Chapter Twelve

M abel sat in a chair in her sister's bedchamber, dressed in a silk plum gown embroidered with white rosettes along the hem, a week after returning from Boxwood House. The earl and his brothers had left that morning at the request of the countess so that she could see to the final wedding arrangements. Violet was dressed in a pale-yellow gown, while Leona wore silver. All three were being attended to the morning of their collective weddings, though Mabel perhaps was the least excited.

"It will be all right," Leona said, bending down to kiss her sister on the cheek as Mabel stared out into the ether, a new deck of cards clutched in her hand. "I'm sure the earl will be a wonderful husband."

"Of course he will," Violet said, shifting away from the mirror as she fixed an emerald diadem at the crown of her head. It had been a gift from her brother. "Trembley is not the most sought-after gentleman in London without reason. Mabel will surely be the envy of every lady in town."

It had certainly been a shock to society that Derek and Mabel had decided to marry, but supposedly it hadn't been as surprising to some within their closest circle of family and friends. From what Derek had said, both Silas and Gavin had been unsurprised. Deeply amused, but not surprised.

"I've no wish to be the envy of anyone."

"Mabel," Leona tried, her voice strained. "Please. What's done is done. You accepted him yourself."

"Under duress," she argued. "He made it seem so much worse than it would be."

"Really?" Violet said. "Have the papers not been cruel enough?"

Mabel's cheeks burned. The papers had been exceedingly harsh since their return from Henley-on-Thames. Reports of Mabel's recovery seemed to dominate the gossip pages, as her fall had been discussed far and wide. Still, two separate and contradicting articles reporting on the issue had only been squashed by the news of Mabel and Derek's nuptials.

The Times had reported a scathing article about the lack of care Mabel received from the lecherous villain that was Derek. Of course, no one believed it as Derek had long had a reputation for upstanding behavior, but he had been furious by the article, and it had spurred a flurry of people into whispering what sort of things the earl had done to garner such ill comments.

The other article had been quick to center the blame around Mabel instead, insinuating that her fall into the water had been some sort of well-orchestrated plot to compromise the earl and force her attentions on him. Her "scandalous" behavior had been the subject of a great many prudish reproaches—as if she had wanted to nearly drown.

"It will be all right," Leona repeated, trying to jostle Mabel out of her hostile mood. "I promise."

Mabel sighed deeply. It wasn't Leona's responsibility to mollycoddle her sister, particularly on her wedding day. Mabel gave her a forced smile, and, placing her hands on the armrest of the chair, she pushed herself up to stand.

"Of course, it will be, my dear," she said, brushing out the nonexistent wrinkles of her skirts.

Just then, the door opened, and the countess entered. Dressed in a pink striped gown with a stunning amount of lace trim, she came into the room, followed closely by Juliette, who was carrying two small wooden boxes on top of a large wooden box that she had gone to gather from the countess at her request.

Mabel swallowed. She had avoided her soon-to-be mother-in-law for days now, having noted the uncertainty on her face when Derek announced their engagement.

All three ladies curtsied.

"Good morning," the countess said with a nod, her reddish-brown curls bobbing against her cheek as she did so. "I trust you are all are well this morning?"

"Yes, my lady," they all said in unison.

The countess came forward and inspected each one of them up and down. "My, what lovely gowns. This will be a wonderful day, to be sure," she said, her eyes lingering on Mabel. "Mabel, dear, I wish to speak with you. Alone."

Tension piled on Mabel's shoulders.

"Yes, of course," she said, as Leona and Violet regarded one another. They began to leave.

"Oh no, dears, you stay here. Juliette has something for you both. Mabel?" she said as the others were handed the smaller wooden boxes. "Come with me."

Mabel followed the countess out of the bedchamber and down the hallway. While she had always been an accepting sort of lady, particularly of her new American daughters-in-law, Mabel couldn't help but wonder what the woman truly felt. Of course, she had put on a good show publicly of supporting her sons in their matches, but Mabel sometimes wondered if the show of acceptance had been the poor lady constantly trying to demonstrate to the rest of the ton just how proper her family really was, despite every example leading to the opposite conclusion.

Entering into a small room that Mabel had never entered before, she was surprised to find a cheerfully decorated space with peach blossoms painted on the wallpaper and a cherry wood desk. The countess made her way to it, and as Mabel came closer, she saw dozens of miniature paintings, all set on her desk so that she was surrounded by them when she wrote letters. They were all different sizes, and when the countess picked up a particular one about the size of her palm, she handed it to Mabel.

