by Bree Wolf
Biting her lower lip, his wife looked up at him. Then she nodded. “I think I know what your question is,” she whispered, her hands gripping his more tightly as though she feared to lose him.
Derek’s heart jumped with joy at such an honest sign of her feelings for him. No matter what she would tell him, they would be fine. For no matter what had happened, in the end, she had not chosen to stay with Townsend. Something had made her leave and come to find him, Derek, at Huntington House.
Whatever it was, Derek would always be grateful for it.
“One night…”
As his wife’s words echoed to his ears, Derek closed his eyes, wishing he did not have to hear them. But he did, and so he met her gaze once more.
“…I went to a ball,” she began her tale, “and Lord Townsend was there. We danced, and then he escorted me outside onto the terrace.” She swallowed, guilt resting in her eyes. However, she did not try to look away. “I asked him to because…I was angry with you, because you had abandoned me. And then I learnt that despite your assurance that you never had any intention of trapping me into marriage, you had kept Lord Townsend from following me that night by spilling your drink on him.”
Derek inhaled a deep breath, remembering the panic that had seized him at the thought of Townsend and Madeline alone together. “He told you that?”
Madeline nodded, and Derek realised how Townsend’s words must have seemed to her. Of course, she had thought he, Derek, had lied to her. How could she not have?
“I was furious,” Madeline continued, pain and sadness in her eyes as she spoke. “After you told me you would not object if I were to…,” she swallowed, shaking her head, “I wanted to…” Closing her eyes for a moment, she drew in a steadying breath. “I have never felt so rejected in my life, and I thought if you didn’t want me, then…” She shrugged. “I’m not certain what I thought. But I wanted to hurt you. Even if you didn’t care for me, no husband would remain unaffected if his wife were to…”
As his stomach turned upside down, Derek forced himself to remain calm, his muscles aching painfully with the tight grip he forced on them. “Did you…did you share his bed?” he asked through gritted teeth, knowing the moment of truth had finally come.
Holding his gaze, Madeline allowed a long, torturous moment to pass. “I did not,” she finally said, her eyes searching his, waiting for her words to sink in.
For long seconds, Derek thought he had misunderstood for deep inside he had been so prepared to take this blow and find a way to live with it. “You did not?” he asked, his eyes wide as he now searched her face.
“I did not,” she repeated, her voice steady. “However,…”
Instantly, Derek’s insides clenched.
“I did kiss him,” Madeline admitted, “and I allowed him to kiss me.” Her gaze held his, and although he saw a certain apprehension in her green depths, she stood tall and proud, not pleading for forgiveness.
And Derek had to admit she was right not to do so.
Certainly, they had both made mistakes. However, it had been he who had brought that about. If only he had taken her to Huntington House with him. If only he had had the courage to tell her why he had pursued her that night. If only he had given her more on their wedding night than a simple kiss.
Still, to him at least, it had been a deeply disturbing kiss as it had made him realise how much he cared for her. Although back then, he had barely allowed that thought to enter his mind; deep down, he had known that a kiss only felt as overwhelming as theirs had when love was involved…or at least the first blossoming emotions that eventually grew into love.
Had she felt it too? Or had theirs been no different than the kiss she had shared with Townsend?
“I need you to know,” his wife said, drawing his attention back to the here and now, “that the moment he kissed me, I knew I was making a mistake.” Shaking her head, she sighed. “When he kissed me, I felt…nothing, which was more confusing as I still so vividly remembered the way you had kissed−”
Unable to keep at bay the overwhelming joy that coursed through his body, Derek jerked Madeline forward and into his arms. His hands cupped her face, feeling the softness of her skin, and his lips claimed hers in a searing kiss.
For long moments, they clung to each other, holding on to the sweet joy of having the secrets that had stood between them for so long finally revealed and knowing that they were strong enough to get past them. Although doubts remained, they were merely a small echo of the dread that had lived in Derek’s heart before. “Did you ever wish−?”
“Never,” his wife assured him, her arms coming around his neck, pulling him closer. “I do not ever want to feel his touch again. Only yours.”
Wrapping her in his arms, Derek pushed away the image of Townsend, refusing to allow that man even the smallest victory. “Only mine,” he whispered, reclaiming her lips, determined to focus on the good instead of the bad. After all, had his wife not chosen to return to him when she could have stayed with Townsend? Was she not right here in his arms, kissing him with all the passion he, too, felt for her?
Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her to the bed, more than ever determined to make up for lost time.
Chapter Twenty-Seven − Utter Shock
The next fortnight passed in a flurry of stolen kisses and passionate nights that left Madeline with a permanent smile plastered on her face. Even the moments when they had to part were those of sweet sorrow as they only increased their desire to return to each other.
While Derek continued to assist his tenants with the repairs to their homes, Madeline tirelessly worked on obtaining the skills she would need to function in her new world as her husband had put it so practically. She helped Bessy in the kitchen, asked Kara to teach her how to mend clothes, take measurements for new ones and ultimately sew them. In spare moments, she bustled around the house, retrieving usable furniture from the side of the house that still had the occasional leak. Although her husband’s repairs were holding so far, he understood further improvements would have to be made come spring. Fortunately, he had already received assurances from his tenants that he would not have to do them alone.
