by Bree Wolf
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her husband watching her, his face tense as though he felt at odds about what to do. Moments ticked by before he stepped toward her, his hand brushing down her arm to get her attention.
Reluctantly, Madeline turned to look at him, afraid what she would find in those dark eyes of his. Although she did detect anger as well as doubt, she also thought to see a touch of fear. What was he afraid of?
Holding her gaze, he cleared his throat. “When last we spoke,” he began, shifting on his feet, clearly uncomfortable, “before you came to Huntington House, you stated your…intention of,” he swallowed, his teeth clenching as he sought to continue, “of…” Then he stepped back, shaking his head as though having changed his mind.
Madeline frowned. When last they had spoken? When? On their wedding night? When she had−
As realisation dawned, Madeline’s eyes widened in shock, and yet, a touch of guilt assailed her heart. Was he truly asking if she had been unfaithful to him? How could he−? Still, she had to admit that she had given him every reason to doubt her. Had she not kissed Lord Townsend with every intention of becoming his…
His what?
Mistress? That had been the word that had finally brought her to her senses. And yet, she had allowed him liberties that were only reserved for a husband. Would Derek send her away if he found out? Ought she to tell him?
As she watched him retreat, Madeline knew that only the truth−as painful and inconvenient as it might be−would be able to bridge the gap that had once again opened between them.
With every intention of revealing to him the full extent of what had happened between her and Lord Townsend, Madeline approached her husband. However, the moment she opened her mouth, a loud shout rang from the front of the house cutting her off.
A look full of regret in his eyes, her husband sighed, his teeth gritting together once more before he turned and headed out into the hall and toward the front entrance.
Doing her utmost to ignore that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Madeline hurried after him. As he rushed out the front door, he called to Sean, “What’s going on? Is it the mare?”
“No,” Sean replied, his pale face barely visible in the dimming glow of the day’s last light. “It seems we have some visitors.” Pointing down the road leading up toward Huntington House, he stepped up to his brother-in-law, an amused smirk on his face. “Shall I prepare the guest bedchambers, my lord?”
A humourless chuckle escaped Madeline’s husband as he squinted his eyes to see the approaching carriage through the veil of descending darkness. “There’s a coat-of-arms on the side, but I cannot make out what…”
“The Marquess of Elmridge!” Madeline gasped, her hand unbeknownst going to her throat. Although in the first seconds upon recognising the coat-of-arms the thought of seeing her friend Elsbeth had filled her heart with joy, it was now replaced by dread. Glancing around her, Madeline once more took in the condition of Huntington House, and although her understanding of a person’s worth had undergone a significant change in the past few weeks, she could not help but wish the carriage would simply disappear.
Beside her, her husband seemed equally ill at ease, judging from the way his gaze narrowed as his eyes followed the carriage up the small slope until it pulled up in front of them. His shoulders were tense, and yet, he stood tall, a figure of authority, and Madeline remembered her own mask.
Forcing a smile onto her face, she stepped up beside her husband and raised her chin. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought to see a touch of approval in his gaze before it vanished when the coachman jumped down and opened the door.
“Madeline!” Elsbeth beamed as she stepped out of the carriage, her husband following her. “It is so good to see you. I hope you don’t mind a little surprise visit from an old friend.” Striding forward, Elsbeth wrapped Madeline in her arms and whispered, “I simply needed to see you. When last we spoke, the look in your eyes made me quite concerned.” Then she stepped back, and her watchful blue eyes once more slid over Madeline’s face. “You look well,” she finally commented with a smile.
Did she? Madeline wondered. What did Elsbeth see that Madeline herself had not noticed? After all, the moment she had just shared with her husband had only pointed out the sheer hopelessness of her situation, had it not?
“Good evening, Lord Ainsworth. It is such a pleasure to see you again.” With a charming smile, her hand resting on her husband’s arm, Elsbeth turned to Madeline’s husband. “I hope you don’t mind us staying a few days. It is always hard for old friends to be parted from one another.”
With surprise, Madeline noticed her husband’s shoulders relax and his gaze shift over her friend with a touch of appreciation, and she could not help but wonder what had brought this on. What did he see when he looked at Elsbeth? For sure, she was a delightful creature and there was no friend more loyal in all of England, and yet, the scars that tainted her beauty were often the only thing people saw when looking at her these days.
A soft smile came to Madeline’s face. She should have known that her husband would be able to see beyond such superficialities. After all, had he not seen behind her own mask as well? At least for a moment?
“You are more than welcome to stay,” her husband stated, the tone of his voice matching his words, and yet, Madeline detected a slight strain in the way he spoke. “We shall have rooms prepared for you.”
“You are too kind,” Elsbeth thanked him as her husband inclined his head.
Madeline sucked in a sharp breath at her husband’s words as she remembered the condition of the rooms upstairs. So far, Derek had been able to repair parts of the roof, which meant that Kara’s and Sean’s chamber as well as his mother’s were now mostly free of leaks. However, while her own as well as her husband’s still had a small number of pots and jugs scattered around the room, the remaining bedchambers were in even worse condition.
