The Discarded Wife

by Camille Oster

"There probably was. I simply wasn't aware of it." Young and naïve had been her at that time. A handsome lord was going to marry her. It had been every fairy-tale come true. Except the prince was made of ice, and then took the first opportunity to dispose of her. "I think we should agree that it was an unfortunate event and should never mention it again."

  "Except the marriage produced a child."

  "No, my child. There is no court in the world that would argue with me, when he could perfectly reasonably have been Doug's child." Provided he was born a month or so early.

  "Except he is the spitting image of me."

  Sophie stepped away, turning her back on him. Mr. Lawrence had said the law did not care about who Alfie looked like. Doug was his legal father. It was an untruth and she hated participating in it, but she had no choice.

  "And now I offer him a life beyond anything you could ever offer, and you are unreasonable and turn it down. Even your family think you are unreasonable."

  Well, Oliver would, who really would sell Alfie for the wealth and position he felt he was owed.

  "I could say the same for you," she finally said, turning back to him. "I am offering him a life beyond anything you could ever offer."

  "A life staying one step ahead of poverty? If you are lucky. One thing goes wrong and your house of cards comes crashing down. Or is that when you expect me to come to your rescue?"

  "I expect nothing of you but your absence. You've managed well so far, so let's go back to that."

  Stepping away, he slowly moved around the shop, surveying her merchandise. "Your situation is precarious. You don't seem to understand that."

  She understood full well, but she had hope and she guarded against their livelihood and life being destroyed. It wasn't by any means ideal, but it was what they had, and they had to make do.

  "Anything could come along and destroy everything," he said. There was a warning in his voice, but she didn't understand what he was implying. "Such as a new landlord coming in and raising the rent. Or he simply doesn't want a music shop on the premises. This is a great location and you are barely keeping your head above the water as it is."

  "But I am."

  "I own this building now, by the way," he said, turning to her with a smile so he could see her expression. Odious man. "I could have you out of here tomorrow if I wished."

  Sophie stood with her back straight and her head held high. For a moment, she didn’t know what to do. He owned this building? That put her utterly in his power, as he knew it would.

  "See, wealth gets you all sorts of things you need."

  "Somehow it hasn't managed to secure you a wife," she said, changing the topic to something a bit safer. His look was chiding her.

  "The point of all this is to do without a wife, I think," he said. "I personally find the idea distasteful. You are such mercenary creatures."

  "If only Alfie had been born a girl, you would have absolutely no interest in stealing my child."

  "I am stealing nothing—simply claiming what is mine."

  "He is a child," she said, her voice booming. "He does not belong to you. He is not an object. This is the reason there is no way on this green earth that I will let you raise my son. You are a despicable human being and I am asking you to leave my shop."

  "Technically, it's my shop." He certainly wasn't leaving on her inducement.

  "Well, I suggest you sell the building immediately."

  "And why would I do that?"

  Taking a step closer, she ensured he heard. "Because if you do anything to threaten my shop…" With a deep breath, she calmed herself, annoyed that he had made her lose her temper. "Let me inform you how things are."

  "Please do."

  "So the position Alfie and I are in, and you really have no claim or relevance to either of us, legally or otherwise, is that if our lives becomes untenable here, we will have to liquidate all my assets—and I do have enough. And then we will purchase two tickets to America—or Australia—and go there to build a new life for ourselves."

  "Australia? With every convict we've managed to rid ourselves of?"

  "And yet, the bulk of them are better behaved than you. But yes, we will leave England and probably never come back, so don't push me, because I will. I have no particular attachments, and I will do what I see as best for my son. And to be honest, I find the idea of a world without you and your kind quite appealing."

  "Spoken like a dyed in the wool Chartist."

  She wasn't a Chartist, but she had sympathies for their cause. Who didn't of those who made their daily bread by their own work? But her objections were different in nature. "I have enough experience with your kind to know there is nothing there worth aspiring to. Nothing."

  In all seriousness, if he became too much of a problem, she would do exactly as she threatened and simply sail away from England. It would be stressful and scary heading off to a land unknown for a future she couldn't foresee, but she would do it if she had to.

  "You are a ridiculous woman," he finally uttered. It was his turn to lose his temper.

  "So go ahead; raise the rent if you must. Do whatever you feel you need to do and I will respond in kind."

  "How in the world did I get saddled with the most unreasonable woman in the world?"

  "That is between you and your sister and whatever hold my brother had over you. It was and is nothing I care to know about."

  Pent-up anger tensed the man in front of her, and she knew she had won this round of whatever twisted and disturbing game this was.

  "And how do you know I won't chase after you?" he finally said and Sophie's eyes closed in exasperation.

  "You would never handle living without the comforts of your cossetted life. And you are only doing this because you see it as an easy solution to your problems. Well, it is not. I am not rolling over for you. I will fight you until my last breath. This is not the way to get your heir, so just give up."

  "No!" he said sharply, his voice echoing off the walls.

  "The worse thing is," she said. "I know you're doing this in large part to be spiteful."

  Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows. "Did it ever occur to you that I have some obligation to my child?"

