Chapter Fourteen

I n the four weeks since their wedding, Mabel found that her marriage to Derek was entirely different from her marriage to Pascal. She was slowly but surely becoming a believer in Derek's theory, that marriage, given the proper circumstances, could be a wonderful thing. And while it had only been a month, Mabel's confidence grew every day.

Marrying Derek had been the right choice.

Where Mabel's first husband had all but cast her away the moment their marriage contract was signed, Derek proved to be the exact opposite. Not only was he curious about her and her opinions, but he sought her out to share with her nearly everything he did. He was attentive and considerate, and to her disbelief, she found that she wanted to please her husband—of course, she would hardly admit to such a thing.

Derek had explained that because she was the new countess, she was entitled to know how the estate was run, but even Mabel knew that it was highly unusual for a man to seek out his wife's opinion on such things. Most husbands handled whatever business they did while their wives tended to things like running the household, but in her marriage with Derek, there was no definitive line between their works. He would offer his opinions to her as well, though he made a point to explain that she had the final say in most house-related issues. Mabel had experience with keeping house for her father, but while her childhood home was comfortable, it couldn't begin to compare to the Trembley estate, and there was much for her to learn. Fortunately, her mother-in-law had run Trembley household exceedingly well for years, and the staff was well trained and diligent in their work. Still, there were instances where Mabel sensed she was quite out of sync with her new role.

Upon the first morning, when she first began to receive guests as the newly minted Countess Trembley, Mabel found that her forwardness was nearly scoffed at. When Lady Bettina Cole, freshly married to the elderly Lord Cole, came to offer her felicitations, she had to hide her mouth lest Mabel see her snicker at how she received her. To Mabel's frustrations, the British upper crust had the fantastic ability to deliver crushing criticisms with a mere expression.

For nearly two hours, Mabel bumbled her way through receiving guests. It was like that all morning until, blessedly, the Duchess of Combe came just as the Viscountess Montcliffe left.

"Thank goodness you're here, Clara," Mabel said, greeting her friend. "It's been a harrowing morning to say the least."

"Has it?"

"Yes. It's so unbelievably difficult to say or do the right thing. It seems every word I use is the wrong one. Every topic I choose isn't delicate enough. And every lady I meet appears wholly unimpressed with me."

"My word, it sounds as if you've had quite a trying morning. Tell me, who has come to greet you today?"

"Well, the Viscountess Montcliffe was not pleased at all with my inquiries about the confinement of her sister, Lady Delphinia. And Mrs. Franklin found my knowledge of shipbuilding to be, as she put it, masculine. And Lady Bettina Cole snickered at everything I did, yet she did it so subtly it would have been madness to accuse her."

"Oh, bother," Clara said as they took a seat. "The Viscountess Montcliffe is something of a hysterical sort. She's petrified of anything that isn't wrapped in lace. Mrs. Franklin is a conservative woman, so while I disagree with her sentiment, I understand why she would feel that way. And Bettina Cole, formerly Bettina Moppet, has been a snob since the day she was born. Don't pay any attention to her."

"But how can I just ignore what's so obvious to everyone?" Mabel said, her voice strained as she slumped against the back of her chair. "It's plain to see that I've no idea what I'm supposed to do. And even the ladies who've shown me kindness are only acting so generously out of charity."

"My goodness, I've never known Americans to be so self-deprecating," Clara said, sitting up. "Now I've had my fair share of cuts and snubs in society since I wasn't born a duke's daughter. But I've managed since marrying Silas and I've found it's quite easy to fit in, once you know the trick of it. Watch." She pressed her shoulders back to demonstrate a perfect posture. "Now all you have to do is lift your chin like this," she said, tipping her head back. "Keep your tone soft and arrogant, like this." She sighed, appearing bored as her voice became slow and haughty. "And talk about how wonderful or terrible the state of the weather is."

Mabel studied her with suspicion, though she couldn't help but grin.

"How can that be all?"

