The Discarded Wife

by Camille Oster

  She needed a parasol. There might be one in the house somewhere that she could use. In the morning, she would ask Wellswar if he knew of a spare one she could use.

  Footsteps told her that Alfie was seeking her and he soon appeared at her door.

  "Hello, my love," she said and smiled when she saw him. "How were your lessons today?"

  "We talked about the Nile," he said and came down to sit in her lap as he sometimes did.

  "The Nile, huh? Were there crocodiles?"

  "Yes. Loads of crocodiles and they snap people off the banks."

  "I'm sure Mr. Herman didn't tell you that."

  "And pyramids."

  "So, I understand," she said, kissing his brow. Then she sneezed.

  "Can we go to Egypt?"

  "Maybe one day," she said. As Lord Aberley, maybe he could go to Egypt one day. Who knew?

  Her hair was just about dry and she needed to dress for supper. "Now, you run along and have your supper and I'll come see you after."

  Gingerly, Alfie rose from her lap and made his way out of the room, and Sophie rose to sit down again at her dressing table to pin her hair up. Again she sneezed.

  There might be some consequences from being caught in the rain. She was coming down with something. Food would make her stronger, so she made her way down to the salon, where she found Mr. Herman and Lord Aberley talking.

  With her woolen shawl still dripping wet, she had to use her fancy one, the one Doug had gotten her for her birthday one year. It was lovely, but not quite warm enough. Another sneeze as she thanked Wellswar for the sherry he handed her. The drink would warm her a little, she determined.

  The escapades of the afternoon weren't mentioned, particularly not how she had sat with her arms around Aberley, with nothing but wet and thin veils of fabric between them. She'd felt every muscle and sinew as he'd managed the horse. It was as close as she had been to a man in a long time. His warmth has seeped into her, saved her from the chill that bad bitten into her.

  Now she found it difficult to look him in the eye. Partially because he thought she had been dim-witted to let herself be caught out like that. And in all honesty, she had little excuse. It had been witless to go out for such a long walk unprepared.

  "I understand you have been talking about the Nile today, Mr. Herman," she said with a smile, addressing the less intimidating man in the room.

  "Yes," he returned with a smile. "Alfie does share our time's endless fascination with Egypt."

  "Does it hold fascination for you?"

  "Of course, the antiquities of such a distant and fascinating past. One cannot help but be enthralled by it."

  The man seemed so earnest and honest about his passions and interests. It reminded her a little of Doug. He was so open about inviting people in to share his enthusiasm, as opposed to Aberley, who was more set to push everyone and everything away. She decided she liked him.

  "Have you done any travel?" the man asked Aberley.

  "No, very little. There have always been too many demands keeping me in England."

  "I went to Italy as a young man," Mr. Herman continued. "It was wonderful. It is everything you imagine it to be and more. I do hope I get the chance to go again."

  Sophie hadn't really left London other than the odd day trip. Traveling across to Europe sounded endlessly romantic. "Where in Italy did you go?"

  "Rome, of course. Florence and Venice. All very different, but endlessly fascinating. The architecture changes remarkably between the different states. I didn't get a chance to travel much further south, but I did to go the archaeological digs around Pompeii. Utterly fascinating."

  Exotic images formed in Sophie's mind as she listened. Another sneeze reverberated through her body and she felt Aberley's attention on her.

  Mr. Herman continued. "I've never been to Egypt, though. Although I would very much like to go one day. I believe travel across the continent is easier now than what it was when I was young. The whole distance can probably be covered by rail these days."

  It all sounded so romantic.

  Wellswar appeared, telling them that supper was ready to be served. Sophie took her usual place across from Mr. Herman, while Aberley sat at the head of the table. The soup course was served, and Sophie appreciated the warmth as well as the taste.

  They ate in silence for a moment, until Aberley and Mr. Herman discussed the species of fish in the nearby streams. Sophie's back ached and it felt uncomfortable sitting in the chair. In truth, she simply wanted to go lie down.

