Sophie sat on the large sofa in the library and looked out at the grey and wet landscape outside. Alfie was having his lessons upstairs and there was little for her to do. A book on the botanical history of England sat open in front of her, but it struggled to hold her interest. Outside the door, she heard Wellswar or one of the other staff members moving around.
The demarcation between the staff and the houseguests did not budge, but Sophie had suggested that they forgo the formal dining room and eat supper in her salon, inviting both Mr. Herman and Alfie to join her. Technically, Mr. Herman should not be dining with the family, and Alfie should dine in the nursery with Mary, or rather, supervised by Mary.
It was this inane formality that she really strived against, and she was taking steps to break such conventions as they suited no one. It did mean that they dine a little further away from the kitchen, but Mr. Wellswar had assured her that it wasn't a problem.
So now they dined at a small table, where the conversation was more informal and congenial. Sophie particularly didn't like the idea of Alfie being buried away in the nursery when he would probably benefit by eating with them.
It was almost as if they had set up small apartments within the house. She rarely had any need to use the first floor of the house at all, unless she needed to find a new book in the library. Unfortunately, Lord Aberley's collection was more practical in nature than she would prefer.
"I understand there is to be a fete in the village in a few days," Mr. Herman said, enjoying the rich rabbit they had been served.
While Aberley had expected her not to direct his staff in matters of household management, they had come to her anyway when enquiring about what they should do. Not in a general sense, but more for the meals they were to be served and anything specifically to do with the management of their specific rooms and routines.
They had learnt that Mr. Herman, with his analytical mind, wasn't necessarily the best person to ask on practical matters, so questions were more and more directed to her.
Alfie was missing Aberley, though, because there was no one to further his equestrian education. It unfortunately ground to a halt and he couldn't do more than slowly walk around a small enclosure next to the stable. At six, Sophie wasn't prepared for him to go anywhere on his own. Images of disaster filled her mind whenever she considered it.
Mr. Herman did take him fishing in a stream one day when the sun shone warmly. Alfie had enjoyed it immensely. Sophie had watched them return from the window of her salon, seeing the fish tied to the end of the rod over Mr. Herman's shoulder. He was such a gentle and kind man. Obviously, he had a strictness about him, but there was never anything morose in his demeanor.
Together, the three of them functioned very well together. They dined communally each night, and Mr. Herman and Alfie spent the days in the classroom. Sophie was still struggling with finding things to spend her time on. The embroidery had been a disaster—clearly not her calling. Maybe she should take up Aberley's offer of riding lessons. Not that it was on offer anymore. She had no idea when he would be back. From what she understood, his intention was for them to live separately. Perhaps she should write him and beseech a riding instructor for both of them.
There had been no communication either way. Even the idea of writing him made her nervous, imagining him sitting in his study in Belgravia, reading it with his typical disapproval. But that nervousness was deeper. It had been there from the very day she’d married him.
He was a man she didn't understand and never really had, but one day, he had been introduced as the man that was to be hers—a notion she had felt deep in her belly. A nervousness that had reached untold heights when he'd come to her. A secret between man and wife. It had been both heady and thrilling, but it had never put her at ease.
Doug had put her at ease. There had been no nervousness between them, only gentleness and softness.
The crunch of gravel interrupted her musings and she moved to the window. They hardly ever received guests, so Sophie had no idea who could be coming to the house. The sharp steps of Wellswar moving to the main doors echoed along the hallway.
At the window, she saw Lord Aberley dismounting his horse. He wore a long dark blue coat and a hat to guard him against the weather. He'd obviously ridden from London. The stable lad came out for the horse, and Mr. Wellswar appeared in view too.
"We were not expecting your return," Wellswar said.
"No, I didn't send any notification," Aberley replied.
With her fingers to her mouth, thoughts were rushing around Sophie's head. Aberley was back. It meant everything would change again. As he tended to do, he came in and changed everything. The world sorted itself according to him, it seemed.
Taking a step, she stopped and checked that everything about her was orderly. Without fail, his searching eyes always seemed to find her flaws.
"My lord, you return," she said as she reached the central hall. "We hadn't expected your return so soon."
"Yes," he said, his eyes on her that moment longer to ensure her discomfort grew. "There are things I need to see to."
"Of course," she said, not knowing what he referred to, but then she knew nothing about estate management. "I would be happy to carry out any instructions you have if you communicate them with me." There was really no need for him to come all this way. She'd always considered herself very capable in many regards. The lack of equestrian skills was perhaps a shortfall. "As you have returned, there was something I wished to mention."
"And what is that?" he said. Why did everything he said sound like an accusation?
"I think your assessment about the benefit of being able to ride out here is correct. I think both myself and Alfie should learn to ride."
"I can teach you."
That wasn't at all what she had intended. "Oh, right. That is very kind. Perhaps as you are a busy man, a riding instructor should be engaged for… when you must leave again."
Had she just insulted him? Why did it look that way? "I am sure we can organize as required. If you will excuse me, I will rest for a while before supper."
"Yes, of course," she said, feeling silly.
With a quick nod, he walked to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Guess they would not be continuing with their more informal suppers for now. How long was he staying?
