Page 36 of Loving Mister Stratford
“These branches of mathematics are called geometry and algebra,” he began;“specifically non-Euclidean geometry.” Odette waited patiently for him to continue. As if realizing that she wasn’t going to interrupt him, Simon quickly leaned forward and set his cup on the table.“Imagine, if you will, a circle drawn on a piece of paper. It is flat, but still, certain mathematical rules apply.” Odette nodded, she’d paid attention enough to understand circumference, radius, and diameter. Her heart sped up when Simon took her hand in his, palm side up, and drew a circle on the tender skin there. She fought not to shiver at the gentle contact.“Now, imagine a sphere—still a circle in the second dimension of a piece of paper, but, in reality, a three-dimensional object, like you and I.” He cupped his hand over hers as if, together, they cradled an imaginary ball.“My research partner and I are working on developing certain theorems to explain how the various planes meet and separate…”
She listened raptly as he explained how various coordinates were calculated when planes were not flat, the variations between ideas called Elliptic Geometry and Hyperbolic Geometry with their positive and negative curvature, and how those ideas differed from the ancient idea developed by a brilliant, long-deceased Greek man. On and on he went, and, far from being bored, Odette was transfixed. Of course, she understood very little of what he said, but he managed to make it fascinating. His long, elegant fingers used her hands to demonstrate the difference between a triangle drawn on a plane and one drawn on the surface of, say, a ball. A few of the drawings she’d come across in his journals began to make sense, but she was easily resigned to the fact that full comprehension would forever remain outside of her reach.
She asked a handful of questions and was thoroughly impressed with how Simon managed to (for the most part, at least) slow his racing mind and words to a pace she could better follow. He came alive with the golden light of his passion; he and his intelligence shown so brilliantly Odette had a difficult time understanding how everyone wasn’t blinded by it all.
“And you plan on submitting a paper to a journal?” The reaction Simon gave her made her heart flip. He beamed and his eyes glowed with excitement.
“We intend to submit it for publication. The hope is it will bring attention to my work and also gain me entrance into the London Mathematical Society,” his words were swift and joyous, tumbling from his lips like an eager child’s.“This work could greatly advance the knowledge and understanding of algebra and geometry; it could bring England notoriety in the field, on par with Germany and France. Do you see?” He held her hands tightly in his and she gripped him right back, his passion utterly captivating.“This work could be revolutionary.”
Meredith had been right. Watching Simon discuss his work generated an infectious excitement, an unbridled joy she had not witnessed from him before.
“This is amazing, Simon. Truly, it is.” She grinned up at his dear face and felt herself fall for him a little more.“I’m so proud of you.”
His smile suddenly faltered, the light in his eyes flickered. She worried he might pull away and retreat back to his office, shutting her out once more, but, instead, he leaned forward. Simon slipped a gentle hand behind the nape of her neck to pull her closer and pressed his lips to her forehead in a slow, sweetly tender kiss. Odette’s eyes fluttered closed and she basked in the warmth of this tender contact, filled her lungs with his scent, savored the moment. She’d done something right, and, more than that, she felt more connected to her husband.
Odette spent the rest of the day reading in a warm patch of sunlight. Rarely had she had the opportunity to enjoy such peace. At school, there had been an overabundance of girls creating distractions or schoolwork which took precedence over reading for pleasure. Even at home, her mother had constantly toted her around on one errand or another, or she’d been deposited in the theater. If anyone believed a private moment could be had there, then they had clearly never tried to find a quiet corner when everyone else around you was running and calling, wrestling with set pieces or costumes, whistling for attention above the bustle. Even her time spent at Bridleton had been relatively busy with all the wedding preparations. Now, truly having her own space—without anyone yanking her to and fro—for the very first time, was novel, indeed. However, Odette wasn’t naive enough to believe that this would always be her life.
She didn’t doubt that word of their hasty marriage and their return to London had made its rounds through Society, but it was almost pleasant to postpone having to face reality for the time being. They were spared from social obligations while people waited the appropriate amount of time for their honeymoon period to pass before they indulged in their curiosities by calling upon them at their home or extending invitations to the new Mr. and Mrs. Stratford.
