Chapter Eleven

D erek sat in a deep brown leather club chair, staring absently at the billiards table later that night as the regatta ball carried on in the ballroom. He had accompanied the doctor into Mabel's room when he arrived and hadn't left until he was satisfied that she was perfectly fine. But even with the doctor's guarantee, Derek was left feeling shaken.

He had noticed her the moment she came out of Boxwood. She and her sister were arm in arm with Clara, and Derek had had to force himself not to go to her side immediately. The previous evening had been an experience. Derek hadn't ever come away from a coupling feeling as overwhelmed and transported as he had last night. It was unequivocal what was between him and Mabel, and every fiber of his being had called out to her the moment he saw her. But just as he began to approach, he saw that he had been beaten to the mark by an eager Mr. Bentley.

Derek had stopped himself, partly out of self-preservation and curiosity. There was no threat from Mr. Bentley, and as he gazed at Mabel's face, he saw an obvious discomfort, but to his surprise, she appeared almost bashful.

Derek took a sip of scotch as the events of that day replayed in his mind. Fredrick had interrupted Derek's staring along with Silas. They had wished to speak about horses or something. It had been a challenge to even pretend to pay attention to their words when every bit of him wanted to seek out Mabel.

And then, all of a sudden, he heard a scream, which caused everyone around him to look up. Before he could even question how he knew it was Mabel who yelled, he was racing toward the folly, only to realize that the crowd was gazing downstream, pointing, and shouting.

Derek's steps had slowed as he'd realized that someone had fallen into the water and was being dragged away by the current. Spinning around abruptly, he'd run as fast as he could, pushing through worried guests as he'd neared the bank of the river. In three giant steps, he'd crashed into the water before diving beneath the surface. The water had been moving fast, and it had taken him a moment before he saw the shimmer of Mabel's gown.

Swimming as quickly as he could, it seemed like hours before he reached her, but it was likely only minutes. When he'd grabbed her skirt, he'd held on tightly and dug his heels into the bed of the river as the water tried to force his body to topple over. But Derek would not move, and he drew her toward him, holding her to his chest as he began to make his way back toward the river bank. Thankfully, dozens of people had witnessed what happened, and by the time Derek reached the riverbank, several gentlemen had come to aid him.

But Derek had barely allowed the others to help before she was laid on her back in the grass. Fear had iced through him when he'd noted that she wasn't breathing, but he hadn't been willing to give up on her. Having once been a classmate of Granville Pattison, who had studied under the renowned Scottish surgeon Dr. Allen Burns, Derek and his schoolmates had all been taught about resuscitation.

He'd placed his palms over her chest, one atop the other, and then he'd pressed firmly into her chest several times before dropping down to breathe air into her mouth.

"My lord!" a woman screamed. "He's assaulting her!"

"He is not," Fredrick spat, reaching them. "He's helping her."

But the seconds had stretched endlessly, and every moment, she'd become paler until, blessedly, she'd coughed and then coughed again as a bubbling stream of water came from her mouth. Placing his arm around her shoulders, he'd sat her up immediately, thanking the lord above that he hadn't taken her.

"Are you all right, Trembley?" Silas asked, shaking Derek from his thoughts. The duke was sitting next to him in an identical leather club chair. Derek nodded at the question as Fredrick and Alfred argued over a shot taken on the snooker table. Gavin was leaning against the wall, watching the game intently, but Silas seemed entirely focused on Derek.

"Yes," he said, trying to put enough certainty in his voice to convince his friend—and himself, as well.

"Well, I must say, it was a very heroic thing you did," Alfred said, chalking the end of his cue stick. "Poor Leona was besides herself."

"Yes, it was rather a spectacle," Fredrick said, leaning over the table to line up a ball for his next shot.

The term caught Derek's attention.

"It wasn't on purpose," he said defensively. "She fell."

"I know that," his brother answered, standing up. "I didn't mean anything by it."

But Derek's worry for Mabel had soured his whole mood. Though the events of the day had still carried on, from the race to the ball that evening, he had elected to stay away from his guests rather than participating, wanting to be available should Mabel need him. His mother had been understanding, and even supported the idea of him not attending, as she too had concerns for Mabel. But after the fourth visit to Mabel's room since the doctor's departure, he was practically hauled off to the billiards room and forced to calm his nerves with a dram of whiskey.

"I know you don't, Fredrick."

"I suppose it is to be expected, however. Considering…"

When he didn't finish his sentence, Derek looked up. Suddenly alert, like a deer who had just heard a twig snap, Derek leaned forward.

