The Discarded Wife

by Camille Oster

"Please be mindful that you are becoming a very important part of his life," she continued. Was she saying that he should keep his distance, or was she saying the opposite? "He has lost so many things lately."

  "He has gained too."

  "I hope so. I truly do."

  She wasn't referring to the house or the tutor, or any of the luxuries and comforts here. She was referring to him, telling him that he was in the position to have a profound impact on this boy's life, and if he chose to, Alfie would become cold and distant from lack of interest and approval. It was a significant responsibility.

  Still, Alfie had something Tristan had never had, a mother that would soften any blow the boy would face in his life. That did not mean that the boy's upbringing should be as harsh and barren as his own had been. "I am aware," he finally said.

  It seemed she was satisfied with the response and she turned to walk back into the house. Tristan watched her go. In all honesty, he wasn't sure what he wanted to do, what he should do, but he was becoming aware that being a father was much more meaningful than simply putting an heir in place. That was secure now, and he needed to seriously consider the father he wanted to be to this boy.

  Chapter 23

  A ROUTINE EMERGED AND their days became more predictable. Sophie would breakfast with Alfie in the nursery, then he would start his lessons with Mr. Herman, and Sophie would have time to while away. The instruments in the music room were all as good as she was going to get them. She had picked the books out of the library she would read and all their things were neatly packed away in their places.

  It was clear that she needed some other activities to divert herself. With the shop, she never had time for pursuits such as embroidery, lacemaking, or anything else usually the domain of more leisurely ladies. Although, here they were needed out of sheer absence of anything else to do. Truthfully, those pursuits were not the most rewarding and productive in her mind, but she couldn't think of anything else. Maybe she should take up drawing.

  All these things she would have done in finishing school had her father not passed away in such an untimely fashion. But her life had veered in a completely different direction, starting from a comfortable start in a middling family supported by trade, steering her into a disastrous foray into high society, then into a more impoverished existence with Doug. Status and position did not make one happy, she had learnt.

  It was that knowledge and the unhappiness she had felt and observed as Lady Aberley that had made her want a better future for Alfie. Happiness was more important than money, but it wasn't quite that simple. The complete lack of money was miserable. Imprisonment, deprivation, and sheer lack of value as a human being. The depths one can fall to cannot be undone by happiness.

  Perhaps opposing Lord Aberley had been unwise, as the risks they’d faced could tear down any happiness they had, but she still feared Alfie having an unhappy future. It was up to her to preserve his kindness, innocence and enthusiasm. Lord Aberley wasn't quite as stoic to the boy as she had expected. Seeing them riding out through the window the day before had surprised her. Granted, she had worried. Her past with Lord Aberley had impressed on her a cold and uncaring man, but Alfie had returned brimming with happiness.

  If only Lord Aberley stopped himself from crushing the boy and his growing admiration for the man who was his father. Sons and fathers had a relationship she could never truly understand, but she knew that Alfie's interest in his father would only grow.

  And the man was still here. She would have expected him to have left shortly after bringing them here, but his presence persisted. For Alfie's sake, she felt both pleased and worried. She had no control over how Lord Aberley acted, but she had warned him that his actions did have consequences for a little boy who was not used to harsh and disparaging behavior.

  Aberley's old accusations of her raising a soft boy returned. Yes, she wanted him to be soft. There was enough harshness in the world to purposefully invite more.

  Feeling the need to move, Sophie needed to stretch her legs. It had rained for a few days, but now the sun was out and she wanted fresh air. Instead of simply wandering, she would walk to the village she had been told about. Once there, she would be inspired for whatever new activity she would start. Embroidery had some appeal as it could produce useful things. Out of all the ladylike activities, few of them were of any practical use.

  Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, she set out for the village. A road led there, so the walk wasn't difficult. The sun warmed her skin and the fresh air filled her lungs. With the tension in her letting, she felt it's release both in her body and mind. She had more energy and that constant fear that pain would soon come was seeping away as well. The pain had come and they had fared through it.

