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"I am one who loved not wisely but too well"

Othello


Chapter Two:

It had been over a week since Grace's funeral, which Evelyn had not attended. The reason for which she was not entirely sure. She had rationalized that it was a private matter, and that she wished not to intrude. But she always heard her grandmother's voice in the back of her mind, telling her that it would be an embarrassment to the family to be seen in attendance at a gangster's funeral. Even if Grace herself was not one, her husband was, and she was killed because of it.

That was the logical part of her speaking. But the emotional part. That part reared its ugly head at night, when she replayed the scene over and over, and found herself curling up in the jacket Michael had given her. The inquisitive looks from her maids put a stop to this, and she'd sent it off to be cleaned and pressed. Now it was back, hanging over a chair, staring at her, begging her to be returned.

"Oh, what the hell." She muttered, throwing on a coat, and draping the jacket over her arm

Mr Jones didn't ask any questions when she told him she would be leaving, and did not know when she would return. He eyed the jacket in her arms, and looked as if he wanted to warn her against her current course of action, but he didn't.

For the entirety of the drive Evelyn was second guessing herself, and almost turned around on numerous occasions. Her nerves did not subside when she arrived, clutching the pie she had taken from the kitchen on her way out. Her mother had always told her to bring something when she visited others homes. Left a good impression.

She was just about to attempt to maneuver the pie in her arms to knock on the door, but it opened before she had to. Shaking off the shock, she smiled at the two women who stood before her. One looked to be about her own age, but the other she recognised. It was Michael's mother.

"Um, hello," Evelyn awkwardly greeted, "I just thought I'd come by," she explained, "I uh, brought pie, and Michael's jacket."

"Thank you very much." Michael's mother said, taking the food, "You best be on your way."

"Oh, but,"

"Evelyn," Michael said, walking closer to the door, "Please, come in."

Squeezing in between the two women, she smiled sweetly at them, not allowing their suspicious looks to cause her to drop the civility that had been drilled into her since birth. Following behind Michael, he led her into the drawing room, gesturing for her to take a seat.

"What are you doing here?" Michael asked, closing the door before moving to lean against the wall

"I'm returning your jacket." Evelyn explained, handing it up to him, "I, uh, had it cleaned, and pressed."

"Thanks." He muttered, "You didn't come to the funeral."

"I thought it would be more of a family affair," she said, "How are Mr Shelby, and Charles?"

"Mr Shelby?" Michael asked, pulling out a cigarette, and lighting it up

"I'm used to formalities." She shrugged, "To refer to acquaintances by their first name is seen as inappropriate."

"Do you call me by my name?"

"Yes." She admitted, refusing to acknowledge that by that definition he was either more than an acquaintance, or an exception. "So, how are they?"

"Gone." He revealed, "But they'll be back."

"Well, do you need any help with anything?" Evelyn asked, wondering where the ease of their first encounter had disappeared to,

"Why are you really here?" Michael asked, "I have other jackets. You didn't need to return this one."

"And here I was under the assumption that you were the one who wished to see me again." Evelyn defended, "Or have I horribly miscalculated this situation?"

"I do want to see you," he replied, "But why do you want to see me?"

"Why do you want to see me?" Evelyn echoed, "See, I can cast doubt on your intentions too." She said, sighing, before continuing, "In truth, we had one of the most engaging conversations I've had with a man in awhile."

"The men you've met must be terrible."

"Well, they were all offering their condolences, and openly flirting me would not have been appropriate." Evelyn explained, "You see, I lied to you. My last name's not Ryder. At least not anymore."

"Than what is it?"

"Seymour," Evelyn answered, "That's my married name."

"Married name?" Michael clarified, "You're married?"

"I was. He died a year ago." Evelyn said, holding up her hand, "And before you say it, please don't give me your condolences. I'm sick of hearing how strangers are sorry for his death."

"I'd say I understand how you feel, but I don't have any dead wives." Michael said, "You, aren't exactly what I imagined a widow to look like."

"You mean I'm rather young." She corrected, "I know."

"If you don't mind me asking," he said, moving to take the seat beside her, "But how did he die?"

"Spanish Flu. Contracted it about a week after the wedding." Evelyn recounted, "Killed him rather quickly. Because of how infectious it is, his mother wasn't allowed to see him for fear that she'd contract it." She said, "I remember holding her as she sobbed. He was her only child, and she didn't last much longer."

"I couldn't imagine how difficult that was for you."

"It really wasn't as difficult as it would be for others." Evelyn admitted, "I'd only known him for two months prior to our marriage. He was a good person, but my personal grief wasn't what a wife's should be."

"Why did you only know him a month?" Michael asked, "Were you forced into it?"