"Until you get the handle of things, this will work. No one will bother you. As long as you appear annoyed with everyone around you, you'll be left alone. I promise. Although, you should have the dowager or your sister with you whenever you can."

"I'm afraid the entire house has abandoned me and not without reason."

"Yes, I assume it's because they wanted to give you and the earl some privacy."

Mabel's cheeks warmed. It was true, but it was somewhat uncomfortable to address it so openly.

"Even so. I wish someone had left me a rule book or something about the topics on which I'm allowed to speak about during these meetings."

"Well, have no fear. I'll remain for the rest of the morning and next week, Holly will come once she's returned from Lincolnshire. She's very well versed in the decorum of ton behavior. More so than me at least. But I wouldn't worry too much about what these people think."

"No?"

"No. After a few weeks, you'll be old news and they'll be onto the next topic that arouses interest. They're only interested in the latest gossip. I lived through it myself, you know."

"Really? Even as a duchess?"

"Oh, yes. Silas's divorce was infamous before we married. His previous wife had seemed to everyone to be the epitome of a fine British lady. I was considered quite a step down, socially."

"At least you're English," Mabel said, unsure if she should feel buoyed by Clara's words or worried by them. "I'm just afraid I won't be able to ever accustom myself to this sort of life. It's as if every move I make, even the correct ones, are scrutinized and commented on. Just this morning, I was walking alone in the park, and—"

"Alone?" Clara interrupted, her brow crunched.

"Um, yes," Mabel answered. "I always walk alone. Accompanied by a servant, of course."

"The earl doesn't wish to walk with you?"

"No, it's not that," Mabel said, her gaze dropping. "It's just that, I walk to clear my head and if Derek were with me, I'd be distracted. It would negate the purpose of the whole thing."

"I suppose I can understand that," Clara said. "But be wary. Gaining a reputation for walking alone in the mornings, especially as a countess, may cause you some unwanted speculation."

"What sort of speculations?"

"I couldn't begin to imagine," Clara said. "But if nothing else, the ton will mark you down as peculiar."

"Well, perhaps I am peculiar," Mabel said stubbornly.

Clara smiled gently at her.

"Perhaps you are. And that will suit me quite well, as I'm decidedly peculiar myself."

Mabel couldn't help but return the countess's smirk. She was exceedingly patient with Mabel, and it was kind of her to lend a helping hand.

The rest of the day was spent attending to guests, making menus, picking out new linens, and several other domestic things that called her attention. By the time evening fell Mabel was exhausted and happy when Derek suggested having dinner in their room.

In a glaring contrast to the days, their evenings were spent with each other, and Mabel was grateful for the nightly reminder of Derek and his unwavering interest in her day, as well as his soothing support for everything she did.

Lying in bed together later that evening, Derek was half propped up by pillows, holding the book Precaution in one hand while the fingers of his other hand flittered up Mabel's spine as she lay on her stomach. They both were nude as neither felt a particular need to be otherwise. She was re-reading a letter that had arrived from Leona, describing her time in Scotland. It was late, and while it would have been an excellent time to fall asleep, it seemed neither person could come up with a reason to do so.

She cocked her head to the right and watched her husband as an increasingly common fluttering sensation took hold of her chest. He really was an attractive man. Every time she gazed at him, she practically swooned. It was rather embarrassing, particularly because everything about his face had once bothered her so. But now, she could barely hesitate from touching him.

Obviously sensing her staring, Derek glanced down at her, and Mabel inhaled.

"Is there something I can help you with, wife?" he murmured, his brown eyes warm with implication.

She simmered with pleasure at being called that.

"When will you take me to Scotland?" she asked, shaking her letter teasingly in the air. "Leona says it's the most beautiful place on earth. I want to see if she is correct."

"Anytime you like, I suppose," he said, leaning down to brush a kiss against her forehead. Mabel trembled as he kissed her temple, her cheek, and the corner of her mouth as his book closed. "After parliament lets out."

"When will that be?"

"Less than a fortnight now."

