by Bree Wolf
“Ye cannot expect her to rush back into your arms,” Meagan counselled in her own rather forthright way, “if ye do not give her a reason to do so. Talk to her. Tell her how ye feel and stop bothering me with this.” Patting him on the shoulder, she sent him on his way.
Cursing his own cowardice, Derek strode back to the house, determined to finally speak his mind before his courage would fail him yet again. However, when he was about to open the back door to the kitchen, the sound of wheels churning on gravel caught his attention.
Darting around the house, he spotted a fine carriage pulling to a halt by the front steps. The coachman jumped down and hastened to open the door, which bore the coat-of-arms of…
Derek sighed and then strode forward as his best friend stepped out into the cold. “Tristan, what brings you here?”
“Not the weather,” his friend replied with a chuckle, “or the scenery, that’s for certain. Have you even done any work on the house at all?”
Derek grinned. “Not at all. May I offer you a box in the stables then? Maybe that will be more to your liking.”
Laughing, Tristan held out his hand and helped his wife out of the carriage.
“Lord Ainsworth,” Beth greeted him with a genuine smile on her beautiful face. “It’s so good to see you again. Please, do not mind my husband. On occasion, he forgets his manners.”
“I assure you I’m quite used to it, Lady Elton,” Derek teased, surprised how much he delighted in seeing his friends again so unexpectedly. “May I ask what brings you here this time of year? Surely, there are much more pleasant months to pay a visit.”
Beth smiled, placing a hand on her husband’s arm to keep him from saying something inappropriate in return. “I find the cold rather invigorating,” she beamed, her cheeks glowing with excitement. “In all honesty, though, we did not come to intrude, but merely thought to stop by on our way to Scotland. My husband’s sister invited us to spend the holidays.”
“Yes, I remember,” Derek replied, gesturing toward the front door. “Allow me to escort you inside and see to your rooms. I’m certain you would enjoy some hot tea.”
“That’s a marvellous idea!” Beth exclaimed, rubbing her hands together against the cold. “I fear my fingers may have broken off and are now rolling around in my gloves.”
Grinning at his wife, Tristan offered her his arm before he turned his gaze back to Derek, an all-too-serious expression in his eyes. “Not the stables then?”
Ignoring his friend, Derek strode up the steps and into the house, then led the way to the back where his family bustled in the kitchen, preparing supper.
After introductions had been made, Derek was relieved to see that his friends easily found their way around his family. Although he and Tristan had known each other for years, he had never been to Huntington House or met Derek’s mother.
“It’s so wonderful to see you again, Lord Elton,” Kara smiled, a hand on her belly. “I’d get up, but I just sat down and…”
Tristan grinned. “Don’t worry. We have not come to disrupt your family life. However, we would be grateful if you could grant us shelter for a few days.” He glanced at Derek, a mischievous sparkle coming to his eyes. “Your dear brother offered us the stable.”
Kara’s mouth dropped open in shock.
“I offered you the stable,” Derek corrected, ignoring his sister. “Your wife is more than welcome to a room upstairs.”
“That is too kind, Lord Ainsworth,” Beth stated, raising her eyebrows at her husband before she turned to Derek’s mother. “Is there anything I can help you with? This smells wonderful.”
Although Madeline seemed a bit taken aback with their surprise guests, she was soon lost in conversation with Beth, who had a natural ability to draw people in and make them feel at ease. Smiling, Derek watched them, wishing he and Madeline could interact with the same level of intimacy as his friend and his wife did. Was there even still a chance of that?
The next morning as Derek was about to step outside to retrieve a bucket of water from the well, Tristan approached him, his gaze narrowed, and his brows drawn down.
“Is something wrong?” Derek asked, eyeing him curiously, his gaze a bit unfocused as he leaned against the door frame. “Did you not sleep well?”
“Not quite,” Tristan replied, “as I’ve been wondering what on earth you did to make your wife glare at you as though she wishes to rip your heart out.”