  "Did it ever occur to you?" she challenged.

  "Leaving him to face hardship and poverty because of a deranged mother is not fulfilling my duty to him."

  Sophie crossed her arms again. "Then you had better leave us alone and hope that nothing comes and disturbs the little idyll we have."

  "You are deranged," he said and marched out of the shop, leaving the door open behind him.

  It felt a little like a hollow victory, but it was a victory. He'd done his worst and she had faced him down. Now she simply hoped he took her threat seriously, because it was very frightening to consider selling off everything and head out to shores unknown.

  Chapter 12

  “THE WOMAN IS CERTIFIABLY deranged," Tristan said as he paced back and forth in Minette's parlor. In a way, he didn't want to talk about it, but he also couldn't not talk about it either.

  "Perhaps calmer minds should prevail," Minette said, sitting in a silk dress made of green and cream stripes. "You did purchase her building so you could threaten her. I think neither of you are acting all that logically at the moment."

  "Maybe I should have her committed."

  "Ugh," Minette said with an eye-roll and she placed her bone china teacup down. "Calm yourself, my friend. In truth, I have never seen you act like this. You are usually so unflustered."

  "How is one supposed to act when confronted with complete insanity."

  "With calm poise."

  "How can I leave such a woman in charge of my son?"

  "Perhaps we should calmly consider what her objections are," Minette suggested. Tristan didn't want to consider Sophie. He wanted to rage, and to pace until he wore out Minette's carpet. "Sit down and have some tea."

  "Tea is hardly going to fix her insanity."

  "Well, it just might
," Minette said cryptically.

  Grudgingly, Tristan sat even as he felt like running, or boxing. He hadn't boxed since his Oxford days, and even then, he'd wondered if it was a pointless activity.

  "She is a mother and she is acting like a mother protecting her young."

  "She's not protecting—"

  Minette actually shushed him. "Which means she sees you as a threat to her child."

  "That's ridiculous."

  "And what did she say?"

  Tristan didn't want to discuss it, but Minette had that hard stare. "She said I was cold."

  "You are cold. What else?"

  "And she said she would never have someone like me raise her child." It was embarrassing discussing this. "That there is nothing admirable about me and my kind."

  Minette was lost in thought for a while and Tristan took the opportunity to rise from the seat and pace again. "So she believes the child will be harmed in your care. That you are cold and the child would not receive the warmth and love it needs. She does have a point. You are not exactly brimming with human kindness."

  "I won't raise some invertebrate who needs his hand held for every single thing. It never did me any harm."

  "Clearly Mrs. Duthie argues with the point."

  "The boy is six, not an infant tied to his mother's apron strings."

  "Well, it doesn't sound like you are likely to convince her with your theories of parenting."

  "What am I supposed to do—cosset the boy until he has no backbone at all?"

  "It seems your theories on parenting are unacceptable to Mrs. Duthie. Have you discussed how the child is to be raised?"

  "No, of course not."

  "It might appease her if you negotiated on how the child would be raised."

  "There is no negotiating with this woman. You haven't met her. She is… infuriating. What woman does not want her child to have the best in life?"

  "I can imagine that depends on your definition. From what I gather, though, it is primarily your attempt to separate mother and child that is the crux of the problem."

  "I don't want that woman in my house, dogging my every step."

  "Dealing with the mother is usually part and parcel of parenting. It is a running negotiation between both parents. Men might like to believe they head the house, but the woman runs the house."

  Unfortunately, there was some truth to Minette's assertion.

  "You may just have to adjust your offer—before you have her running off to the colonies."

  Could he really tolerate having that woman in his house? It was highly unusual having one's ex-wife living in the house with them. Sophie's reputation was non-existent, so it was hardly an affront in that regard.

  "If you want the child, you are going to have to take the mother too."

  "I don't think it matters. She is set against me," Tristan finally said. "She believes her life is perfectly suitable for raising a child." Insanity upon insanity.

  "You will have to be careful if you intend on using any further leverage on her. I don't think her threat is hollow. If her brother is as despicable as you say, there are hardly family ties holding her back. No mother or father to keep her here. You must tread carefully.”

  "Yes, perhaps you are right," he finally said, hating that she was right, even as he knew she would be when he'd come here. Minette was excellent at giving advice, the rare times he sought it from her.

  Did he really have to resort to having that woman in his house? It was intolerable, but Minette was probably correct in her assertion that Sophie would not be separated from her son. And he could simply hide them both away on his estate for months on end. It wasn't as if Sophie wanted anything from him. She and her son could stay in Dorset while the boy was educated.

  Still, though, she wasn't going to listen to any proposal he put to her. Stubborn as a mule and just as unbending.

  With a kiss on her hand, Tristan bid his friend adieu. Most of his anger had dissipated and he needed to think logically about how to proceed. The answer hadn't come to him yet, but it would.

  The carriage took him home through busy and bustling streets. For some reason, Sophie asserted that she would rather be out there with the pickpockets and bounders than in the comfortable carriage with him, but they were parents of the same child. Perhaps he had been over simplistic in thinking she would simply hand the boy over. If it were up to her brother, he would, but Tristan had made the mistake of bundling Sophie and her brother together.