"Considering what?"

"Well," Silas said, glancing at Gavin before looking back at Derek. "Isn't it obvious?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Really?" Fredrick asked, coming forward, a disbelieving frown on his face. "You don't see it?"

Alfred elbowed their brother, which only added to Derek's rising agitation. Standing up, he glared at those around him.

"See what, exactly?"

"Derek," Silas said quietly, gathering his attention away from the others. "It's obvious you care for the woman."

Derek let out an annoyed snort of laughter.

"Excuse me?"

"It's true," Gavin said. "Holly's been pointing it out for weeks now."

"And your wife is an expert on such things?" Derek asked.

Gavin smirked. "Yes."

Derek scoffed. "Let me assure you all that I'm not at all interested in Mabe—eh, Miss Meadows. I admit that we had a partnership of sorts that has recently come to an end. Now, all I wish is for her to get better so that she might enjoy the rest of her trip and return home promptly."

Neither Silas, Gavin, or Fredrick spoke. Alfred, on the other hand, took a slow step forward and cocked his head.

"Partnership?" he spoke, honing in on the word. "What sort of partnership?"

Derek nearly groaned but only exhaled loudly. Silas was studying him intently, causing Derek to feel exposed. He needed to leave. Now.

Taking a final swig of his drink, he stood and stalked out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Gavin called after him, but Derek didn't heed him.

He had already said too much. He didn't want to even be tempted to confess to his friends during some weak moment of self-reflection. Instead, he would check again on Mabel.

As he climbed the stairs, he wondered if his feelings regarding Mabel truly were so obvious.

Coming to the door that led into her bedchambers, Derek nearly knocked when a maid opened the door, jumping a little at seeing him.

"Oh, my lord," she said with a quick curtsy. "I did not think you would come again."

Oh good . It seemed everyone was keeping count of his visits. Well, she was a guest of his household, after all. He had every right to make sure that she was on the mend.

"Is she well?"

The maid gave him a cheeky wink.

"Go on, my lord. She'll tell you herself."

Derek started to step forward, but then a thought gave him pause. "Ah, as to her lady's maid, Juliette…"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Is she in there?"

"No," the maid said with a little chuckle, moving around him to step into the hallway. "She went down to the kitchens for something to eat. It's where I'm headed, myself."

"Ah. I wouldn't usually ask this, but if you could—"

"I'll keep her busy, my lord. She's a stern one, she is."

Derek nodded his thanks as the maid disappeared down the hallway. He leaned into the room, noting the oil lamps that had been dimmed to give the room a peaceful ambiance. Yet the lamp on the end table closest to the head of the bed was turned up, and Mabel was using the light of it to read by, tucked beneath a thick brocade of blankets. Derek found that the image of her absorbed in her book, mouth slightly open with a dark braid falling over her shoulder was perhaps the most exquisite vision he had ever seen.

Her silver-blue eyes lifted then from the pages, and a grin broke out on her face. What should have broken the spell only illuminated it.

"What are you doing here? Isn't there a ball going on?"

"There is," he said, stepping into the room. "But I wanted to check on you."

She tilted her head.

"You've already made sure that I have everything I need, half a dozen times thus far. And I do. If this persists, I should require the doctor to visit again."

His heartrate picked up.

"Why? Are you unwell?"

"No, but I'm afraid you'll drive yourself mad with worry."

Amused by her gentle teasing, Derek smirked as he came toward the edge of her bed, absently moving his fingers over the curve carved into the wood of her bedpost.

"I promise, I'll not visit again tonight."

"Oh, but," she said quickly, propping herself onto her arm. "I don't mind. Really." Warm satisfaction simmered in his chest.

"I wanted to apologize to you, Mabel," he said softly. "I don't think you'll ever understand the guilt I have about what happened to you."

"It's not your fault," she began, but he held a hand up.

"It is my fault though. I pressed the laborers to have the repair work on the folly completed before the race and the mortar hadn't had enough time to set. I was impatient."

"You were told it was safe."

"I should have known better."

"How could you have? Are you a master builder?" she asked. When he didn't answer, she continued. "No, of course not. And all is well. I'll be back on my feet and out of bed in no time, I'm sure. Although…"

His eyes snapped to hers.

"Although what?"

She gave him a sad sort of smile.

"I'm afraid my playing cards were ruined," she said, nodding at a palm sized, mushed up ball of paper that sat on the end table. "They were in my pocket."

He reached for it and squeezed as an excess amount of water dripped onto the floor.

"I'll replace them, of course."