Mabel rolled onto her back and wrapped her arms around Derek, who slid further down in bed to hold her in turn, his long torso pressed against her breasts. His fingers tangled through her dark locks and tugged slightly, sending a pleasurable pain through her. She let out a soft gasp, and he inhaled deeply at her response.

"Parliament doesn't meet tomorrow, does it?" she asked, knowing very well that it didn't.

"No."

"Then I think we should spend the day in bed," she said as she leaned to kiss him, only to find air.

She blinked, realizing that he had shifted backwards. He had an apologetic expression on his face.

"Unfortunately, I have to go to Boxwood Park tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Mabel repeated. He nodded. "But why?"

"The final inspection of the fish folly. After the last time, I insisted that I inspect it myself before signing off on the work."

"Oh," she replied, somewhat deflated. "Should I go with you?"

"I had planned on riding horseback as it's faster than the carriage. I should be back tomorrow evening." He paused. "Unless you wish to come? If we're going together, I've no objection to taking the carriage."

She stopped to consider it, then shook her head. "No, I don't suppose so. Not if you'll be back tomorrow evening. I have plenty to do here, as well as an engagement with Holly tomorrow. She's going to introduce me to her lady's salon."

"Ah, then I hope you'll take comprehensive notes," he said, bending his head to kiss the tip of her nose. "I've never been privy to a lady's salon before."

"I'll let you know all about it," she said, smile deepening just before he kissed her.

That was the most direct change in their relationship since marrying. Derek appeared far more at ease than she had remembered. Even the tremors in his hands seemed to disappear, at least in her presence. Mabel doubted the shakes had gone completely.

She hadn't asked about it, not wanting to pry. If Derek didn't see a reason to explain it, she wouldn't poke, even if she was curious about it.

Regardless, though, the Derek she had first met and the Derek she was now married to seemed to be two completely different people. Yet, Mabel was still wary. Fears from her previous marriage still kept a hold of her, and deep down, a warning haunted her, saying that all was not well and that happiness was not meant to last. Not for her, anyway.

Rising early the next morning, Mabel felt a strange dread about the day. She wished to stay in bed with her new husband, but he was already up and preparing to depart by the time sleep left her.

"I'll be back tonight," he said as he leaned over Mabel to kiss her.

Derek pressed his mouth to hers as his hand touched her chin. Mabel closed her eyes, enjoying the sense of safety and comfort she found in the display of affection. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she held him close to her, unwilling to let him go.

"Mabel," he breathed against her lips. "I must go."

"Not yet," she mewled, kissing his freshly shaved chin.

She inhaled deeply. He smelled of soap and the leather that sharpened the blade that shaved his stubble.

Slowly, her kisses lead down his neck as she gently nipped at his skin. He shivered in her arms.

"You're going to provoke me, love," he whispered.

Mabel dragged her fingernails down his spine, and around his hip, grazing against the front of his buckskin trousers. Her hand curved around the length of him, and he hissed into her ear.

"Mabel," he warned.

"Derek," she teased back, only to suddenly inhale as his arms snaked beneath her back and caught her in his strong embrace.

She smirked against his cheek as he rolled over her, hauling her body on top of his. Her tousled hair hung down over her shoulders as she looked down at her husband, his own gaze warm and intense as he stared up at her.

Bending at the waist, she came down, moving her mouth gently over his, though she didn't kiss him. No, she was feeling playful and wanted to tease him. Shifting her legs so that she straddled his leg, her hands went to either side of his head to brace herself above him.

With a determined intent, Derek moved to undo the buttons on his vest, but Mabel put one of her hands over his to still them. He obeyed, as one straight brow lifted slightly. Mabel's fingers trailed down painfully slowly, until they pressed again over the front of his trousers.