"No. I mean, not in a manner of speaking." Evelyn said, "I could've said no. But as the only daughter of an Earl, there are certain expectations. My father told me he was a good man, and I trusted his judge of character."

"What if he had been wrong?" He asked, "What if your husband hadn't been a good man?"

"Than, most likely, after I'd had an heir, we live in separate houses." Evelyn said, "Divorce would be too scandalous, so he'd have probably have affairs, and I'd just have to suffer through it."

"I'm glad he wasn't a bad man." Michael said, "I'm glad you're not condemned to that life."

"Thank you."

Before the conversation could continue, they were interrupted by the opening of the door. His mother stepped into the room, and despite the smile on her face, her hawkish eyes were trained on Evelyn. Sizing her up, trying to get a measure of her, figure out her intentions.

"We're all going to have the pie now." She announced, and despite Michael's annoyed look, they rose from the chair, "I'm Polly, Michael's mother." She introduced, positioning herself in between them and the door, "What's your name?"

"Evelyn Seymour." She answered, "I was a friend of Grace's. I was there, at the Charity Ball."

"I remember." Polly said, "I don't remember seeing you at the wedding, or the funeral."

"I was visiting my family in Staffordshire during the wedding," Evelyn explained, "And, I thought that the funeral should be for family and close friends only. I didn't want to impede on anyone's grief."

Polly seemed to be satisfied enough by her answer, turning away to lead them into the larger room, where everyone else had gathered. The three men - well, two men and a boy - narrowed their eyes at her as she entered. Clearly, she was not entirely welcome.

"Everyone, this is Evelyn Seymour." Polly announced, "She's the one who brought the pie."

"It's delicious," the woman from earlier said, "What's your secret?"

"I didn't make it." Evelyn admitted, "But I can get the recipe for you."

"Who made it than?" The oldest of the men asked

"The cook." She said, innocently, annoyed by their snickering, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"I'm Arthur," he replied, turning to point towards the others, "That's John, Finn, and Ada."

"It's lovely to meet you all." Evelyn said, smiling at them

The men seemed almost put off by her manners. Clearly they were either expecting her to silently take their mocking, or to react with blatant anger. But that was not what she had been taught.

The group fell into a chatter, and Evelyn remained practically glued to Michael's side. By every minute she grew more comfortable, and actually quite enjoyed the company of Ada. But this made her careless. And when Michael was beckoned over by Arthur, Polly quickly took his place. No doubt the whole thing had been her plan.

"So, where do you live?" Polly asked, "You said your family was in Staffordshire."

"Yes, they live there, and that's where I was raised." Evelyn said, "But I live here, in Warwickshire. In Ragley Hall."

Usually, Evelyn was not one to openly flaunt status or wealth. But, for some reason, she wanted to impress these people.

"That sounds like a fancy name for a house." Ada said

"Well, it's an estate." Evelyn explained, "They're usually called Halls, or Abbeys, or Parks."

"And you own that by yourself?" Polly asked, the rest of the room now listening in to the conversation

"Well, no. Technically I don't own anything." Evelyn said, "It belonged to my deceased husband. I'm living in it until the end of the year, upon which the new lord will move in."

"Where will you go?" Ada asked, sounding almost concerned

"Assuming my family hasn't sold me to another husband," she said, "I will move into the Dower House."

"What's that?" Ada asked

"It's where widows are sent to die." Evelyn deadpanned, eliciting some chuckles from the others, "No. Widows go to live there when the lord gets a new wife. New mistress for the house, out with the old one." She explained, "Does tend to create tensions with the in-laws."

"I can imagine." Polly said,

"So, you're married to a lord." Arthur said, "What're you doing hanging around our Michael? He sure as shit ain't a lord."

"Arthur," Polly scolded, "Watch your language around the lady."

Evelyn didn't reply, unsure as to what Arthur exactly expected her to say. It was certainly unusual for the widow of a Marquess to be spending her time with gangster's. No matter how far they had risen. Aristocrats tended not to ignore where a person came from.

"Oh, is that the time," Evelyn said, noticing the clock, "I said I would be back by now."

"I'll walk you out." Michael offered, glaring at Arthur

"Thank you for the pie." Polly said, "It was very nice."

"It was nice to meet you all." Evelyn called out, before turning to follow Michael out of the house

"Thank you for returning my jacket." Michael said, "It was good seeing you again."

"Likewise." Evelyn said, and she was about to walk toward her car, when she suddenly spoke up, "Do you have a pen?"

Michael frowned in confusion, but nevertheless, pulled a pen from his pocket and handed it to her. Grabbing onto his hand, she scrawled something on the back of it. Placing the pen back in his pocket, she began to back away.

"What'd you write?" He called out

"My address." She replied, "Come by for afternoon tea."

"When."

"Whenever." She said, smiling as she got into the car, it not fading the entire drive home.