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Henry was living in a dream world. He didn't give a damm about anyone other then Marielle and himself. He saw the looks people gave him on the streets but he didn't care. He knew what people were saying; even with Di it hadn't been like this. It had been secret; stolen glances across a crowded room, hurried kisses in hallways and shadowed corners, notes and letters, each line memorised before being destroyed.

With Marielle Tyler, he didn't care if the whole world knew. He would send huge bouquets of flowers, dance with her in the park to the music of a marching band, huge gestures of love and affection so that no one could doubt where his eyes were fixed. There was one subject however which no one seemed to discuss: the fact that even though Marielle was undoubtedly crazy about Henry, she was married, but no one had seen her husband.

Henry found himself wondering about "The Case of the Missing Husband", as he had come to call it, but something always interrupted his thoughts. He would shake off the thoughts but doubts always lingered, whispering in the dark recess of his mind, every minute growing louder and stronger. Soon there was only one solution: he would have to talk to Marielle.

Henry did his best to soften the questioning. He had reserved a table at a little French restaurant. He had the whole room lit with candles, with bouquets of gardenias, giving off the aroma of spring. Soft music was playing; it was the ultimate romantic evening. He arranged someone to pick up and escort Marielle to the restaurant while he finished the final details. He could sense her mild confusion as she walked into the room. He looked up and was left speechless.

She was wearing a tight red dress, embellished with black roses and black lace. She was beautiful, confident and sexy. She did a little shimmy with a secretive smile on her luscious lips.

"You see something you like?" She laughed.

"Yes." He said, very seriously, with no hint of a smile on his face.

She stared into his eyes, the intensity between them a strong as rock. She was different, thought Henry. In all of the women he had met, there was no one like her. The depth of his feeling scared him, when they met he hadn't been wanting anything serious. He was still getting over Di. Getting your heart broken is soul wrenching and time is the only thing that can heal a wound like that. He couldn't let it happen again. This relationship is not serious, he told himself, only a fling, it's not like I'm going to marry her…

"Henry?"

Marielle's soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He hurriedly shook it off and led her to their table.

"This is beautiful," whispered Marielle. She turned her eyes to his face. "Is there a special occasion I'm not aware of?"

"No, no special occasion," smiled Henry reassuringly. "I just wanted to take you some place nice, that's all."

"Oh… well it's beautiful Henry, thankyou." If Marielle doubted his words she showed no sign of it.

The dinner was delicious and Henry was very pleased with how the evening had gone, but the hardest part was still to come.

"Marielle," he said nervously, fingering the stem of his wine glass. "There is actually something I wanted to ask you."

"Of course Henry, you can ask me anything."

"Well it's a bit delicate. The thing is, well, it's about your husband…"

Marielle froze, nervously fidgeting with her bracelet, avoiding his gaze.

"It's just, everyone wondering and I feel it's important that I know if…"

"No." Marielle interrupted. "No Henry, I thought you understood. Anyone else would have asked me straight away, but you didn't. I thought that meant that you didn't care about it, that you only cared about me. Well now I can see that I was wrong, I was stupid, and you; you are just. Like. Them."

She picked up her purse, gave him one last, long look and stalked to the doorway, leaving a confused and hurt man in her wake.

Everyday since he'd met Marielle, Henry had woken up, happy to be alive, but not this morning. The dark grey skies seemed to reflect his dark, frustrated mood. He tossed the covers off the bed and stomped to his door.

"What the hell do I have to do around here to get some bloody service?"

His voice echoed off the walls like thunder as the servants scurried around like ant, doing everything in their power to avoid making him even angrier than he already was.

A knock sounded on the door while Henry was eating lunch.

"What," he shouted, slamming his knife down on the tabletop.

"A letter is here for you, Sir."

It was the butler; he opened the door, gave Henry the letter and left as quickly as he could.

"Wait!" Henry called out.

He pulled a thin envelope out of his waistcoat pocket. It was addressed to Mrs Marielle Evans. He knew the use of her married name would annoy her. Inside were a few, short, cold lines:

"Madam, I write to inform you that I no longer wish to know you. Please do not trouble me again."

H.S

He handed the note to the butler and requested that he send it.

After finishing his meal, Henry moved to the couch to read the letter. It read as follows:

To my dearest Henry,

I am sorry about last night. The events surrounding my marriage are painful to me and I do not like to talk about them. However, I feel that it is now necessary for you to know what transpired.

I was born, as you know, in the North of New York state, in a little town called Rochester. When I was nineteen, my parents arranged for me to marry Lewis Evans. He was eight years older than me and was the dullest man I have ever met. About six months into our marriage, I met Alexander Pieterson and he was a Russian sailor. We met on the docks and from the first moment I saw him, I was in love. We had an affair, Lewis never caught us, but two weeks after he'd left, I got sick. I was dizzy, weak and nauseous. It didn't take me long to figure out that I was with child.

When Lewis found out, he was furious. We hadn't slept together so there was no doubt that the child wasn't his. I soon found out that a lot of people had known of the affair, once one person knew, everyone knew. That's just how fast gossip travels. Lewis had been the only one who hadn't known. This made him even angrier; he thought the whole town was laughing at him when his back was turned. So we moved here, to New York City, but Lewis was ashamed, ashamed of my unborn child, and me, so he left us. At that point I was eight months pregnant. The baby was born suddenly, a full month early; it was a little baby girl. The told me later that she had died, being a month premature, she was too weak to survive.

So I went home. I've tried to fill the gap in my life but nothing has been easy. Then I met you. You didn't ask questions, you just loved me. When you questioned me last night I froze up. All the painful memories came rushing back and I put up defences.

Forgive me,

All my love

Marielle Tyler.

"Oh God, what have I done?"

These were the first words Henry spoke upon finishing the letter. She would receive his note, assuming that he had already read her letter. She would think he was disgusted by her behaviour and continue blaming herself.

He had to do something. God he was a selfish bastard, if he could just think before acting.

It wouldn't be easy recovering his dignity, but Hell knows he would give it everything he had.