"This was Derek's father," she said, her tone warm. "He was a stoic sort, but he loved his children very much."

Mabel studied the miniature painting. He was a serious looking man with strong shoulders, not unlike Derek in his bearing, though it was Fredrick and Alfred who had inherited his coloring.

"He was quite handsome."

"He was," she said affectionately. "You know, Derek is so much like him."

Mabel tilted her head.

"Is he?"

"Oh yes, although I like to think a bit of my practicality rubbed off on him."

"Practicality?"

"Yes," she said. "Has he told you the story of how his father and I met?"

"No."

"Come," she said, sitting down as she patted the settee next to her. Mabel obliged, seating herself beside the countess. "I met Harry at my coming out ball. He had a bit of a reputation and my mama made it clear that I was not to be caught even talking to him."

"Was he that bad?"

"Oh, not really, not at heart—but appearances were rather against him, so I suppose everyone else truly believed that he was. But he was playful and he made me laugh, which was quite a blessing. I was so nervous for my season, you see. But he turned it all into a game, and that eased my mind tremendously. I did love games."

"Did he ask to court you?"

"Yes. My mother wasn't pleased about it, but my father allowed it. He was very sweet then, always sending me poems. He couldn't write them himself of course, but he had his favorites. I'll have you know that the Trembley men all turn poetic when they fall for someone."

Mabel chuckled.

"I believe that. Your son Alfred recited nearly an entire book of poetry by John Dryden on our voyage across the Atlantic."

"Oh, I can easily imagine that, considering how he feels about Leona. John Dryden was on of Harry's favorites. Happy the man and happy he alone, he who can call today his own …"

Mabel chuckled. "I wonder what Derek might quote if he… I mean…" She cleared her throat.

"I know what you meant. And Derek has always had a soft spot for Robert Herrick, I believe."

"Herrick?" Mabel repeated, surprised. "That doesn't seem likely."

"No?"

"No. I mean, from all our interactions, I would have assumed he would be partial toward someone more, well, grounded in reality. Herrick is too philosophical. Don't you think so?"

A small smirk spread across the countess's face.

"Perhaps," she said, with a tiny chin dip.

Suddenly unsure, Mabel began to chew on her bottom lip.

"But then again, who am I to claim to know your son?"

"Oh, but my dear, I think you're quite the right person."

"How so?"

"Well, you are a lady of propriety, regardless of our countries' differing ideas of what that entails. What I mean to say is, you're a lady who has been educated, one who is poised and well-spoken and who has seen something of the world." She scooted closer to Mabel as if to tell her a great secret. "May I speak candidly?"

"Of course."

"We, my sons and I and everyone in London really, live in a condensed world, if you will. There are other countries, other courts, but to us, none is more important than our own. As it should be, with any loyal servant to their country. But because we all live within a stone's throw of everyone who, in our opinion, truly matters, we might appear rather daunting to others. Now you, with your outside view, may have the ability to judge us, without worrying about the ramifications of those judgements."

Mabel's brow knit together.

"You mean, because I'm not one of you, it's easier for me to see your true character?"

"Exactly. And I would very much like to know what conclusions you have reached on that matter."

Mabel fumbled a little for words. "Well, from what I can tell, my lady, your family is a genuinely lovely group of people—"

"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "I would like to know your opinion of Derek."

"Derek?" Mabel repeated as the countess bobbed her head. "But why?"

She straightened her shoulders.

"Because I wish to know," she said, with a slight tone of authority.

"Well," Mabel started off guard. "He is a fine, honorable gentleman—"

"I do not wish for you to wax poetically about things you think I wish to hear about my own offspring. I want your genuine opinion. What do you think of him?"

"I…well, he's kind and generous—"

"Miss Meadows," the countess interrupted. "What do you think of Derek?"

"I think he's arrogant," she spit out before quickly covering her mouth with her hand.

Only the countess didn't seem too upset. Instead, she seemed pleased.

"Go on."

Emboldened, Mabel continued.

"I think he's closed-minded. And particular. He's also brilliant, but not in a way that's humble. No. He lets everyone in the room know exactly how brilliant he is, which is conceited, if you ask me."

But the countess didn't ask. She only waited patiently, as if urging her to continue.

"And he thinks he's terribly clever," Mabel continued, standing up. "Smarter than everyone. Yet if he wasn't so worried about others' opinions he might realize that they don't matter anyway."