Panic seized her, and her mind spun with the need to do something.
“Allow me to introduce you to my brother-in-law, Mr. Sean Brewer,” her husband said, gesturing to Kara’s husband, who stepped forward with a slight tremble in his arms. After years as a valet to Tristan Turner, Viscount Elton, he knew very well that−generally speaking−the ton liked to keep their lives separate from those who served them. However, here at Huntington House, that invisible line had become blurred. Even Madeline now rarely found anything odd at sharing a table with those she would have once considered beneath her.
“My lord. My lady,” Sean intoned, a certain amount of deference in his tone as he respectfully inclined his head.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brewer,” the marquess said, his own voice no less respectful, and Madeline noticed a touch of approval in her husband’s gaze. It was no surprise that he would think highly of people who treated those he deemed worthy with the same respect they demanded for themselves. Maybe this visit would not end in a disaster after all.
Turning to Sean, Madeline acted on impulse. “Would you escort the marquess and his wife inside? I need a moment with my husband.”
Despite noticing a touch of surprise on her friend’s as well as her husband’s face, Madeline pretended not to see anything out of the ordinary. As their visitors followed Sean inside, her husband turned to her, his gaze narrowed as he searched her face, suspicion resting in his eyes. “What is on your mind?”
“Was it so obvious?” Madeline asked, her hands unable to keep still as she wound them around the handkerchief that was still wrapped around her injured finger.
Her husband shrugged. “You seemed as though you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole,” he observed dryly, and yet, there was a touch of disappointment in his voice that made Madeline cringe as she realised that her reaction had insulted him and all he had accomplished.
Never had she thought of it like this.
“Never mind.” Turning away, Madeline made to climb the steps to the front entrance, but her
husband’s hand on her arm held her back.
“Say what’s on your mind.”
Taking a deep breath, Madeline met his gaze. “I meant to ask if we could offer them my room. Next to your sister’s and mother’s, it is the one in better condition than the rest.”
His gaze widened briefly before he stepped closer. “And where would you sleep?”
Madeline swallowed, and for the first time in her life, she did not dare hold his gaze. “With you.” Although she could not say what reaction she would have expected, the silence that followed was maddening. With her gaze darting from the ground to something beyond his shoulder to her own hands, Madeline could not tell what went through his head in that moment.
“Are you so ashamed of our home,” her husband finally said, his voice laced with repressed anger, “that you would make such a sacrifice and share my room?”
As though struck, Madeline’s head snapped up, her gaze meeting his.
“My bed?” he asked, his eyes hard as he stared down at her.
Sacrifice? Madeline thought, her mind suddenly slow as she found herself at the mercy of his anger and disappointment. Again, she had insulted him. Hurt him. How could she explain that this had nothing to do with him or even the condition of his estate? How could she make him understand that although she knew it to be irrational, she could not simply ignore the demands her upbringing had placed on her? Everything around her had changed so drastically in the past few weeks that she did not know how to keep up. All Madeline knew was that she herself was unable to change at the same pace.
Time. She needed time.
“There’s no reason for you to look so terrified, my lady,” her husband stated flatly as he took a step back. “In order to spare your sensibilities, I shall sleep in the stables.”
Madeline’s eyes widened in shock. However, before she could utter another word, he strode past her and vanished into the house. Staring after him, Madeline did not know what to think.
Terrified? Had she truly looked terrified? But not of him. Not of…
My lady? He had called her my lady in a tone that sent a chill down her spine. Not since they had gotten married had he called her that. It had always been Madeline, and although she had been appalled at first, understanding it as a sign of his low upbringing, she had come to cherish it over the past few weeks, seeing it as an intimacy they could not otherwise express. She herself had been on the verge of calling him Derek.
Now, that seemed impossible.
How had this happened? Only moments ago, they had seemed so close. He had seen into her soul and understood exactly what she had needed. The way he had held her had said more than a thousand words.
Only now, everything was different. The distance between them greater than it had ever been.
With a heavy weight on her heart, Madeline headed inside.
Chapter Sixteen − Humiliation
With his sister and nephew out with a cold, Derek found the atmosphere in their little kitchen a bit strained. Kara’s smiles and Collin’s cheerful questions would have certainly helped everyone feel more at ease. However, he had to admit that the marchioness did not seem to find anything out of the ordinary as though she was used to eating in the kitchen.
Although Derek had already made her acquaintance at his wedding a few weeks ago, he had not been aware that she and his wife were such close friends. Frankly, it had come as a bit of a surprise to him as he would have thought his wife to be bothered by the marchioness’s tainted beauty. Although Derek felt guilty for thinking of Madeline in such a way, he could not help but remember all the many instances when she had appeared too preoccupied with superficialities. In truth, he had thought her vainer than to surround herself with a woman like the Marchioness of Elmridge.
Apparently, he had been wrong.
And deep down, it pleased him greatly.
“I’m sorry to hear that your daughter and grandson are not feeling well,” the marchioness exclaimed, placing a gentle hand on his mother’s arm. “Please let me know if there is anything I can do.”