  The boy came with a mother and he simply needed to get used to that. Having her in the house was going to be a reality, it seemed. She was neither wife, nor governess. Not even a guest, which made it an odd position for her in the household. There was no ready position for an ex-wife within a house.

  It was a cumbersome solution, but what choice did he have? Obviously he could marry and beget another heir, but this child, Alfie, was his and he did feel obligation to the child beyond his role as heir. What kind of man was he to walk away from a child because the mother was troublesome? The child was, after all, innocent of the mother's foibles.

  Once home, he sought Mr. Joseph in his small office. "Has the investigator returned with anything interesting?"

  The man looked up as if startled by someone being there. "No, nothing of any particular value. It seems Mrs. Duthie leads a very plain life. There is nothing at all remarkable about either herself or her husband other than him dying. Nothing untoward. Even the taxes are paid."

  Tristan bit his cheek as he considered what he heard. There was seemingly no leverage on her. "Turn the attention to the brother. There should be enough sordidness there to keep the man busy for quite a while."

  "That would be a Mr. Oliver Bancroft," Mr. Joseph said, writing the name down on a piece of paper. "I will communicate with the investigator."

  "Good, excellent," Tristan said and left the small office of his man of business.

  Wandering around the house for a moment, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. There was still energy in his body from the confrontation with Sophie, but the anger had dissipated. There was still too much upheaval to relax, but nothing took his fancy. He wasn't in the mood to go to his club, and he certainly wasn't in the mood to drink.

  The stillness of the house was complete, the only sound being the clock in the main hallway. Normally his investments were a source of busyness at such times, but he couldn't focus.

  Part of him wanted to run back to Holborn and argue with his quarrelsome ex-wife. He still wished to chide her for the insensible stance she was taking, depriving her son of the future he was meant to have. There should be a limit to how far a parent could impose their hysteria on a child. To even imply he was unfit to parent—that was ludicrous. What kind of lily-livered sap was she trying to raise? The boy needed proper guidance and Sophie was obviously not able to give it to him.

  How would he feel if his mother had imposed such a decision on him—to deprive him of his estate, title and position because of some notion of dignified poverty? It would be unconscionable. It was not a decision she had the right to make for the boy. He certainly wouldn't thank her for his lowered state and impoverished existence. Perhaps that was what she needed to understand.

  Chapter 13

  IT WAS CLOSE TO DUSK as Sophie walked home with Alfie, who was telling her about his lessons that day and the boy who had embarrassed himself in front of the class. She listened to his chattering and smiled. His life was simple and there was nothing untoward. His new school was where his focus was.

  On the way, Sophie stopped and bought some ham from one of the vendors she trusted. They would have bread and ham, along with the soup that she had made the day before.

  When she turned around again, he was petting a man's dog. "Can we get one?" he asked like he had so many times before. In the past, Doug's lungs had always been the reason they couldn't have a dog, but that didn't stand now.

  "No, I'm sorry. I can't have a dog in the shop and it would be unfair to leave th
e poor animal alone all day long."

  "He can come to school with me."

  Sophie smiled at the simplicity of Alfie's worldview. "I don't think Mr. Proctor would approve. Come we must hurry," she said. Once darkness fell, the streets felt much less safe. If she could avoid it, she rarely went out after dark. With Doug, it hadn't been so bad, but now it was just her and she simply couldn't afford for anything to happen to her. Sadly, Lord Aberley was right on that account. Things could happen that could tear their little idyll apart and she had to guard against it.

  "Maybe on Sunday, we will ask Mr. Fontescue down the street if we can walk his dog. He would probably appreciate it."

  Alfie liked the idea and he took Sophie's hand as they continued walking home, dodging carts and horses. They walked past a fruit cart and Sophie decided to buy them an orange to share. They were expensive, but there was nothing she loved more than the bright, juicy fruit. It always made her wonder what exotic place it had come from.

  Packing it away in Alfie's schoolbag, they continued, but a figure dressed in a cloak stood waiting for them outside their doorway leading to their rooms. The man was looking down, but by the quality of the hat, she knew this was a gentleman. Quickly looking around, she saw the carriage with Lord Aberley's chest.

  Gripping Alfie's hand tighter, the boy looked up at her as she missed a step. With a deep breath, she continued walking. Would this man never give up? She'd hoped their confrontation the last time had settled the matter, but he was back now, a whole day later. Was this to be a daily occurrence?

  "Lord Aberley, what a pleasure," she said tightly. "Passing through the neighborhood?" One could only hope.

  Quickly, he looked up, but his eyes only lingered on her for a moment, before seeking Alfie. Her instinct was the pull the boy behind her skirt, but for what purpose?

  "Hello, Alfred" Lord Aberley said, speaking more to Alfie than her. Then his eyes returned to her. "Could hardly say I was passing through." He gave her a scathing look at the ridiculous assertion and Sophie found herself coloring slightly. He returned his attention to Alfie again. "We haven't met. I am Lord Aberley and I am your father."