Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Another week passed and it was much the same as the previous.
Perhaps even worse, because with each rising of the new sun, Florentia would allow herself a sliver of hope, that dim belief that perhaps today would be the day that Hudson would come and see her, only for the sun to set and with it her hope, sinking so deep and into such dark places that she found herself praying the next day might not arrive because at least then she would not dare let herself wonder.
Of course, the following day would play out the same.
Alone in her room, she would listen for the sound of Hudson leaving his bedroom.
She would hear his footsteps echoing down the hall, always in the direction of her room.
She would hold her breath as they came closer.
She would brace herself, letting that hope back in.
And then she would crash when the sounds continued past her doorway.
I am a fool to expect him to come to me. I know that I am. But the fact that I still wish for it as much as I do tells me all I need to know about my feelings.
This was even worse than the first month that she had been married. At least then, she hated her husband and did not waste time with the belief that things might change. Now, it was the wondering that killed her.
“You must go outside,” Albina implored her on the third day. She had come to visit, concerned for Florentia’s wellbeing. “A ride would do you the world of good.”
“There is nothing for me out there,” Florentia moaned, still in bed, with no energy to rise and bathe and dress for the day.
“What of the orangery that you had built? Have you even set foot in it?”
No, she had not. Funny to think that there had been a time when she had been excited to see its construction, believing that she might develop a passion for horticulture. But she had been hopeful then, thinking that there might be more to life than what she knew.
Now, she was not so naive. Her life was over, so why waste time on hobbies?
“I should have it torn down,” she sighed. “In fact, perhaps that is how I will spend my day.”
“At least it will get you out of the house,” Albina had grumbled.
Florentia knew she was being dramatic. And she knew that wallowing in self-pity would not give her answers. What was more, she was beginning to suspect that Albina had been right and that if she truly wished to change Hudson’s mind, then she was going to have to do something about it.
For that reason, after a full week of staying in her room and hoping for the best, she decided that it was time she stopped feeling sorry for herself and approached her husband once and for all. This, it turned out, was easier said than done.
She spent the morning bathing and dressing, the entire time fighting the nerves that flooded her entire being as if they were trying to tear her apart.
She did not know what she was going to say.
She did not know how she was going to say it.
But she had to speak to him again. She had to let him know that she had not acted hastily or without thought.
That her feelings for him were real and would not simply fade because he avoided her.
She had to make him see that he felt the same for her.
The fear came from the thought of what would happen if he denied her again.
She wondered if that was why she had spent the week hiding and without action.
At least that way, she had been able to tell herself there might be a chance at saving their relationship.
But if she went to him and he turned her down. ..
No! Do not go down that path. Hudson loves you as you do him. You just need to make him realize that he does.
Once she was dressed, she looked at herself in the mirror.
Her hair was worn up in a bun, ringlets falling before her face.
Dressed in yellow, as she so often was, the outfit was modest, but she knew Hudson preferred that.
Her make-up was simple, letting her natural beauty shine through.
This was the woman he had fallen in love with.
It was the woman he was still in love with.
She was about to leave her room and search for her husband, only to hear a knock at the door.
Her eyes widened in shock. She gasped and spun about, the door still closed, but she could almost see through it. No need to guess who was on the other side. After a week of waiting, Hudson had come to see her.
“Florentia...” He knocked again. “Are you decent?”
She almost said nothing. Stupid, she knew, but the fear took her once more and the seriousness of the situation dawned on her like the rising sun. Her breath caught. Her heart began to race. She stood frozen, until...
“Florentia...” Another knock on the door. “We need to talk.”
“Co—coming,” she stammered. She glanced at her reflection once more, confirming that she looked as beautiful and elegant as ever. And then, with nothing else for it, she strode across the room and opened the bedroom door.
He was standing back from the doorway. Not a good sign.
He’d dressed in what looked to be traveling clothes. Her eyes flicked from his boots to his coat, brow furrowing because she could tell immediately that he was about to go somewhere. Is he here to invite me to a day out? Is that what this is?
“He—hello,” she stammered nervously, only to swallow and stand herself up straight. “This is unexpected.”
“I have been looking for you,” he said, his posture stiff. “I was told that you were still in your room, despite the hour.”
“It is not late.”
“Is it not early either,” he noted. “I would have thought you’d be outside. Perhaps on a ride.”
