Page 100 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“Cast me out I beg of you. I am not worth the trouble of keeping.”
“So you say.”
“’Tis true, Oliver. Oh, how I wish I committed some terrible act, some sin, that you might regard me as worthy of casting to the wind.”
“Would you have me cast you so easily, then?”
“Yes. I would. And I would wish you to find someone worthy of the love you hold in your heart, dear one.”
“Lady Madeline,” he said quietly, “I ask that you leave at once.”
“No,” she said.
“I beg your pardon.”
“Oliver, I must hear it.”
“Hear it, eh? And what, pray tell, is it that you must hear fromme?”
“I must hear it from your own lips that you release me.”
“And what of it? Hmm? What of this dissolution of our contract? You will be on your way, a song in your heart, and I shall be left here to rot in low manner.”
“Oliver, that is a statement fit for melodrama.”
“Lady Madeline, I release you. I release you to the wind, to the ugly and egregious yearnings of your malevolent heart! I release you to the life that you think you will make for yourself without me. Go! Go! I release you!”
“Oliver,” she said, and her tears flowed copiously, “please don’t be like this!”
“Go! From my sight! Do not blight my house with your presence any longer! I release you!”
With this, he stormed from the room, leaving it to her tears.
She looked up and saw Reese standing in the doorway.
“Please, M’Lady,” he said, his voice tender.
She followed him to the door. As he opened it, he reached to his lapel and plucked the flower he wore every time she’d seen him. This he handed to her without a word, his face sombre.
“Thank you, Reese,” she said. “You dear, dear fellow ...”
Chapter 71
Madeline studied her country attire in the mirror and smiled. It had been two weeks since breaking poor Oliver’s heart. She owed it to herself to enjoy a week or so at Uncle Roger’s country estate.
“Oh, My Lady!” cried Lisbelle. “A picture of loveliness, you are!”
She turned, fanning her dress around her as she did. “Do you think so, Lizzy?”
“Oh, without a doubt. Let’s just see what we can do about that hem, and you’ll be on your way.
Lisbelle grabbed a sewing kit from the bottom drawer of Madeline’s vanity table, went to her knees, and quickly got to work.
“Lizzy, dear girl, you ought to slow down.”
Lisbelle looked up, pins jutting from the corner of her mouth, which she removed promptly. “Hmm? Nonsense. I’ll have you spit-spot before you can say Jack Robinson.”
“No, really. You’ll wear yourself away to nothing. Slow down. Take time to enjoy life and its surroundings.”