"There's no need for you to do that," she said, lifting her body slightly.

"I want to. And you need to rest," he said, as his free hand came to her shoulder and gently pushed her back.

"I won't rest for long, I assure you."

A quick quip about keeping her in bed surfaced, but he pushed past it.

"Goodnight, Mabel," he said, turning to leave.

"Goodnight," she said.

And for the most part, it was a good evening. Derek ventured to the ballroom, where everyone was eager to talk to him about how Miss Meadows was faring after her ordeal. To his surprise, Mr. Bentley was adamant about visiting Mabel the next day should she recover so soon. Lord Nesby was equally insistent that he be allowed to visit. Derek, of course, agreed, but when they showed up the next day, he was filled with a feeling of frustration.

Mr. Bentley arrived just after breakfast. It was hours before the appropriate calling time, however, Mabel had told the countess that she was eager to accept visitors so as to lessen everyone's worry about her. Derek tried to object, but he found that both his mother and Mabel seemed determined to carry on with or without his consent.

"Good morning, Trembley," Mr. Bentley said upon entering the foyer, dressed in a fine grey suit, holding a bouquet of bright-colored wildflowers. "I've come to see how Miss Meadows is faring."

"Yes, so I've been told," he grumbled. "I believe you'll find Miss Meadows in the family parlor."

"No, dear, Miss Meadows will be visiting with guests on the terrace this morning," the countess said as she approached the men. "My, what lovely flowers Mr. Bentley."

"Thank you, countess."

"The terrace?" Derek interrupted. "Miss Meadows shouldn't be outside. She's likely to catch a chill."

"In this weather? I doubt it and besides, Miss Meadows insisted, and I think the fresh air will do her good. Come, Mr. Bentley, I'll escort you to her."

Derek was about to open his mouth to argue further when another visitor showed up, followed by another. Every bachelor from here to London had heard about the American's plight and came to give their condolences. To his chagrin, Mabel allowed each and every visit from where she held court on the terrace while Derek lurked just inside the house. He still felt it was unnecessary for her to hold court outside, given the traumatic events from the day prior.

Derek was determined to stay out of Mabel's way as she was fawned over by visitors, deciding it best to keep his growing annoyance in check, but he was unable to do so. Every time he thought up something to busy himself with, he would find himself by the open doors that led out onto the terrace, positioning himself so that he could just make out what Mabel was saying. She was seated at the stone bench, surrounded by at least four gentlemen. A wooden table had been carried out and covered with a tablecloth and dozens of plates of teacakes, scones, and more.

"—and I'm simply overwhelmed by all the well wishes that have come my way," she said, burying her face in a large peony, one of dozens Mr. Bentley had brought her. "It truly has made me reconsider my thoughts on the British gentleman."

"I hope for the better?" one gentleman said.

She smiled, and Derek rolled his eyes. Must she be so damn flirtatious? She seemed practically on the verge of inviting all these men to write her poetry. It was appalling how they flocked to her, practically begging for her attention.

A moment of self-reflection might have brought him to the uncomfortable realization that he acted the same way with her, but that wasn't something he cared to think about, so he pushed the thought away.

"When you are well, you must let me take you rowing. I'm an excellent boat man."

"That is kind of you, but I think you'll understand, especially after my latest experience, that I'm not particularly keen on water."

"But that is why you must give it another chance—so that you may overcome your fear before it becomes too entrenched. And of course, you will be entirely safe when you're with me. I don't mean to sound arrogant, but I'm probably the best row man for a hundred miles."

"Is that so?" she asked, not sounding at all sarcastic.

Why not just dismiss the prat? he wondered. But Mabel only tilted her head and appeared coquettish.

"You must let me—"

Derek nearly stalked out onto the stone patio to deal with the gentleman's impertinence, but his plan was interrupted by the clearing of a throat from behind him. Turning around, he saw Lord Nesby, who gave him a crooked grin.

"My apologies, my lord. I did tell my nephew that he was likely hunting the wrong prey if you will."

Derek frowned.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I don't mean to pry, obviously, and you know how I loathe gossip," he said, coming closer. "But the night before last? Before the Regatta? I was out back, inspecting the grounds when I saw, well…"

The man's brows wiggled up and down as a surprising amount of ferocity swelled in Derek's chest.

"You saw what?" he asked quietly.

"Let's not say what it actually was." The man winked. "But good for you. I thought of sampling her spirits myself, to see if there was any contrast with the English whores, but I doubt an American will be much different, no?"