  "You look pale," Aberley finally said, startling Sophie with his directness. She'd quite happily drifted away from the conversation, as she did with any discussions regarding fish. "Are you falling ill?"

  A sneeze forced its way up her nose. "I think I caught a sniffle. I'm sorry. I must be a sight. I don't think I will return to the salon after supper." She smiled at both men. In fact, she was feeling much worse than she had a mere twenty minutes ago, but she was holding out until the main meal came, knowing she needed nourishment. She certainly wasn't the kind of woman who made a mountain out of a molehill when it came to sniffles. It would pass quickly enough.

  The roast beef arrived and Sophie felt herself revive a little with the lovely smell, but her appetite fled after the first few bites. Maybe she really did need to excuse herself early, but she didn't want to. Supper would be finished soon and she could withstand it until then, even if her back positively ached now. A pervasive tiredness had stolen her energy away, but nothing a good sleep wouldn't cure.

  But by the time dessert was served, an apple and rhubarb jelly, she excused herself. She wanted to say goodnight to Alfie before retreating to bed, even if she didn't relish the long climb up the stairs. Why in the world was this house so large? What was the point of large houses anyway? It wasn't as if the nobility had particularly big families. As with everything inexplicable, it was all for show more than any practical purposes.

  "I think I will retreat," she said and rose. Both men rose with her as was their duty and she walked out of the dining room.

  But Aberley followed her. "You've made yourself sick," he said.

  "Yes, thank you. I am aware," she said tartly. There was no need for him to point out exactly how stupid she had been. "I will endeavor to take a parasol on all future walks."

  Approaching her, he studied her face and then put the back of his hand to her forehead. Sophie had to force herself not to dodge the touch. It wasn't that she was in any way abhorred by his touch. It just felt wrong. Maybe because their intimacy that day while riding back hadn't felt so wrong at all.

  But his hand was cool to her head. "I'm calling a doctor."

  "That's unnecessary," she said. "It is simply a chill."

  "Mr. Wellswar. Could you send a message to Doctor Torrey to attend Mrs. Duthie," he said to Wellswar, who was standing not far away.

  "That is not necessary," Sophie said, but she was being ignored. With a groan, she left them both behind and made her way up the staircase. Her steps made her head pound and all she wanted was to lie down on her bed, but she had to see Alfie first, making her way to the nursery.

  "Alfie, my love," she said, seeing him with Mary, playing with the toys that came with the room. "I won't kiss you tonight, because I have a little sniffle. But I'll see you in the morning."

  "Alright," Alfie said, not overly concerned as some people seemed to be.

  That done, she could finally go to her room and lay down on the bed. Closing her eyes, it felt mere moments before she heard a carriage outside, which had to be the local doctor. Before long, he was led to her room and he smiled as he saw her. "Mrs. Duthie, I presume," he said, putting his bag down.

  "I am sorry you were called all this way. I have a sniffle, nothing more."

  "I understand you were caught in the rain." He came over and sat down on her bed, placing his hand to her head. "You are certainly running a temperature." Opening the bag, he pulled out a thermometer and placed it in her mouth.


  Aberley hovered. Why he should be so concerned as to call a doctor for a mere cold, she didn't know. He seemed to be looking around the room, at times returning to the doctor, who was checking her neck and listening to her chest with his stethoscope.

  "Well, your lungs are clear, which is the important bit. A good night’s sleep and hopefully you will feel better. Ensure to keep warm." Putting his things away, he rose with his bag. "The fire should probably be kept going all night."

  "I will see to it," Aberley said and they both left her room. She could hear them chatting down in the hallway, but didn't know if they were talking about her. If they were, it would annoy her. Aberley was not in charge of her care. He was not her husband, and the doctor should discuss anything relevant with her. But then for all she knew, they were old friends and could be carrying on more discussions about fish.