Derek’s heart stopped…if only for a moment. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed!” Tristan scoffed, shaking his head, arms akimbo. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you gave her a reason to be jealous.” His gaze narrowed. “Did you?”
“Jealous? No!” Shaking his head, Derek stared at him. “That’s ludicrous! Why would she−?”
“Have you told her how you feel about her?” Tristan demanded as he approached, his watchful gaze fixed on Derek. Since when had his friend become this observant? Derek wondered. It was rather annoying! “Let me tell you, my life became a lot easier once I stopped fighting the fact that I was in love with my wife.”
Derek’s jaw clenched. “I would rather not discuss−”
“Fine, don’t talk to me,” Tristan relented, lifting his hands in surrender. “But please go and talk to her, will you?”
Derek sighed and then nodded, hoping his consent would put this conversation to rest.
“And don’t forget to tell her,” Tristan called after him as Derek turned back to the door, “that you’ve been in love with her since the first moment you saw her at the masked ball! What? Don’t deny it! It was written all over your face.”
***
Standing in the hall, outside the kitchen door, Madeline felt her heart leap out of her chest at Lord Elton’s words. Her eyes went wide, and she stumbled backwards until her back collided with the wall. With trembling knees, she sank to the floor as her lungs desperately tried to draw air into her body.
“Did you not know?” came Lady Elton’s voice from down the hall as she stepped forward, a joyous smile on her face. “I thought it was rather obvious.” For a long moment, her gaze held Madeline’s. “May I sit with you?” Without waiting for a reply, the viscountess lowered herself to the floor beside her.
Staring at the opposite wall, Madeline felt the world spin out of control as hope knocked down her defences and reclaimed her heart. Groaning, she pulled up her legs and rested her forehead on her knees. Had she not just spent weeks convincing herself that she had only imagined the connection between them? Had she not worked hard to get through the day without succumbing to tears every time her thoughts strayed to her husband and the Widow Dunning?
“Life is not easy, is it?” Lady Elton mumbled as though to herself. “Especially when love is involved.”
Lifting her head, Madeline sighed, “I don’t know if I dare believe−”
“Oh, but you do,” the viscountess insisted, her light blue eyes sparkling with delight as she placed a gentle hand on Madeline’s arm. “You simply don’t know if you dare admit it to yourself.” For a moment, she held her gaze. “Do you love him?”
Biting her lip, Madeline sighed, not knowing what to say. If she were to−
“Do you?”
Closing her eyes, Madeline nodded. “But he doesn’t−”
“Yes, he does.”
Meeting Lady Elton’s gaze, Madeline wished she could be as certain. “But if he truly does, why does he…? There is a woman, a widow, who lives not far from−” Shaking her head, Madeline squeezed her eyes shut, and unbidden, her mind immediately conjured the image of the beautiful, golden-haired woman in Derek’s arms.
“I see,” Lady Elton mumbled, her voice distant as though she was contemplating how best to reply. “I admit I do not know what happened. However, I feel compelled to tell you that Lord Ainsworth is a man of his word as you must already know. Therefore, I believe it highly unlikely that he would break his marriage vows.”
> Madeline swallowed, “What if he didn’t, but…?”
“Wanted to?”
Nodding, Madeline closed her eyes, then rubbed her hands over her face as the unbidden image returned. “I cannot read him. Sometimes I feel as though he might care for me. The way he looks at me, talks to me, I…But then everything changes, and I…I don’t know. How can I be sure? How can I know how he truly feels?”
“Ask him.”
Staring at the viscountess, Madeline shook her head. “I cannot.”
“Why?”