"I quite agree with that," the countess said.

"But the most particular thing I have noticed about him is his inability to realize that someone else, anyone else, might have a better idea then himself." She shook her head, annoyed. "It's exasperating."

A moment of silence followed, and Mabel worried that she had said too much, but then the countess chuckled.

"He is so much like his father."

Mabel turned.

"Is he?"

"Oh, very much so," she said, standing herself, as she smoothed out the creases of her skirts. "Unfortunately, I wasn't always successful in my attempts to break his father away from an older way of thinking."

"In what way?"

She sighed then.

"Harry and I agreed on most things, but not everything. He believed our union was a prosperous one because of our similar heritage and upbringing. In other words, because we were both from good stock, born to proper, well-to-do families. But I always held the notion that we were meant to be. That regardless of our class or our pedigree, that Harry and I would have found each other and been happy together. He used to laugh at that of course, but I never wavered in my belief. Harry and I were meant for one another, and the fates had been generous enough to put us in the same place at the same time in a position where it was easy for us to come together and be wed. But even if it had been harder—even if it had been shocking or scandalous—I still think we would have wed all the same."

Mabel grinned.

"If we are speaking candidly, my lady, you don't really believe that just because you and your husband were happy together that it was somehow meant to be, do you?"

"Of course I do."

"But that's… Well, forgive me, but I find that a bit absurd."

"Why?"

"How likely is it that if your circumstances in life had been different, that you would have even been able to find one another, much less be married? If your husband, God rest him, was a born during the age of the Vikings, instead of when he was born, it wouldn't be a tragedy. He would have married someone else as would have you."

"So soulmates are not something you believe in?"

"I'm sorry, countess, but no."

The countess smiled widely then.

"Well, I'd ask you to explain more about your opinion, but we have a wedding to get to," the countess pointed out. Mabel nodded, trying to appear happy but failing. "Come. You must return to your sister's room to have the finishing touches done."

"Finishing touches?"

"Yes, yes. Now go."

The countess rushed Mabel from her private sitting room and back down the hall. Feeling guilty about admitting all she had to the older woman, Mabel took her time returning to the bedchamber. When she did arrive, however, she found both Leona and Violet beaming.

"Come see," Leona said, coming up with her wrist out. "The countess has lent Violet and me bracelets."

Leona wore a gold and citrine cuff bracelet, while Violet raised her own wrist to display one made of diamonds and silver.

"It was very kind of her," Violet said, admiring the piece. "The countess has always been a generous woman. I can't wait to see what she leant you."

"Me?"

"Yes, there's a third box," Violet said, motioning toward Mabel's maid with her hand.

"Mademoiselle," Juliette said, coming toward her. "La tiare de Comtesse Trembley."

"Oh dear," she breathed as Leona and Violet came around to flank her. "She really didn't have to send this over."

"Mais oui," Juliette said as she opened it.

All three women gasped.

Set on a purple velvet pillow was a tiara that would make the grandest of queens green with envy. Ten perfectly oval cabochon cut amethysts, each encircled by dozens of diamonds, had been fixed to two circular pieces of silver. The stones were just larger than robins' eggs, and for a moment, Mabel feared the weight of such an impressive piece of jewelry.

"Allons-nous?" Juliette said, rotating to place the wooden box on a table as she moved to help Mabel put it on.

"No," Mabel said quickly, causing the others to look at her. She knew she didn't have a choice, but she was nervous. "I mean, I suppose we must."

"Oui," Juliette said, her tone slightly condescending.

Where most maids might have been chastised for such a tone, Mabel had the utmost faith and trust in Juliette. She sat once more in the chair and waited for her maid to fix the piece to her head. Unsurprisingly, it was cumbersome, and it took several minutes of Juliette yanking, tying, and braiding her locks around the piece to secure it well enough that it wouldn't shift. Yet despite the literal and metaphorical weight of the piece, she couldn't deny that she felt a sense of pride from wearing something that represented Derek.

It was difficult to admit how she felt about him. For the longest time, she had been certain that any relationship she had after Pascal would only be surface level. She never wanted to trust or believe in another man ever again. And yet, every day that passed in Derek's presence, she sensed the ways in which she was slipping more and more into the same dangerous traps she had fallen into during her time with Pascal.

She knew they weren't the same person, but the trepidation she had that morning was palpable. Pascal had been sweet and seemingly sincere until she said I do . Then, like a candle being blown out, she had been left out in the cold.

Would Derek do the same?