  Chapter 26

  ABERLEY RODE FOR LONDON the next day. The urge had come on that morning and he wanted to be back in his own life, with his own comforts around him. Almost as much as he wanted to be away from Sommerfield.

  In truth, there were such great conflicts inside him, he felt he needed a moment of peace.

  Sophie was alive and eating her breakfast, although her head cold had thoroughly developed into congestion. She wasn't leaving her room that day. She would be utterly fine, but what had really disturbed him, was that Mr. Herman had paced in his worry for her.

  If the man wasn't besotted with her, he soon would be. She with her simple ways and curious delight in the things he did was the perfect match for a man like that. It was only a matter of time before she saw it too. She certainly had no trouble making conversation with the man, practically swooning over everything the man said.

  It was all a bit too much, and Tristan felt he needed to get away. Besides, he'd been ignoring his investments in a truly shocking manner. In a way, he wanted to be at Sommerfield and spend more time with Alfie, but things were still very uncomfortable in other aspects, perhaps even growing in discomfort.

  Riding got him to London much faster than the carriage did and approaching the city, he felt the city encroach on his peace of mind—or lack of it. London always had its own pace and was filled with distractions.

  The townhouse had a cold and empty feeling as he returned, almost as if its spirit had faded in abandonment. Mr. Smyth greeted him and had a number of things he wished to discuss at the earliest opportunity, but Tristan relegated those discussions for the morning. It had been a long ride and he needed to recuperate.

  Seeking his bedroom, he shut himself away, but the feeling of being cut off and distanced followed him in there. It was that very distance he’d sought coming here.

  Lying in bed, he wondered if Alfie missed him. It was strange to think someone missed him—that someone wanted him around so much they would miss him if he wasn't there. The desire for acknowledgement from his own father had been a constant in his childhood.

  This was always the intention, though. To have Alfie and Sophie living in Sommerfield, and him here. Along the way, he had somehow been side-tracked and hadn't found the strength to leave. It was only the budding tenderness between Sophie and Alfie's tutor that had shaken whatever malaise had beguiled him.

  Would Sophie give herself to that man? She seemed to adore poverty, so she would be set there. That man was never going to have two pennies to rub together. And they would be a happy, loving and adoring family, all living under his roof.

  While he wasn't much for introspection, he had to concede there was a certain irrational jealousy that Herman would in large part replace him as the father to Alfie—if not in name, then for all other intents and purposes.

  Sophie would give all that softness and generosity to that man, and they would be happy. There would be no purpose for him at Sommerfield Hall in any respect. In a way, he had just given away his family estate to another man.

  No, he needed to stop thinking like this. It was even inconceivable that these thoughts were occurring to him in the first place. Sophie's fear that he would make Alfie hard were completely misguided. If anything, Alfie was making him soft. That was not the kind of man he was, and today it seemed he'd remembered that.

  *

  All urgent business completed, Tristan decided to call on Minette, who was receiving callers in her salon that afternoon. It had been quite some time since he'd seen her, having stayed at Sommerfield much longer than he'd expected to. In fact, he'd missed an event he'd promised he would attend with her. She was perhaps not best pleased with him.

  Entering the salon, he found her sitting in a rose silk dress. Minette always had the most exquisite taste. In so many ways, she was the polar opposite of Sophie.

  "Tristan, my friend. How are you?" she asked as he approached. "You abandoned me when I needed you most."

  It wasn't like Minette to let things go. "I profoundly apologize. I was distracted."

  "Distracted? By your ex-wife, perhaps?"

  "No, of course not, but I do have a son these days—whose education had been woefully neglected."

  "You are enamored of the child, then?"

  "I don't know about enamored, but I am perhaps fond of the boy."

  "No matter what in life, we do love our children. It was cruel of this woman to keep him from you."