When Simon didn’t appear for supper that evening, Odette made sure to request that a tray be brought to him. She would have much rather dined with her husband, but she had a new understanding and appreciation for his passion and the importance of his work. She could share his attention, even if it sometimes felt like she was competing against an intangible rival for it.
She experienced a little nudge of guilt; she supposed it was not all that fair.
He’d loved his work long before they’d married…and not once had he indicated that he felt anything akin to that for her.
And, now that she’d snooped through his private journals (and painstakingly replaced them in perfect order in the trunk), she had a new respect for just how much Simonneededthe order and escape of his numbers, the challenge to his mind.
Odette eased into this solitary routine for the next two days. She maintained an optimistic speck of hope that she’d see her husband each day and, when he did not appear, she’d slip down to the kitchens for a little bit of human interaction, usually under the guise of requesting they set a tray for Simon to eat in his study. She found she liked their new maid, Mary, quite well and, though she sometimes poked Odette’s scalp with hairpins and often burned the toast when she assisted the cook, the girl was eager to learn and seemed extremely grateful for the position in a household as quiet and informal as theirs.
The Aldborough servants had completed their temporary tenure and returned to their usual duties back at the home of the earl and countess, leaving behind an organized household, a maid, their new cook, and a butler. The staff were all relatively untried, but everyone seemed to get on well enough, and Odette was secretly grateful that she didn’t have more experienced staff to judge her for her slip-ups as she, too, learned the ins and outs of their new life.
Tired of taking tea alone, Odette had even eschewed custom and sat at the rough kitchen table just to enjoy a bit of noise and chatter while Mary and Cook prepared tea or supper. The maid continued to refuse to join her—it seemed to offend her sense of propriety to do so, even in her inexperience—though she seemed to like having an audience for her amusing stories starring her large family with her six brothers and sisters. She was also rather adept at ignoring the disapproving stares of the cook as she continued to chatter on and on.
Odette had concluded her supper in the kitchens one evening, determined to finish the last page in a chapter of her book before she left the warm closeness for the rest of the empty house, when the maid returned carting with her the same tray she’d brought up to Simon sometime earlier.
“Has Mr. Stratford finished his supper, then?” Odette asked absently, her eyes still skimming over the words before her.
“Untouched, as usual,” Mary sighed as she set the tray on the table. There was a clatter in the larder where the cook had decided to undertake some reorganization.
Odette frowned and looked up. She hadn’t expected that answer.
Peering at the tray, Odette could, indeed, see that nothing had been eaten. The thin slices of beef were untouched beside the small roasted potatoes and carrots, slices of warm bread lay cold and stale. Even the delicious berry pie remained in perfect condition. The latter half of the maid’s statement sank in.
“As usual?”
Mary’s eyes widened as if only just realizing to whom she spoke and the informality of the statement.“I–I only mean that Mr. Stratford hasn’t taken much of anything from any of the trays I’ve brought to him today.” She wrinkled her pert little nose;“Or yesterday, for that matter.”
“He hasn’t eaten?”
“Nothing substantial, anyway.” The girl tilted her shoulder and set about tidying up.“I might attribute it to the cooking if you complained, Ma’am.” She was cheeky, but she was right.
“‘Tisn’t anything wrong with ma cookin’,” the cook chimed in, her thick Northern accent echoed out of the larder.
“I did ask him if there was aught he might prefer, but he didn’t look up and just shook his head with a hand in the air and dismissed me.” The maid flitted her hand in an imitation of Simon’s earlier gesture.
Odette watched as the food was removed and the plate and silverware were cleaned. She chewed on her lip and her indecision in equal measure. She wasn’t Simon’s mother; she didn’t want to nag him about eating. She also didn’t want to disturb his work. Perhaps most of all, she didn’t want a husband who wasted away because he was too consumed by his occupation to remember to eat.
She was still ruminating over the situation as she lay in bed that evening. The lights had been doused and she was alone in the bed chamber.