  Breathing deeply, she walked, the movement warming her. It did take some time to reach the village, which was quite small. Fifty cottages, perhaps. A row of small shops stood along a main street, including a post office and a general merchant. Inside the window, she could see everything needed to run a house. Well, perhaps not Sommerfield Hall, but any cottage here. Jars of sweets stood behind the counter, and she smiled thinking Alfie would at some point find this.

  There was also a small bakery, and women came walking with pies to put in the baker's oven to cook for the family suppers. A small school was on the other side of the street. People spoke to each other and they smiled. They all knew each other. It was a lovely little village, the kind one saw in pictorials. Here it was brought to life.

  The general merchant was where she would find materials and embroidery thread. A bell rang as she walked inside, the man inside regarding her with curiosity. She was a stranger in this village, she conceded. In London, there were more strangers than acquaintances, but that was different in a small village like this.

  "How may I assist you? I am Mr. Grees."

  "Mrs. Duthie," she said. "I was wondering what embroidery thread you have."

  "Ah," he said, still regarding her. "Am I correct in assuming you are from the Hall?"

  "I have recently taken up residence there."

  "Welcome to our small region of the country. From London, I take it."

  His accent was different from hers, so his assumption was understandable. "Yes."

  Finally, he smiled and shifted down the long counter of the shop, where he pulled out a drawer from the wall behind him. "These are the threads we stock. If there is something in particular you should need, I can order it. We have deliveries once a week."

  "I see," she said, her fingers stroking over the threads. There were wool and silk ones. There was also thin ribbon used for embroidery. Sophie chose a few colors, starting with wool as she was mainly practicing. Out of the pocket sewn into the waist of her dress, she picked out a couple of shillings, hesitating for a moment before handing them over. Her money was dwindling quickly. It was only a matter of time before it ran out completely. Relatively soon, she was going to have to depend on Lord Aberley. It would be nice to think her brother would support her, considering what she had given up for him, but that would probably be a long time coming.

  Thanking the man, she left, knowing he was trying to determine exactly who she was and what status she held. Maybe the people in the village already knew. More than likely the staff at Sommerfield Hall knew the people in the village. Exactly how she would be received here was something she didn't know. It remained to be seen. They could reject her and hold her at arm's length. Perhaps they would even be rude to her. It was hard to say.

  Stowing the thread away in her small pocket, she started the journey back to the house. The road was fairly well maintained, but she hadn't met any traffic. The house wasn't yet in sight when it started raining and Sophie drew her shawl closer. The warmth of the sun had seeped away and cold rain was piercing her clothes. She wasn't even wearing a bonnet—a habit she had discarded when she'd met Doug. To her, it felt juvenile and pointless, but she certainly could have done with one now.

  The rain intensified and she to
ok refuge under an oak tree, that for a while kept the rain from her, but before long, fat, cold drops filtered through the canopy above her. The chill was seeping the warmth from her, and she determined that she couldn't stand there all day. Whatever protection the tree provided wasn't enough. She would simply have to brave the rain and walk home.

  Water soaked her shawl to the point where it served no purpose, and the weight of the water undid the pins in her hair. She was thoroughly being undone by water and there was nothing for it. Bundling the shawl up, she simply faced the rain as she walked. It got to the point where she couldn't get any wetter. Her dress was soaked, her shoes were wet and her hair hung undone around her shoulders.

  Technically, she was closer to the village than the house, but what use would it be of her turning up there wet and bedraggled? It was just a bit of water. It wasn't the end of the world, although she did see the logic of perhaps investing in a parasol for future walks. Unfortunately, buying one was well out of her means.

  Chapter 24

  A FIGURE WALKED AHEAD in the rain as Tristan tucked his coat tighter around him. The coat and his hat kept most of the rain off him, but this figure was like a ghost in the distance. He wasn't one for believing in ghosts and spirits, so he urged his horse faster, to his surprise finding Sophie walking ahead.