She tilted her head with confusion. Did he really not know that she had spent every single day in her room? Was he so ignorant to what had been going through her head this past week? Or is he simply that uncaring?
Doubt flooded her... “I...I was just about to,” she lied. “Although I am glad that you caught me before I did.”
“Oh?”
“I was thinking—in fact, I was going to come and find you.” She looked up at him, meeting his dark eyes while ignoring how distant they were. “I was wondering if you might...” Her heart raced. “If it would be convenient...” Her body trembled. “If you might like to join me?”
“Right now?”
“Unless you have somewhere that you need to be?”
He did not speak at first. Brow furrowed, he looked down at her in assessment.
From her eyes to her dress, and then quickly into her room.
She could feel her heart thundering in her chest, praying he could not hear it also.
Whatever decision he was coming to, she could see the struggle it was causing him.
But he came to see me! Surely, there is good reason...
“I am afraid that I cannot join you,” he said eventually, ever so formally and without emotion. “Which is why I am here—I had hoped to tell you this sooner, but I am afraid that I lost track of the time.”
“Tell me...” She swallowed, her throat suddenly pained.
“I will be leaving for a few days,” he said with such simplicity it was as if he was describing the weather. “Heading north to Wales with Elias where—”
“Leaving!” she blurted before she could help herself. “What? Why?”
“On business,” he answered, ignoring the outburst. “Mr. Andrews has secured some contracts which I must inspect before signing. Contracts that cannot wait and would be best if I saw to them in person.”
It was akin to a slap across the face. Or perhaps a dagger to the heart? And not just the words, but how coldly he spoke them.
She remembered weeks ago now, at the Turncott ball, when he had commented that he might start taking her on business trips, so well had she handled herself, and that she might be able to help him navigate through the social nuances of those he was forced to interact with.
She had thought little of it at the time, but was now forced to consider what such an offer might have meant.
He was leaving her. Not forever, although that was not the point. For a week she had hidden away in her room, praying that he might come to her, wondering if he was thinking about her, if he cared enough to realize the hurt he was causing—if he felt the same!
He does not care for me. He does not see what he is doing. All this time I believed that he was lying to himself because of who he is. Ironic that I am the one who has been lying to herself…
Florentia stumbled as her stomach knotted. “I...how long?”
“A week at most,” he said, failing to notice her pale face, and the way she hunched over to stop the pain. “I thought it right that I alert you to my plans, for it would not do to leave you alone without your knowing of them.”
“That is...” She forced herself to look at him, needing him to see the pain in her eyes. “That is...very kind.”
“Elias has made sure to tell his own wife, and he assures me that she will come and visit so you do not get lonely,” he continued, speaking as if reading the terms of a business contract.
“Or perhaps you may wish to spend a few nights with your parents. Being alone in this house for so long might grow tedious.”
“I will be fine.”
“Are you certain?”
Do you care? Would anything I say make a difference? Or is this little visit nothing more than a forced social requirement, something you believe you must do, without knowing why?
She glared daggers at him, anger flaring, rage boiling her blood. Her first instinct was to let this anger fly, to tell him once and for all how she really felt. But not the lovesick waxings of a woman who wished to give away her heart. Rather, the outraged exclamations of a woman scorned.
The only reason she did not bother was because she knew it would make no difference. That was the biggest joke of all.
This marriage...it was as he’d had told her on day one. A marriage of convenience only. It was just now that Florentia was finally accepting this cold, so very brutal reality.
“I will see you when you return,” she said simply.
He nodded once. “If you need anything, I have left my address with the staff. They will know how to reach me.”
“I doubt I will,” she said, a fragment of a snarl to her voice. “In fact, I doubt I will ever need anything from you again.”
That saw him frown. A moment as he considered her, really seeing her for the first time. She wondered if he might rise to the moment, if they might fight. A part of her hoped they would. But no.
“Good,” he said. “I will see you next week.” Another nod and he turned and stalked down the hall.
Florentia did not watch him go. Rather, she slammed the door closed and stormed back through her room.
She let her anger flood her. She let it baste her, hands curled into fists, body shaking, teeth bared like a rabid wolf on the prowl.
Better to be angry than to be upset. Better to be furious than to wallow in misery.
The misery, she knew, would come later. Of that, there could be no doubt.