A sudden ringing sounded in Derek's ears as the man's words sunk in. Nesby had seen them together and now thought to bring it up in conversation? On top of which he had the gall to compare Mabel to a whore?

Derek's fingers curved into fists at his side as he tried to steady himself.

"You're mistaken, Nesby."

"I don't think so, Trembley. As old as I am, my eyesight is still very keen and I—"

"You what?" Derek hissed. "Think to insult a guest of my household?"

The old man blinked, confused.

"Come now, Trembley, there's no need to pretend to be indignant. She's a divorcée and we're all adults, after all."

The shakes that had haunted Derek for months began to shiver through him as his hands trembled. He tried to focus, but his fury at Nesby's words would not subside.

"Leave my house. At once."

Nesby frowned, then let out a little chuckle.

"Goodness me. If I'm not mistaken, it seems you're rather taken with the little trollop—"

Vehemence slammed into Derek's chest, and before he realized what he was doing, he had his fingers wrapped around Nesby's throat as the old man clawed at Derek's fingers.

"Get out."

Nesby sputtered and coughed.

"Take your hands off me!"

But he would do no such thing. Instead, he began to haul the old bastard down the hall, deciding to throw him out. The scuffle had been loud enough that Mabel and the others entered the house.

"Uncle!" Mr. Bentley said, rushing after Derek as he dragged the man out of his house. "Lord Trembley, please, unhand him!"

"Miss Meadows has had enough visitors for today," he snapped over his shoulder. "You all may leave."

"Excuse me?" Mabel said, annoyed.

"Surely she can decide that for herself!" someone said, but Derek didn't much care what anyone was saying.

All he knew was that he needed to remove Nesby, or else he would kill him.

As they reached the front steps, Derek hurled the older man to the ground. Nesby stumbled somewhat on his way out, before falling onto the stone drive. After a moment of coughing, Mr. Bentley helped him up. Fixing his jacket, the old man glared at Derek.

"I've a mind to challenge you!" he spat.

"Do it then and meet your end," Derek countered.

"Stop, please!" Mabel said, coming forward as the other gentlemen hurried out the door and down the front steps to avoid Derek. She spun on him. "What are you doing?"

But he ignored her.

"Very well, Trembley," Nesby said. "Have it your way."

Derek turned his back on him and the others, reentering his house with Mabel hot on his heels.

"What was that about?" she asked, following him. "Have you lost your mind?"

He had gone too far, obviously, removing Nesby as he had, but the bumbling fool was out of line. "I was helping you."

"By scaring off my visitors?"

He scoffed. "You didn't really want to hear those idiots continue with that drivel, did you?"

"Whether I did or not is none of your concern," she snapped.

Just then, Alfred and Fredrick came down the staircase, while Leona and the countess came out of the parlor.

"What's all the commotion about?" Alfred asked. "It sounds like someone's having a brawl."

"What happened to Mr. Bentley and the other gentlemen?" the countess asked, concerned. "Derek?"

"Do you know what he…" Derek started, only to glance around. He was making a spectacle of himself. Spinning around, he spoke out loud, addressing everyone. "I require a private audience with Miss Meadows."

"Absolutely not," she said, but no one moved.

Everyone seemed either too frightened by the tone of Derek's voice or else they were too curious to see what would happen next. Either way, they would not budge—so it would be up to him to relocate. Derek stalked over to the closest door, the study, and held it open as he waited for Mabel to enter. She glanced around once more, searching for someone who might argue on her behalf, but finding none, she sighed and entered the study, followed by Derek who closed the door behind them.

But if he had hoped to speak his peace, he was mistaken.

"What in God's name is wrong with you?" Mabel started, launching into an argument. "What on earth could that man have said that would cause you to lay hands on him? And his poor nephew. He looked appalled. Not to mention the others."

"Mabel, listen—"

"I don't know what has come over you, but this certainly isn't the behavior of a sane person."

Derek stalked over to her and, placing his hands on her shoulders, he stopped her.

"Listen to me. Nesby saw us."

"Saw us? Saw us where? When?"

"By the folly, the other night."

Mabel's blue eyes stared for a moment before realization dawned. She blinked, then winced as the information settled. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"But how can he even be certain it was us? It was dark out, and he was a fair distance away."

Derek nearly growled.

"From his words, he seems quite sure."

Mabel drew back from his grasp.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing worth repeating. But we do have to deal with this."

"How?"

He regarded her, and she swallowed, seemingly able to read from his expression the solution he was about to offer. Indeed, it appeared to him to be the only step they could possibly take. Anything else held too much of a chance of leading to her disgrace.