“Ye’re too kind, dear,” his mother said with a large smile on her face, completely oblivious to the fact that she had just addressed the marchioness much too informally.
And yet, his wife’s friend did not seem to notice, much less mind.
And neither did her husband.
Although the marquess kept to the background, his watchful eyes took in the room and the people within with great care. He was not as openly friendly as his wife, but his demeanour spoke of a kind character, subtler in his ways.
After a few kind words were exchanged, his mother ushered everyone to the table and then placed steaming bowls filled with her delicious stew in front of them. “Y’all go ahead and eat,” she instructed as she readied a small tray. “I shall see to my daughter and the boy.” And with that she shuffled out of the kitchen.
As they began to eat, a strained silence fell over the room, and Derek found himself wondering about his rather unexpected guests as well as his wife. All three stood out among the rest of his family in their impeccable clothes while he himself−like Sean−looked like the farmer’s son he was born. In this role, he felt more at ease than he did dressed up like a peacock in a ballroom. And yet, it was that thought that made him realise that for his wife it was probably the other way around. Did she feel as out of place here as he did in London? Did she dislike the familiar way they interacted as much as he disliked the pretence formality of the ton?
“This tastes wonderful,” the marchioness exclaimed, her bowl already half-empty. “I must admit I am quite famished, and after two days in a carriage this time of year, this is exactly the kind of food one needs to warm up again.”
“Ye’re right about that, dear,” his mother agreed as she came back in, an empty tray in her hand. “There’s nothin’ better than a warm stew on a cold day.” Retrieving a bowl for herself, his mother sat down at the table and scooped a spoonful of the warm stew into her mouth. “’Tis truly good. Madeline, ye’ve done well.”
Although nothing but praise shone in his mother’s eyes as she spoke, Madeline seemed to want to disappear into oblivion, her cheeks flushed as she seemed to grow smaller in her chair, her gaze fixed on the hated stew in her own bowl.
Humiliation.
That was the word for what she felt in that moment, and Derek could not help but feel for her. Despite their constant disagreements and the way she managed to make him feel bad about what he had accomplished, Derek could not deny that their worlds often seemed miles apart. In his world, his mother’s statement was a compliment. In Madeline’s, however, it was close to an insult.
“You’ve made this?” the marchioness exclaimed, surprised eyes shifting to Madeline, who seemed even more uncomfortable than before. “It tastes wonderful. I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”
Madeline swallowed, a shy smile on her face. “I don’t, but Bessy…eh…Mrs. McKnight…eh…my mother-in-law has been teaching me.” As she finished, her cheeks shone in a scarlet red, and her gaze was once more firmly attached to the bowl before her.
The marchioness sighed, “I wish I knew how to cook something so delicious. However, my mother would not permit us to learn.” A soft smile came to her face as she looked back and forth between Madeline and his mother. “Maybe while I’m here, you both can teach me a few things. That would be truly wonderful.”
With utter delight shining on her face, Derek’s mother instantly agreed. However, it was the look of astonishment and surprise in his wife’s eyes that almost stopped Derek’s heart, for it was in that small, seemingly insignificant moment that he finally understood how hard it had been for Madeline to find her way at Huntington House, constantly torn between the rules of her own upbringing and the demands of her new life.
He had not made it easy on her, and he felt bad for judging her so harshly.
“I saw you’re doing some work on the outbuildings,” the marquess addressed him rather unexpectedly. After barely
uttering a word all evening, he now seemed fairly interested in conversing with Derek. “What improvements are you planning?”
Drawing in a deep breath, Derek realised that his own moment of truth had come. Would the marquess judge him for the life he lived and the decisions demanded of him? “At the moment, the only improvements I’m planning are to my tenants’ homes,” Derek replied, displeased with himself for allowing a touch of bitterness to sneak into his voice. “Most of their homes are in dire need of repairs.”
“I see,” the marquess stated, and Derek relaxed as he detected no judgement in the man’s tone. “It is not easy correcting another man’s mistakes. From what I’ve heard the late baron had very little interest in upholding his estate, much less seeing to the need of his tenants.” He nodded in approval. “They are fortunate to be under your care now.”
Holding the marquess’ honest gaze, Derek nodded. “I’m doing my best to prove myself worthy of their trust. However, while it is easily lost, it takes time to regain.”
“As your intentions are honourable,” the marquess observed, “I do believe you shall be successful in your endeavour. After all, honesty gains trust…and loyalty.”
For a moment, Derek held the man’s gaze, before he remembered that the marquess had fought in the war as well, explaining that strange sense of recognition, of understanding he felt between them. It was as though they had known each other for a long time, forever connected through this shared experience.
“If there’s anything I can do to assist you?” the marquess said. “Please do not hesitate to ask.”
Suddenly reminded of Tristan, Derek hesitated. While his friend had always offered his assistance, he had merely meant it in the way of financial support, which was the one form of assistance Derek could never accept. Had the marquess intended to make the same offer? Or…?