Madeline delighted in teaching Kara and Bessy how to dance−much to Sean’s displeasure−and they spent many nights dancing around the drawing room, humming and laughing, enjoying the loving company of a close-knit family.
As October turned into November, Madeline met more of their tenants’ wives, and she soon found that both sides could benefit from an exchange of knowledge. While theirs were the skills needed to survive, Madeline’s accomplishments served to brighten the harsh reality most of them lived in. Her skills of embroidery as well as her keen eye for decorations soon not only warmed Huntington House but also their tenants’ cottages.
More than ever before, everyone worked hand in hand toward a common goal: a happy and safe home.
Every tool, every material was shared, and no one was left without help if it was needed. Never in her life had Madeline felt so much a part of something as she did now.
An integral part on top of that.
Although she was still learning, still improving her skills, Madeline experienced a sense of pride that she had not known before: the kind of pride that stemmed from having faith in your own abilities, from knowing that your contributions were cherished, from seeing your effect in the lives of others as well as your own.
“Is it your turn again, dear?” Bessy asked as she watched Madeline pack yet another picnic basket.
A grin on her face, Madeline nodded. “It is.”
Bessy chuckled, “It warms my heart to see ye two so happy. Ye’ve missed him dearly these past few days, have ye not?”
“More than I like to admit,” Madeline sighed. Although she had seen her husband these past few days, she had not seen him during lunch hour as Madeline was not the only wife who enjoyed spending time with her husband and sharing a meal with him. Every day, Madeline got to know their tenants’ wi
ves a bit more, and to her surprise, she had to realise that they were not so different from herself. Certainly, they had led different lives. However, their hearts yearned for the same things Madeline’s did.
Slinging a scarf around her shoulders and pulling her thick winter coat tightly around her, Madeline blessed Kara for her simple and efficient instructions on sewing and mending. As the cold wintery air blew into her face, her body did not shiver as much as it had before. Certainly, it was still cold. However, with her new dress, she did not feel completely and utterly at the elements’ mercy as she had before.
With every step that Madeline approached the cottage the tenants were currently working on, the smile on her face grew in anticipation of seeing her husband. How had this happened? A mere few months ago, she had cursed him, thought her life over when he had compromised her that night at the ball. And now?
Now, the thought of him not following her froze her heart and made it ache in the most painful way.
Madeline sighed. “I love him,” she whispered to the wind, a tentative smile tugging on the corners of her mouth. For some time now, she had suspected thus, but never dared admit it to herself. Ought she reveal it to him? Would he reciprocate her feelings? Or was his desire for her of a merely physical nature?
As soon as she was spotted by their tenants, the loud hammering ceased as all the men dropped their work and hastened toward the small area in front of the cottage where they always took their food. Most of them smiled at her as she approached. Some even waved. And for a short moment, Madeline stood and stared at them in wonder and amazement.
If anything, the past few months had taught her that nothing was written in stone. Everything was subject to change. Or at least, it could be.
No chance was ever truly lost, was it?
Handing out the food to the hungry men, Madeline glanced around for her husband, a frown drawing down her brows as he remained nowhere to be seen. “Where is his lordship?” she asked Mr. Thompson as he helped himself to a tart.
Swallowing, he cleared his throat. “He’s helpin’ the Widow Dunning. The leak in her roof opened up again, and she wouldna allow anyone but him to help out.” Grinning, he shook his head. “She’s a proud one.”
Taken aback, Madeline stared at the man before her as an unexpected chill ran up and down her arms, sending shivers down her spine. The Widow Dunning?
Dimly, Madeline recalled her husband speaking of her. Was she not the widow of a comrade who had fallen in battle? Was he assisting her out of a sense of duty to his friend?
Clenching her jaw, Madeline could not seem to quell the surge of jealousy that gripped her heart. If it was innocent, why had Derek not told her?
With her mind and heart in an uproar, Madeline stepped back and quickly took her leave. Hastening up the slope of the hill, she gazed down into the small valley, spotting several cottages on the far side toward the stream. However, there was one that stood closer, on the side that bordered on Huntington House. If she recalled correctly, that was where the Widow Dunning lived. Collin had once mentioned her son Matt, who had made a great impression on the three-year-old when he had climbed to the top of the gnarled oak tree that had once been struck by lightning and almost burnt to a crisp. Only a sudden downpour had put out the flames before they had done more damage and possibly reached over to the cottage.
Rubbing her hands together against the cold, Madeline found her way down the small slope leading toward Huntington House. However, she veered off to the west and toward the small cottage, the lump in her stomach urging her on. Why was it that she did not trust her husband?
Madeline sighed. Was it because of him? Or rather because of herself? Despite her own, recent accomplishments in the real world−not some tea party or ballroom−Madeline still harboured doubts about her own worth. Mostly, she tried to ignore them, pretend as though they were not even there or that they would eventually go away on their own. However, so far, they had not.