“Because…” As the world began to spin again, Madeline felt a warm hand settle on hers. Opening her eyes, she found Lady Elton’s warm gaze on her, encouraging her to speak her mind. “Would he tell me the truth? He’s a man of honour and duty, would he not consider it his duty to protect me from−”
“He would not lie,” Lady Elton said with conviction, her voice serious and without humour, before a soft smile came to her face. “Let me tell you that you’re not alone in your doubts. We all know them. The only difference is whether or not we listen to them and allow them to control our lives.” Gently, she squeezed Madeline’s hand. “I understand that you would doubt your own observations as you are…biased by your own desires and hopes. However, my husband and myself are not afflicted by them, and we, too, believe that your husband loves you…and that you love him. Has it ever occurred to you that he might be holding back because he harbours the same fears as you do?”
As Lady Elton’s words sank in, Madeline wondered if it would be wise to risk her heart and attempt to claim her husband’s for herself before anyone else were to steal it away.
Wise or not, Madeline knew that if only she could find the courage to do so, she would not hesitate.
Chapter Thirty-Two − Vulnerable
“Give my regards to your sister and her husband,” Derek said as he embraced his friend before watching him step up into the carriage. “Enjoy Scotland.”
“We shall,” Tristan promised, his gaze travelling to Derek’s wife standing only a few feet behind him. “Tell her,” he mouthed, his gaze insistent as the carriage began to move. “Tell her.”
Waving goodbye, Derek felt the December sun’s heat burning on his cheeks as though a fire had been lit near him, and he did not dare turn his head and meet his wife’s eyes. Whenever she was near him, it was as though he could feel her. His mind became unfocused and dizzy, and although he had vowed not only to Tristan but also to himself that he would seize the next opportunity to speak to her, his mind was suddenly empty, and he had not a clue what to say and where to begin.
“I’ll go and chop some more firewood,” he stated before turning toward the barn and the logs stacked behind it. “I shall−” Dizziness seized him, and the barn blurred before his eyes. Up and down were no longer constants but seemed to float through the air randomly. The world began to spin, and Derek could feel himself swaying on his feet, fighting to remain upright.
Just as he was about to lose the fight, hands seized him, steadying him. “Are you all right?” his wife asked, not concern but fear in her voice as her hands gripped his arms, keeping him grounded.
Blinking, Derek looked at her, trying to focus his gaze, until her dark green eyes held his and he could see the sun’s rays reflected in them. “I’m fine. I…”
Her gaze narrowed before she touched a hand to his cheek and her eyes widened. “You’re burning up,” she accused as though it was his fault. “You have a fever.”
Frowning, Derek lifted a hand to his forehead, but did not think himself overly warm. However, his wife’s hand as it rested on his cheek felt heavenly. “Nonsense,” he mumbled and tried to free himself from her hold on him. “I shall−”
“You most certainly shall not!” she interrupted him, her gaze narrowed as she fixed him with a determined stare. “The only place you’re going is to bed.”
Unable to help himself, Derek smiled at her, his gaze no longer annoyed but rather tempted.
Realising the direction of his thoughts, his wife shook her head at him, a slight blush coming to her cheeks. “Maybe I should ask your mother to see you to your bed.”
Derek chuckled before a sudden coughing fit seized him.
Instantly, the look on his wife’s face changed, a dark frown drawing down her brows as she held on to him. “This is no longer amusing,” she stated once he had regained control of his breathing. “Up to bed with you.”
Derek could count on one hand the few instances of his life when he had been sick, and he had hated every minute of it. Always had it felt like a betrayal that his body would allow itself to be so weakened, so vulnerable. This time, however, there was a silver lining.
With her hands holding on to him, his wife escorted him back into the house and up the stairs. She led him into his room, helped him pull off his boots and jacket and then sent him to bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. All the while, she had a rather annoyed expression on her face as though it was indeed his fault that he had caught a cold. However, there was something in the way her hands touched him, ever so gently brushing over his cheek and forehead, sliding down his arms as she removed his jacket or smoothing down the blanket when she bundled him up like a child.
Watching her, Derek felt a new warmth spread through his body.
Not the feverish kind.
Nor one that spoke of physical desire.