"No. No, absolutely not," she said, clearly trying to sound firm, but he didn't miss the tremble in her voice.

"I don't see any way around it," he countered.

"I do. Put me on a boat to America immediately. And pay off that man."

"He has no need for my money. He didn't come to me to ask for a bribe—he came to…it doesn't matter," Derek said, his hand going through his hair. "Besides, even if you did leave, what of Leona?"

"What about her? Surely your brother wouldn't abandon her."

"No, but he would not be able to stifle the whispers. She would face some cruelties—"

"Nothing she couldn't handle."

"Their children might be tinged with it as well."

"Ch-children?" Mabel said, looking as if she'd taken a physical blow at his words. "What can we do?"

"The only thing we can do," Derek said slowly. "We must marry."

But Mabel was already shaking her head. When she spoke again, her voice was chilled.

"I swore never to marry anyone ever again."

From what she had shared about her marriage to the comte, Derek could understand her apprehension. But surely she didn't mean to spend her entire life alone? She was too young, too beautiful, and too strong a woman to be unwed. She deserved a husband that would care for her, a man who would do anything to keep her happy all her days. And after having spent so much time with her these past few weeks and sharing all that they had with one another, Derek couldn't ignore a prickling urge, deep in his stomach. An urge that asked the question, why not him?

Yet, he couldn't ask her that and so settled only on one word.

"Why?"

"Because I will not bring myself to be someone else's property once more. I prefer scandal and freedom to propriety and subservience."

Derek stared at her.

"I would never require you to be subservient."

She rolled her eyes, clearly not giving his words as ounce of credence. "Every husband requires that."

"Not me," he said, coming forward.

His hand came to rest on her cheek, and for a blinding moment, she seemed to soften, as if she was finally ready to let go of the past. But then her spine straightened and her gaze hardened.

"I don't think I can," she spoke honestly.

For a moment, neither moved. But then, he did—lifting her chin with his hand.

"I do not pretend to understand all you've experienced with marriage, but I would ask that you not equate anything from that time to now. Yes, there is a situation at hand that needs to be dealt with, and I'm not the sort of man to ignore my responsibilities, which now include asking you to marry me."

"But—"

"That said, I want you know that I'm quite dedicated to this match between us. There's no denying that we are attracted to one another."

"Attraction does not make a happy marriage."

"No, but respect does." Mabel's gaze snapped to his. "And I do respect you. I think you are intelligent, and amusing—though often rather insulting and a bit of an instigator."

"As are you."

"Even without romantic inclinations, I believe we could have a proper marriage. You would not crumble beneath the pressure of this position and I doubt either of us would ever be bored with one another."

A humorless noise escaped her lips.

"That's true," Mabel admitted, glancing down.

"Do you… I mean, would you…" she began.

"What is it?"

"It will not bother me however you answer, but I would like to know if… if you have a mistress?"

She didn't meet his eyes, and he was curious as to why.

"Not for well over a year," he said honestly. "I suspect that's half the reason why I'm so taken with you." She let out a small laugh, but then he continued, quite serious. "If you do not wish for me to have a mistress, I won't."

Her stare turned skeptical.

"As if it were that simple."

"It is," he said. "If my needs are met by you, I should have no reason to seek comforts outside our marital bed." He paused before adding, "And I believe we are quite suited in that respect."

Mabel's cheeks burned.

"Are you blushing?" he asked, oddly charmed by the thought.

"Absolutely not."

"I believe you are," he said, touching her cheek and feeling its warmth.

Mabel swatted his hand away and turned her back to him.

"Very well," she said.

"Very well what?"

"Very well, you may ask me."

This was it, then. "Mabel," he began, his tone suddenly solemn. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes."

Few moments in Derek's life had ever compounded so many emotions. Apprehension, desire, worry, satisfaction, lust, and excitement. They all seemed roll together, expanding and contracting simultaneously as he gazed into Mabel's blue eyes, but one surged above the rest and it was that one feeling he decided to lean into with his whole being.

Hope. Hope that this was not only the right decision, but a deeper hope, that spoke to a quiet fear he had possessed as of late. He had been putting off the idea of marriage for years now, not because it had an aversion to it, but because he hadn't been able to find any one woman that would not only be compatible for him, but one that would also be good for the earldom. But as he gazed down at this woman, he felt a surge of hope.

Bending down, he brushed his lips against hers and was equal parts eager yet hesitant. She leaned forward, hoping to deepen their kiss, but he pulled back, and unable to resist, he smiled at her.

"Then I believe we have some work to do."