  "What in the world are you doing?" he asked as he approached.

  She was utterly soaked. Her hair was dark and slick with water, and her dress conformed to every curve of her body. That thin material was doing her a great disservice again. It literally left little to the imagination as the sodden material clung to her breasts, stomach and thighs. If someone saw her like this, there would be a scandal.

  "I was walking back from the village and got caught in the rain. It was warm and sunny when I set off, but the weather turned." Her speech was a little stunted and he realized her lips were hacking from cold. They actually had a tinge of blue to them.

  And this idiot woman decided to go walking in the rain without any preparations. But then he supposed she was a city girl, and rain was simply an annoyance in London, where one would simply hide from it in a café or hail down a hack. Things were different out here. There was nowhere to hide from the rain. It was a lesson she had just learnt. "We're close to the southern coast. The rains can come in quickly and powerfully from the sea."

  "No one told me that," she stated. She looked close to tears.

  "Come, you will have to ride back with me, or you'll catch your death. That too happens out here in the wilderness of the country." For a moment, she looked uncertain. "I won't bite. You will simply have to endure this humiliation."

  "I am not humiliated," she said defiantly with her head held high. Obviously a lie, but that pride in her never bent for anything. Tristan shook his head and then proceeded to take his coat off. Immediately, cold drops of water soaked into his shirt.

  "Put this on, or I well may find myself raising our son alone. You really do need to take more precautions out here." Perhaps the woman had no sense at all.

  Grudgingly, she slipped the coat around her shoulders. "Thank you."

  "Well, don't just stand there. Get up." She blinked for a moment, not quite knowing what he meant until he patted the rump of his horse. "We'll be home within minutes, or you can trudge through the rain for another half hour. Actually, I'm not trudging through the rain. Get up."

  Bending down, he reached his arm down for her and she stared at it for a moment before taking it. "Other arm," he said and she switched, from where he could pull her up. He could feel her shivering. "You will have to put your arms around me, or you will fall off." His own shirt was soaked now, and she placing her arms around him hardly made it worse. In fact, the heat between their bodies was comforting and she needed it. The thin, wet material of both of their clothes left little barrier between them when he felt the softness of her pressed to his back.

  A trot would probably not suit either of them at the moment, so he urged his horse into a canter and her arms tightened around him. It was an intimacy beyond anything he'd had for a while. It was certainly an intimacy beyond anything he'd had with her for a very long time. Almost seven years in fact. An intimacy he hadn't appreciated in the least at the time, having resigned himself to make the best of a terrible situation. Back then, he couldn't foresee a way out of it, until his sister had unexpectedly died and the leverage on him had ceased. He'd been so pleased to get out of their grip scot-free, but there had been consequences. According to her, she had even tried to tell him, but he had barred her entrance to the house.

  The warmth of her almost felt as though it was burning. It was fear that brought her so close. She feared falling, and it overcame any objection she had to him. Her thigh along his only furthered the intimacy.

  Keeping the horse at a steady pace, they soon arrived at the house. The sound of horse hooves alerted the stable lad, who came out with a coat lifted above his head.

  Dismounting first, he lifted Sophie down. Her lips weren't quite so blue, so their closeness had had a beneficial effect.

  "Thank you," she repeated and went to take the coat off. That dress of hers was slicked to her body, showing literally every detail, including what the cold did to her. Awareness grew in him that the stable lad would see, and probably every other staff member in the house.

  "Perhaps keep the coat on until you reach your room. I will ask Wellswar to have a bath prepared."

  If she understood why, he didn't know, but she complied and quickly walked up to the doors to slip inside. The absence of her at his back felt cold now, and he was standing in the rain, watching her disappear into the house. He would probably need a bath himself as he was just as soaked as her now.

