Page 58 of Loving Mister Stratford
One Month Later
Simon watched from the periphery of the ballroom as Odette spun across the floor to the lively steps of a popular dance—yet another that he’d not bothered to learn. Though he wasn’t participating, he took immense pleasure in his wife’s broad smile and the tinkle of her laughter to which he’d become so attuned he could pick out through the din of the partygoers. A single golden curl flew loose from her coiffure and his fingers itched to wrap the lock around them and revel in the familiar silkiness.
Odette seemed to have gained a foothold in Society, thanks in large part to that reading society of hers. Meredith and the Duchess of Moreton had welcomed her with open arms into their intimate circle of singular women, and neither Odette nor Simon could have been more pleased. It gave Odette a purpose and a sense of belonging in this world, and Simon loved nothing more than seeing his wife so content.
The only downside—for truly only one such as Simon could see it thusly—was that they were now more obligated to attend social functions such as this one. Truth be told, Simon had believed he’d mind the intrusions upon his time more than he actually had, which surprised no one more than he. It seemed that his world had well and truly been altered if he far preferred watching his wife’s joy as she interacted with her friends and acquaintances more than he did his endless hours of solitude.
How could he have known the meek little woman he’d quite literally stumbled upon only six months prior would have so metamorphosed his life? Or that that same woman would come out of her shell to be a beacon of joy who shone brightly enough to catch one’s eye in even a room as glowing and glittering as that ballroom?
Odette was so adept in these situations; Simon believed it a sight to behold. She recognized when his mind wanted desperately to be elsewhere and his wife effortlessly made up for his lack of social graces. She wove witty excuses when she saw he needed a break from the crush. And she never, ever made him feel as if he was lacking…though Lord knew even Simon was aware he fell far short of what he should be as husband and escort. Watching Odette was watching a work of art in motion; though Simon’s favorite part of these evenings was, by far, at the end when he finally had the opportunity to return all the favors she’d paid him. It was like unwrapping the most exquisite of presents, designed only for him.
Even after all these months, he had yet to fathom her love and acceptance, but he had slowly learned to welcome it with open arms.
One night shortly after he’d returned from Lincolnshire, he’d lain awake holding her as she slept. Odette had been on her side, the length of her back pressed against his front. He had placed a tender hand upon her abdomen and listened to her breathing—for how long, he couldn’t have said. A sense of contentment covered him like the warmest blanket. He’d whispered into her love-tossed hair how much he adored her and would love this child—that no matter how scattered he might seem or preoccupied he may get, she and this babe would be his whole world; and he prayed they’d never doubt it.
To his surprise, Odette had rolled to face him and kissed him with soft, swollen lips. Her words would stay with him to his dying day:“I know.” Then, she’d drifted off to sleep, her body softening against his once more, but Simon could do nothing but lie awake.
She did know.
She knew everything.
She knew more than she gave herself credit for.
She knew him, she saw him, and still she loved him, and she’d never doubt him.
Simon continued to watch his wife twirl and dip, twining between other couples on the dance floor. So enthralled was he by the way the gentle swell of her stomach was just beginning to become visible against her skirts when she moved that he hardly noticed the arrival of a tall, heavy-set man beside him.
“And how is married life treating you, hm?”
Startled from his musings, Simon turned to find none other than the Prince Regent.
“Your Highness,” Simon uttered hastily. His manners and training kicked in and he dipped into a low, respectful bow. For a man of his girth and health, the Regent certainly moved surprisingly stealthily.
“You didn’t answer the question.” He straightened as the Prince Regent bid him rise with a dismissive flick of his wrist.
Facing the dance floor once more, it wasn’t all difficult for Simon to locate his wife again. His mouth tilted in a self-assured smile and he clasped his hands behind his back.“I’ve found it life-alteringly pleasant, Your Majesty.”
A grunt of thoughtful approval from the Prince Regent preceded several minutes of contented silence between the two men as they gazed upon the dancers. No one approached them; even the Prince’s closest companions remained at a respectful distance. The interaction wasn’t unnoticed, however, and eyes kept flicking in their direction; heads tilted in murmured contemplation. For Simon to have caught onto such interest, it was likely blatant to others.
His wife must have rubbed off on him, for there could be no real explanation for Simon’s next words other than the fact that there may never be another opportunity to express his long-held suspicions to the Prince Regent in such relative seclusion.
“I hope you will forgive us for our delayed conveyance of gratitude for our wedding present. My wife and I are quite overwhelmed with gratitude for the purchase of the townhouse.” Simon didn’t turn to face the Prince, but the weighty silence beside him told him nearly as much as the following grunt.
“And why is it you believe We know to whom your thanks should be awarded?” the Prince, using the Royal We, asked gruffly, though there was no anger there—more so resignation disguised as haughtiness, if Simon wasn’t mistaken.
“The secrecy was intriguing,” Simon began, deciding in that moment to be nothing but honest;“the ghostly imprint of initials on the letter, the intense secrecy and use of a tertiary solicitor to purchase and hold the property, the interest you seem to have taken in me and my wife—I am, after all, only a second-son of an earl and my wife the illegitimate daughter of an actress in the eyes of Society, though I see her as nothing less than a princess in my world.” Simon followed this with an uncharacteristic pause for effect.“And you share the same eyes and smile.”
To the last, the Prince Regent heaved a sigh.“You mustn’t think less of her mother.” There was some wry amusement on Simon’s part that the Prince didn’t include himself in that statement.“We did what We were able to from afar—she was always well cared for and attended the best schools.”
“If you’ll forgive me, Your Highness,” Simon interrupted gently;“she and I both appreciate all of what she has been given, but I believe she would have cherished knowing her father far more.”
The ensuing silence was pregnant. Who knew a man so round and soft could suddenly go so cold and hard? He recognized that he was pressing his luck, but Simon continued:“She’ll be a mother come the New Year…and I’ve heard it said that being a grandparent is about as close as one can get to a second chance at parenthood. My only hope is that this might be taken into consideration…for Odette’s sake, of course.”
Simon didn’t need to watch the Prince Regent’s ice-blue eyes to know he, too, was following Odette’s trajectory as she mingled with other guests.
Suddenly, the Prince gave a noncommittal nod and bid Simon a good evening. His next words, however, made Simon freeze mid-bow.“By the way, congratulations on your publication. We have heard your work has made quite the impression.”
Not usually one for overt expressions, it was a surprise to Simon when the Prince seemed to take note of his shock.