No, the way she took care of him spoke of a deeper emotion. An emotion Derek had long since feared she would never come to harbour for him.
Before she turned away, Derek looked up at her face and thought to see a single tear glistening in the corner of her eye. Frowning, he watched her as she walked over to the fireplace and took the tinderbox from the mantle. Then she set about lighting the fire, her hands sure but far from steady.
“Are you all right?” Derek asked, unable to make sense of her vulnerable state. Usually she did her best to appear strong and unyielding. Only a handful of times had she broken down and allowed him to see a different side of her. However, these moments had always been brought about by rather unexpected, deeply unsettling emotions. Could it be that she feared for him?
As his head started to pound, Derek sighed. After everything that had happened−that had gone wrong−he wondered if it would be wise to allow himself to believe her affected by him in such a way.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, her back half-turned to him as she wiped a hand over her eyes. Then her hands moved with precision, and within minutes, a flame took hold, dancing over the kindling, slowly spreading until it grew to engulf the stacked logs in the hearth.
Rising to her feet, his wife looked at her handiwork for a moment.
“That was quite adept,” Derek complimented, trying his best to ignore the heat burning him up from the inside. “You’ve learnt a lot since…”
Inhaling a deep breath, Madeline turned toward him. “Since the day of Lord Kingsley’s ball?”
For a long moment, Derek held her gaze, unspoken words hanging in the air between them. “You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished,” he finally said, detecting a touch of doubt in her dark green eyes. “It is not easy living in a world unlike your own. I know because I still feel out of place in yours, and I am relieved whenever I am free to retreat back into my own.”
Moments passed, and his wife simply stood there, her gaze distant as her thoughts carried her elsewhere. Was this the moment? Derek wondered. The moment when he would find out if she could ever be truly happy here.
In this life.
In his life.
“I can only imagine,” Derek began, praying he would not regret this, “how you must feel as you cannot return to yours.” He swallowed. “Do you wish to? Do you wish you could?”
Another minute passed before Madeline blinked, her gaze focusing before she turned to look at him. Her dark green eyes held his, searched his. Then she drew in a deep breath. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
And before Derek could object, the door clo
sed behind her.
Leaning back, Derek felt a dull ache spread through his body as the fever continued to burn in his veins. His head throbbed, and his throat felt almost raw. Sleep began to pull on him, and yet, he forced his eyes open, unable to surrender before his wife had returned. For a reason he could not name, he needed to see her.
Needed to know she would return to him, and suddenly, Derek realised that deep down he was still waiting for the day she would finally decide to leave for good.
That thought had been nagging at him ever since she had first arrived at Huntington House.
And he could not seem to shake it.
With a loud bang, the door flew open, and Derek would have jumped out of his skin if he had had the strength to do so. “What on earth−?”
The words died on his lips and his eyes flew open when his mother and sister rushed in, each carrying a jug and a bowl. Setting down the bowl near his bedside, they poured hot water from the jug into it, steam wafting into the air.
“What on earth are you doing?” Derek demanded, hating how raspy his voice sounded. “I don’t have pneumonia.”
“Dr. Rosen said to watch for symptoms,” his mother objected, fixing him with a determined stare. “He said it was highly contagious.”
“I don’t have pneumonia!” Derek yelled before another coughing fit seized him.
“Please be reasonable,” Kara pleaded when he sank back into the pillows, exhausted. “Even if it’s just a cold, this doesn’t hurt.” She looked at him imploringly, her hand gently squeezing his.
Derek swallowed, “How’s Collin?”
“He’s fine.” A soft smile came to her face. “He is still weaker than before and sooner out of breath, but he’ll be fine.”
Derek nodded. “Keep him away,” he whispered to her. “At least for a while.”
For a moment, Kara closed her eyes, and a tear ran down her cheek. “I shall,” she promised him before stepping back. “I’ll fetch more water.”
As Kara and his mother returned downstairs, his wife walked back into the room, carrying a tray with tea and biscuits.