  The lad took the horse to the stable, and Tristan walked inside, where he could see Sophie's wet footsteps leading up the staircase. His own clothes were dripping on the floor and he took his hat off and gave it to Wellswar who was quickly approaching. "My apologies; I didn't see you coming." The rain would have dampened the sound of his approach.

  "Both myself and Mrs. Duthie were caught in the rain, and I think it best we have warm baths drawn."

  "I will see to it," Wellswar said and disappeared with his dripping wet hat. Tristan removed his shirt as he walked up the stairs. His bedroom felt warm and he grabbed a towel and dried himself as he sat down by the fire. His skin was cold to the touch, but the chill wasn't bone-deep for him like it probably was for her.

  Perhaps he needed to again stress to her what she needed when she left the house. At least no one had seen her in that state. Particularly Mr. Herman, whom the sight would not be lost on.

  That was a curious thought he hadn't expected. It seemed something in him didn't want Mr. Herman to see her in such a state of disarray. Seeing her like that was akin to seeing her in intimacy. He really needed to have a discussion about her wardrobe. If she was to get caught in showers on a regular basis, she needed clothes sturdy enough to bear it.

  A noise sounded behind him and he sighed as two footmen came carrying a bath, followed shortly by the sound of water being poured into the copper tub.

  "Is Mrs. Duthie being seen to?" he asked as Wellswar arrived.

  "The maids are drawing her bath as we speak."

  "Good," Tristan said. He was actually tired. It had been a trying day. There was a neighbor dispute he had been roped into dealing with. Normally he refused to deal with such petty squabbles, but for some reason, he had let himself be drawn into it. In fact, he had stayed at Sommerfield much longer than he'd intended to. There was much that needed his attention here, but it was really the boy that had made him stay.

  This boy was uncovering feelings in him he couldn't readily understand or explain, but it was clear that being a father had more meaning to him than he'd expected. That deep satisfaction grew the more he dealt with the boy, who would go in search of him whenever released from his lessons. Like clockwork, the boy would show up in the farmyard, or in the overseer's office, looking for him.


  He was both sweet and soft. Sophie had raised a boy who saw wonders in the world. Even the simplest things impressed him. There was absolutely no guile in the boy. That softness would not serve him when he got to Oxford, particularly having to deal with the boys that came out of Eton and Westminster, where cruelty reined more than any notion of kindness.

  In a sense, he did understand Sophie's objection. For all the airs and graces of his class, there was a vicious competitiveness that was honed into their boys from an early age.

  When the bath was ready, he stepped into the tub and lay back, letting the warmth soak into his body. Wellswar fussed around, but Tristan dismissed him.

  Steam rose from the water and Tristan closed his eyes and simply let his thoughts drift. Maybe when men had children, they wished for a better world. Sophie wished to soothe her child into his life in this world, to soften any blows and to dampen any cruelty. Perhaps it was a mother's natural instincts. Would he be different if he'd experienced them? Would he be quite so distant from the people around him? But then he'd learnt that distance was necessary. People continually gave into their greedy and base natures, no matter how fine they looked on the outside.

  But lust got him—it always got him, but even he knew it was a cheap imitation of something he'd never had and never known. And when lust reared, it could both delude and ensnare the mind. For most of his life, he had guarded well against its effects. Still, he felt its grip at the edge of his being, its suffocating grip edging closer. Those damned dresses were going to be the end of him. And now he was even guarding her so Mr. Herman didn't see the things he saw.

  Chapter 25

  A BATH HELPED SOPHIE feel better. As she'd entered the room, though, the mirror had certainly showed a woman in a state.

  Dressed again, she sat with her back to the fire and let her hair dry. The day had certainly gone in a much different direction than she'd expected. Having to be rescued by Aberley was embarrassing, but she conceded that it had been necessary. How had she set off for such a long walk and not expected the weather to change? Because it wasn't normally something she thought about. Weather was important here, though. People lived their lives by the weather, made decisions based on the weather. It hadn't even occurred to her.