Tension rose up her shoulders as she watched him disappear from view. Alfie will be happy with this development, but Sophie couldn’t yet trust him completely with her son's gentle heart. Granted, things had gone much better than she'd initially expected. Aberley wasn't as cold as she'd feared, he still had a temper that seemed to sneak up on one.
Returning to the library, she picked up the book again, but it had even less appeal now. Soon she would have to dress for supper and they would sit in the formal dining room. Although she wasn't sure Mr. Herman would be invited. In fact, she wasn't even sure she would be invited, but he did seem to insist on them dining together whenever he was around.
Fast footsteps approached and Sophie looked up to see Alfie appearing. "Is father back?"
When had he become 'father' in Alfie's eyes? Perhaps that was simply a fact she needed to get used to. With a quick breath, she smiled. "Yes, he's just arrived."
"How long is he staying?" The excitement was clear in Alfie's eyes.
"I don't know. You had best ask him, but you should get back to the classroom, because he might just come see you there when he is finished dressing."
Alfie's eyes widened and he quickly ran out of the library to return upstairs. Silently she prayed that Aberley didn't destroy his son's faith in him.
Chapter 28
AT SUPPER, THE FAMILIARITY between Mr. Herman and Sophie was more noticeable. They spoke of common observations and views. There was a distinct change. Sophie kept more of her attention with Mr. Herman, who seemed very comfortable in her company. They had obviously spent time together.
Tristan watched them throughout supper.
"So there is a
fete in the village tomorrow," Sophie said, the brightness in her lifting her features. Quite different from how she had been before. It seemed life at Sommerfield was agreeing with her. Now she even wanted to learn to ride. A marked change from the last time he'd seen her and that hadn't been more than a week before. "I know Alfie would love to go. I think we all should."
Tentatively she turned her attention to Tristan, "Unless business keeps you from such things," she added.
Was she challenging him? Suggesting such things were beneath him? "It is always good to engage with the village," he finally said.
"That's settled then," Mr. Herman said, sounding cordial. "We'll all go."
Sophie smiled.
This man might not realize the intention Sophie had for him yet, but she certainly had some. And him, being a cordial man, would probably agree to anything she suggested.
"Anything interesting observed in London?" Mr. Herman asked.
"Nothing of any significance," Tristan said, taking a swig of his claret. For some reason, he didn't feel all that hungry, even after his long journey. He watched as Sophie broke into the meringue lemon tart with her fork and savored the taste. Her eyes swam shut for a moment. She clearly liked it.
Mr. Herman was chatting about architecture, but Tristan didn't think either of them was paying him much attention. Apparently the man couldn't compete with a meringue lemon tart.
Would she be happy with such a man? It seemed she believed she would. They would have that genteel poverty she seemed to adore so much.
For a moment, Tristan examined his bitterness. It wasn't as if he wanted her. All of this was for the purpose of not having a wife. What had really happened, though, was that he'd gained a son. A boy who had gone through and showed him all the things he had learnt, seemingly overjoyed with the attention. It wasn't as if the boy was ignored by either Sophie or Mr. Herman, so his relishment in the interaction had to do with Tristan rather than any driving need for attention.
Tristan still wasn't quite sure what to do with that. No one had ever had the degree of interest in him that this boy had. Did he like meringue as much as his mother did, or did he take after his father and felt such desserts were much too sweet?
Dessert was finished and they were retreating to the salon for a digestive. Sophie joined them, showing exactly how comfortable she was in Mr. Herman's company. Was this what they did every night, sit here just the two of them?
It was warmer in the salon than in the dining room and the space was gently lit. Tristan had a brandy and Mr. Herman joined him. Sophie settled on a Madiera wine.
Sophie smiled as she accepted her delicate wineglass from Wellswar. She daintily sipped it, again savoring the taste. She liked food, flavors. Slim, elegant fingers held the stem of her glass as she sipped and listened to Mr. Herman, who was still talking about architecture.
How could she even consider listening to this man prattle for the rest of her life?
Her figure was slim, but the material of those dresses was still too thin. Nowhere near as bad as when they were wet.
Suddenly, they both turned to him, expectantly waiting for an answer. "I'm sorry. What was the question?"
"My apologies," Mr. Herman said. "We were just discussing the Marble Arch in its new position. It must have been quite an undertaking moving it. Neither of us actually saw any of the move and wondered if you had."
"Yes, I suppose," he said. Perhaps no use mentioning that he couldn't have cared less. It was a fine structure, but of little concern to himself. "Caused traffic chaos for months."
"Obviously, they can't simply tear such a monumental and significant structure down," Mr. Herman continued.
At times. Tristan had wondered exactly why they hadn't simply torn the nuisance of a building down.
Sophie stifled a yawn. Seems she found the conversation dull too. Stifling successful, her slip arm settled down into her lap again. She smelled like flowers. He'd noticed as she'd walked past when they'd shifted rooms. A perfume of some sort. Or lavender water.