Although Madeline had met the Widow Dunning only a handful of times, merely exchanging a word of greeting, she remembered the woman’s bright, sparkling eyes and the determined set of her jaw as she had watched her son and daughter chasing each other down to the pond. Her hands had been work-worn, her dress tattered and mended in countless places, and yet, her hair had shone like the sun as though a crown rested upon her head.
Remembering her now, Madeline inhaled a deep breath. What did her husband see when he looked at her? Did he see the same beauty, the same pride resting in her eyes?
As the ground began to level out, Madeline weaved her way through a small cluster of trees, the cottage hidden on the other side. Step by step, she inched closer as though a part of her tried to keep her back, tried to slow her feet and even turn them around.
And yet, she could not.
Stumbling over a root, Madeline caught herself with one hand on the trunk of a tree, the bark scratching over her skin. For a moment, she inspected her hand, wiggling her foot to ease the slight discomfort in her toes. Then she looked up…
…and the air flew from her lungs.
Over by the side of the cottage stood the Widow Dunning, her luminous hair blowing in the wind as she gazed up into the eyes of Madeline’s husband.
Trying to dislodge the lump that rose in her throat, Madeline watched, watched as her husband took a step closer, gently placing a hand on Mrs. Dunning’s arm, his gaze intense as it held hers. A few words were spoken−whispered−that Madeline could not make out. Then Mrs. Dunning shook her head and turned to go. Derek, however, reached for her, his hand wrapping around her arm as he gently pulled her back, his other hand settling under her chin. Again, the widow tried to step away, but Derek held her in place. Ultimately, she bent her head, resting it against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms more tightly around her.
As tears streamed down Madeline’s face, all she could feel was a threatening cold spreading through her body, numbing the ache in her heart, shielding her from the worst of the pain that had assaulted her so unexpectedly. Stumbling backwards, she wiped at her face, cursing herself for allowing herself to be so vulnerable, to feel, to trust…to love.
Hastening toward the manor, Madeline could not make sense of the many thoughts that tumbled through her head. What exactly had she just witnessed? Were they in love? Did they have an affair? Never would she have thought her husband capable of betraying her like this. Had she misjudged him so severely? Or were her fears distorting what she had seen?
Although Madeline dreaded her mother-in-law’s watchful eyes, she could not bring herself to stay outside much longer. Her fingers and toes were already numb, and the tip of her nose ached from the freezing wind.
Resigning herself to her fate, Madeline pushed open the door, welcoming the heavenly warmth that engulfed her the moment she stepped across the threshold. Rather unexpectedly though, her mother-in-law was not standing at the workbench, preparing their supper. Indeed, a large pot was sitting on the stove and vegetables lay about, some already cut, others still awaiting their turn.
With a frown on her face, Madeline stepped closer and found an onion halfway peeled resting on a cutting board. What had happened here?
Glancing around, Madeline could not see anything that would explain her mother-in-law’s absence, and so pulling off her scarf and unbuttoning her coat, Madeline left the kitchen in search of an explanation. As she stepped into the hall, an agitated voice echoed down the stairs, the touch of panic in them freezing Madeline’s blood.
Swallowing, she picked up her skirts and darted up the stairs as fast as she could. At the landing, she stopped, straining her ears to determine where everyone had disappeared to as the rest of the house seemed to be equally deserted as the kitchen.
“I don’t know what to do!” Kara wailed, panic tightening her voice. “Please, Mother, you must know something. What can we do?”
Rushing down the corridor toward Kara and Sean’s bedchamber, Madeline pulled up short when her head suddenly spun to the l
eft, Collin’s room.
With her breath stuck in her throat, Madeline burst through the door. “What’s going on here? I heard−” Words failed her as her gaze fell onto the small bed in the corner. His eyes closed, Collin lay wrapped in countless blankets, his skin pale and his chest rising and falling rapidly, the sound of his breath wheezing in the most unnatural way.
It froze the blood in Madeline’s veins.
Beside him sat Kara, her hands wrapped around Collin’s little one, her face as pale as his, only not with sickness but fear instead. On the other side of the bed, Sean and Bessy stood with their heads bent, their faces haggard as they looked down at the little boy who had always brightened their day and who now lay much too still.
“What’s wrong?” Madeline asked, her voice too shrill in the deafening silence of the room. “What happened to him?” Stepping forward, she looked at Kara and then at Sean and Bessy. Neither would meet her eyes.
“We don’t know,” Bessy finally said, wringing her hands, the competence that usually rested in her eyes stripped from her by existential fear. “He collapsed, and now, he’s not breathin’ properly.” With lips pressed together tightly, she shook her head, tears misting her eyes. “I’ve been afraid of this when he wouldna recover. Not the way ye did.” She glanced at her daughter, who closed her eyes and pressed a kiss to Collin’s little hand. “He’s been weak for almost a month, and I don’t know what to do.” Lifting her head, Bessy finally met Madeline’s gaze, her own holding not only fear but also failure.
Always had Bessy looked after her family. Taken care of them. Nursed them back to health. Set them straight and guided them toward a good life. Now, she was at a loss. She had done what she could, and judging from the sound of Collin’s breathing, it was not enough.