodded. “What changed?”
“I did,” she said.
“Well then…” William trailed off.
“I have these,” she said, producing from her handbag the letters she’d taken from Hugo’s desk and placing them next to the chocolate.
“What are they?” William asked, lifting the top letter.
“Some of the love letters that Claire Monroe sent to my husband over the course of their affair. I took your advice and went back for them.”
He looked up at her sharply. “Are they—?”
“Salacious? Yes.”
He cleared his throat. “So you want to pursue a divorce on the grounds of adultery.”
“Yes,” she said.
“You know that means that both Mr. Pearsall and Mrs.—Monroe, was it?—will have to appear in court to answer the charge?” he asked.
“Yes.” Let them stand up before a judge and answer for the choices they’d made.
“Right,” said William, placing the letter carefully back down on top of the pile. “Well, then I wish you the best of luck.”
She frowned. “What do you mean, ‘the best of luck’? I want to retain your services as my solicitor, William.”