She smiled again, the expression softening her face, and seemed to make her eyes sparkle in the sparse light. It would be an utter surprise if Herman wasn't utterly in love with her. It would be quite telling of him as a man if he wasn't. Sophie was beautiful—lovely actually. Her hair had a golden hue in the firelight. Her skin was smooth and clear.
Tristan felt that stirring of lust again and he distracted himself with his brandy, his eyes searching for something else to focus on. Old paintings, old sculptures. Nothing in the room was as compelling as the women who held the attention of both of the men present.
"I might retire," she said, and they both rose as she did. With a smile, she walked softly out of the room and they watched her go. She had been congenial that night. The harsh stares and constant disapproval weren't there.
Without her, there was an awkwardness between him and Herman. Perhaps because Tristan had no interest in listening to the man prattling on.
"I might check the stables before I retire," Tristan said. He didn't really want to, but felt the need to go outside for a while. "It's alright, Wellswar; I don't need anything."
Leaving the salon, Tristan walked outside into the darkness, feeling the chill wind. Out here, he felt like he could breathe for a moment. The moon reflected off the pond in the distance. He both wanted to be here and not. It had been the same feeling in London. It seemed no place held any peace for him at the moment.
Sophie wandered through his thoughts whether he wanted her to or not. Perhaps it wasn't surprising as she was more or less one of the only women in his life. His relationship with Minette had never really been one where he'd seen her in that light. He'd never seen Sophie in that light either, until she’d become a formidable opponent. Even though he had won the battle, it felt like the war wasn't won.
Turning around, he saw the light in her room and he stared at it for a moment, not seeing any shadows moving. Whatever she was doing, she was still, lying in bed or perhaps sitting. Reading, writing maybe. Was there anyone she wrote to? Maybe that bounder of a brother.
Perhaps he understood why she had sacrificed for him. He had done the exact same thing for his sister. When push came to shove, neither of them could walk away from family. And now they were family. As the mother of his child, he had obligations to protect her. Did she feel the same way?
Disdain was the only thing she felt for him as far as he could tell. Except it hadn't been there so much tonight. Largely, she had simply ignored him. Irrational anger bubbled up at the idea. He didn't like being ignored. Especially not for an inconsequential man like Herman. Nothing wrong with the man, but he wasn't one to leave a mark on a room.
Starting to feel cold, he returned inside. Sophie hadn't turned down the light by the time he did, but he had to tear his mind away from what was likely a warm and mellow space where she dwelled.
*
The carriage ride to the village was cramped. The weather held, which was a blessing. Alfie was struggling to sit still next to Tristan, which meant Sophie and Herman sat next to each other. They didn't touch, had an awkwardness between them. Herman would not be a man to take the initiative. It would have to be Sophie when she was ready. Interestingly, it wasn't something she had done yet. Could it be she wasn't so sure about him?
Cloying ickiness festered inside him, feeling something like hope. But hope for what? What was it exactly he wanted? Perhaps simply to be recognized.
"We really should invite Reverend Narstop to the hall," Sophie said. "We haven't yet, and perhaps it's best to do so while you are here, Lord Aberley."
The last thing Tristan wanted was some village vicar in his house.
"He seems a very amiable man," Herman stated. "I wonder which seminary he studied at."
Tristan's eyes never shifted from Sophie, who for once returned his stare. Was she challenging him? "You are welcome to invite whoever you please." Except that damned brother.
Luckily the ride wasn't long. The villag
e common was full of stalls with all sorts of games, or selling the crafts of the village. There was a small band playing. It was certainly a small fete in the scheme of things, but it seemed the entire village had turned out—including him. If anyone wanted him there, he wasn't sure. It would be a stretch to say the villagers liked him. His father hadn't always been understanding to their needs, and Tristan had mostly been absent.
"Lord Aberley," a man said, and Tristan turned to see Reverend Narstop. "It's such a pleasure you could join us today."
"I was at Sommerfield, and my guests wanted to come."
"Yes, I understand there are people living at Sommerfield now, including your son, if I hear correctly. Can we assume he will join us for Sunday school?"
"You will have to speak to his mother about such things."
"Yes, we were introduced briefly last Sunday."
Was that right? Tristan hadn't been aware they had attended service.
"I do hope we get the honor of your presence next week." The man smiled, and Tristan was pleased he didn't bring up the complicated relationships within his household. At least the man had some notion of discretion. Vicars could sometimes feel entitled to know the ins and out of everyone’s business.
Further down the field, he saw Sophie throwing wooden sticks at standing pins, both her and Alfie jumping when she knocked some over. Her smile charmed the people around her. It seemed everyone was watching her, enjoying her coming into the village. Then again, by her dress, she looked like she belonged in a village like this.
Herman joined in the congratulations on her success and she took his arm as they walked to the next stall. Discomfort boiled through him and he had to quell an urge to go… do something. In some strange notion, he felt like he wanted to guard her. He wanted none of the men around here to come near her, because sooner or later, once she had mourned sufficiently, she would be for the taking.
And Herman would just be so convenient, wouldn't he? They lived in the same house and cared for the same boy. It would only be himself that had no place in that scenario. Was she doing this to hurt him? Was this a part of the war they had going on between them?
The Discarded Wife Page 14