  Well, he had made it difficult for her to tell him, but she hadn't tried all that hard, dismissing him as a father in favor of poor and sickly Doug Duthie. Tristan sighed. It could also be true that he'd been so angry with her that he wouldn't have cared about her being with child, seeing it as just desserts for the despicable behavior she had been part of—a gamble she had lost. Perhaps that was why she hadn't tried too hard to inform him.

  But now she was replacing him again, and it felt deeply uncomfortable. She was taking his family away from him. "Yes, cruel," he agreed absently, unable to draw himself out of the unease inside him.

  "Is she beautiful?"

  "What?"

  "Is she beautiful?" Minette repeated.

  A vision of her in a soaking wet dress that clung to every curve invaded his mind. "Yes," he admitted.

  "A deceitful and beguiling siren. I would very much like to meet this creature, I think."

  "Largely, I believe she was an innocent pawn in her brother's schemes."

  "What did she say when you left?"

  "Nothing. I did not inform her. She was ill. I did not see her."

  "Oh?"

  "Just a chill from being caught in the weather."

  "And you fled in the middle of the night."

  "Hardly. I simply felt it was time to return to London."

  "Is it not curious that you fled when Mrs. Duthie fell ill in a very similar fashion as when your mother died?"

  "It was not a connection I drew. I was very young when she died. I do not remember it at all. In fact, I don't remember her."

  "But your son—"

  "I do not enjoy these wild conclusions you are drawing," he said tersely.

  "I'm sorry, Tristan," she said with a coy smile, the way she always did when she did something naughty. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake. For usually finding her advice soothing, it seemed anything but today. "I would very much like to meet this creature."

  "Well, I have no plans on seeing her anytime in the immediate future."

  "Shame. If you do go back, I think it would be the perfect time to come for a visit."

  "I wouldn't set my heart on it," he said dismissively. Now, he didn't feel like being here anymore. The problem was that he didn't particularly want to go home either. Perhaps he should go to his club and enjoy more calming male company for a while. Or maybe he should pursue a more raucous time at The Pelican, but that would incur the risk of running into Mrs. Duthie's bounder of a brother. No, he would go to his club and have supper there.

  "I'm not sure you were this jumpy even when Cecilia was so clearly misbehaving."

  "Cecilia never misbehaved. She simply found a better offer."

  "Well,
not sure she is anticipating wedded bliss there. She has been asking about you, I have been told. I suspect if you were to call on her you would be welcome. Your offer is perhaps not entirely dismissed in hindsight."

  This was news to Tristan. Pilkerton, Cecelia's intended, was a moron and everyone knew it. Seemed she wasn't as keen on overlooking that fact when it came down to the crunch.

  "The heavens above save me from inconstant women," Tristan grumbled. There had been a time when he'd felt Cecilia would have been perfect. Beautiful, aloof and perfectly able to navigate the dangerous waters of high society, but he simply couldn't forgive the betrayal. A fundamental level of loyalty in a wife was necessary. He simply couldn't view Cecilia in the light he’d used to.

  For a while, he had placed Sophie and Cecilia in the same basket, used them as justification for having a more carefree life without a wife, but the assessment hadn't been accurate. Or perhaps in a sense it had, as Cecilia had rejected him for a more prosperous connection. Sophie hadn't rejected him as such, because he had thrown her out on her ear, but the rejection was still there, but for very different reasons. With both, he hadn't been giving them what they wanted. With Sophie, though, she wanted someone devoted, someone whose world was so small it only contained her and her son. Perhaps they were both versions of greed.

  Chapter 27

  THE ATMOSPHERE AT Sommerfield Hall was very different when Lord Aberley left. Tension simply drifted away. Everyone was less tense, even the staff. If Mr. Herman noticed the difference, Sophie didn't know, but she certainly did.

  Everything felt so confrontational with Aberley, as if he was always looking for a reason to tear her to bits, to prove to her that she was… In fact, she didn't know exactly what he was trying to prove, but that her point of view was wrong.