The Dressmakers of London

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

Sylvia quickly checked her hat and hair in her gold compact before snapping it closed and knocking on William’s office door. She waited, her ears straining, until she heard the heavy tread of his shoes stop. The door swung open, and immediately her shoulders relaxed.

“Sylvia, what are you doing here? Is everything all right?” William asked, concern etching his brow.

The sight of him bolstered her, and she smiled. “Everything is just fine. I’ve come to speak to you about that legal matter we discussed.”

He hesitated, and for a moment she wondered if he wasn’t going to let her in. But then he stepped back and said, “Why don’t you join me in my office?”

She brushed past him and into the space where nearly seven months ago William—and her mother—had changed her life. Without her mother’s bequest, she never would have reconnected with her sister, rediscovered her talent for business, or seen her married life for what it is. She certainly wouldn’t have had the courage to ask William for help with what she was about to do.

Sylvia took the same seat she’d sat in for the will reading and watched as William rounded his desk. He sank down into his leather chair, steepling his fingers and taking a breath like a battle-weary knight pulling on his armor for one last fight.

“What can I help you with?” he finally asked.

Rather than replying, she opened her handbag and pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. She opened it and placed the precious squares of chocolate on the desk between them.

“You’re always bringing me sandwiches, so I thought it was only fair to return the favor. I seem to remember that you always did love chocolate as a child,” she said.

“I never did grow out of my sweet tooth. Thank you.”

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.”

William nodded. “I understand, but I’m afraid that will be impossible.”

“Impossible? But why?”

“I have a conflict of interest,” he said. “I promised to guide you, and to that end I can recommend several other very good solicitors who each work with excellent barristers who I am sure would be happy to represent you, but I’m afraid that I cannot.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense. You’ve known my mother for years, but you were perfectly willing to be her solicitor,” she argued.

“Yes, but the circumstances were very different,” he said with a rueful smile.

“William, I don’t understand why—”

“I wasn’t in love with your mother.”

Her protest died in her throat. “Oh.”

After a moment of silence, he said, “I thought that might shock you, but I didn’t realize I would render you speechless.”

“William…”

“My conflict of interest is you, Sylvia. It’s always been you. I know that this is probably all wrong. I should wait a year—maybe two—until you’ve had some time, but I can’t stand the thought that while I’m sitting back and waiting, another man could sweep you off your feet. You are too wonderful for me to risk that, so I’m telling you now. So that you know.”

“William…” she repeated, his name a whisper now.

“I can’t compare to a Harley Street doctor who went to Eton and whose family can probably trace their line back centuries. I’m proud of what I’ve built here, but I’m probably never going to be the member of a club or be able to bring my daughter out as a debutante. However, if one day you think you might feel any sort of tenderness toward me, I’ll be right here. Waiting. If not, I would count it one of the great privileges of my life to call you my friend.”

His confession was more intimate, more loving than anything Hugo had ever said to her, and what’s more, she believed William. In this moment, she saw a lifetime of memories in a new light. William trailing around after Izzie and her when they were children because they happened to be around the same age became William wanting any chance to be around Sylvia. His subdued response to finding out that Hugo had asked her to marry him hadn’t been because he thought she was putting on airs but because another man had captured her heart. William bringing sandwiches to the shop over the past few months hadn’t just been a gesture of friendship but a chance to spend time with the woman he loved.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

“Then don’t say anything.”

“I just—I’ve only just decided to divorce Hugo and—”

“Sylvia, you don’t need to explain anything to me.”

“But I do, because I don’t want you thinking that you’ve frightened me off.” She smiled when he looked at her, unabashed hope in his eyes. “You’re right that it is too soon, but that doesn’t mean that it was a bad idea to tell me. It is the very opposite of bad.

“I can’t make any promises, because I need to make sense of my life and think about the woman I want to be now that I’m not pretending to be the woman Hugo wants me to be. I need time.”

“You can have all of the time in the world,” he said.

“Have patience with me, William, because my answer is not no.”

A grin split his features. “I can live with ‘not no.’ ‘Not no’ is wonderful!”

She laughed. “I’m very glad to hear that you think so. I should say, there is one thing that I can emphatically say yes to.”

“What is that?” he asked.

“I would love nothing more than to continue to call you my friend.”

He dipped his chin. “Thank you, Sylvia.”

“I must apologize if, for a number of years, it felt as though I didn’t appreciate that,” she said.

“All that matters is that you found your way back to Glengall Road.”

She smiled. “I think you may be right about that.”