Derek breathed through his clenched teeth as she found one row of buttons on the side of the flap. With her gaze locked on him, Mabel felt a heady rush of power course through her. Derek would let her do anything she wanted at that moment and she relished that feeling as her hand slipped beneath the fabric of the front flap of his trousers. Gripping the length of him, she squeezed gently, sliding her hand up and down. It was almost intoxicating how focused he was on her. With the slightest shifting of her shoulder, her nightgown fell off, exposing her left breast. Wondering how far she could push him before it became too much, she rebalanced herself so that she could lift her other hand and use it to lightly caress herself, teasing the peak of her nipple under his lustful watch. She began to methodically grind her hips against his leg.

His breathing became strangled at the sight as her hand worked faster. It was nearly as enjoyable as orgasming herself to see the man she cared for being brought to the edge. Her own breath was becoming short by the time she felt his strong hand find her knee and then begin to move upward, kneading her straddling thigh as his thumb found the center between her legs. She gasped as his finger entered her, both of them moving their hips in sync, searching for the same ecstasy.

"Mabel," he whispered, but her name on his lips was almost too much. "God, you're beautiful."

His sweet words undid her and to her slight embarrassment, she began to shake. Derek found release at the same time.

Mabel went limp and fell onto her husband's chest. Her ear was directly over his heart and she closed her eyes as she listened to his heartbeat come back down to a more regulated pace.

"You, my lady, will be the death of me."

He couldn't have known, but his words didn't sit well with her. After several more moments of silence, Derek tried to shift out from under her, but Mabel held onto him. She didn't want to let him go and the earnestness in her touch must have alerted him that she was troubled.

"Mabel?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you all right?"

"Yes."

"You needn't lie."

"I'm not lying," she said.

It was obvious that Derek didn't believe her—and he was right not to, because she was upset, though she couldn't say why. Something just felt wrong. He bent his head and kissed her on top of the head.

"I have to go," he whispered.

She nodded and lifted her head. His warm, dark eyes were watching her with concern.

"I know."

"If you'd like to come with me, you can."

She wanted more than anything to go with him, but she knew she was being silly. Besides, the feelings she was experiencing in that moment needed some further exploring, because quite honestly, she wasn't sure she had ever felt like this before.

Shaking her head, she moved off of him so that he could get up.

"No. I'm much too busy."

He nodded, rolling to the side as he stood up. He crossed the room, taking off his shirt and vest to replace them since they were now stained with his release. He gave her a mock scolding look, before dressing in another vest. Pulling on his coat, he buttoned it up and headed for the door, but before he could reach the handle, Mabel spoke.

"Derek."

He turned.

"Yes?"

But what could she say? There was no reason for her sudden trepidation that morning, and she certainly didn't want to give him any reason to worry. Perhaps she was just being foolish.

Mabel shook her head.

"Have a safe ride," she said, as her face fell when he closed the door behind him.

What was wrong with her?

Pushing the covers off, Mabel got up and decided to dress. She should take her morning walk early. That always seemed to clear her mind. Yes, that would likely shake off whatever faux concern she was experiencing.

Dressed in a handsome mauve walking dress with chocolate piping, Mabel was surprised to hear her door open as Juliette entered.

"Juliette, it's early," Mabel said as the maid pointed to the chair before her vanity table, silently directing her mistress to sit. "You needn't worry about doing my hair. I was just going to braid it and pin it myself."

"Non," Juliette said, fighting off a yawn as she brushed Mabel's hair.

For several minutes, Juliette worked in silence as Mabel chewed the inside of her bottom lip, pushing down the sense of dread that seemed unwilling to let go of her. After Juliette finished, Mabel stood, but her maid had a disapproving countenance about her.

"Quelque chose ne va pas," she murmured.

Her words mirrored Mabel's anxious feelings so exactly that she shivered. But she tried to push those concerns aside, pretending she didn't know what Juliette was talking about. "What's not right?" she asked, studying herself in the mirror. "My hair?"

"Non."

She turned to Juliette and noted the crease between her brow. "Well, whatever it is," Mabel stated firmly, "let's not wallow. I'm sure whatever is bothering you will melt away at some point today."

Juliette frowned, evidently not agreeing with Mabel's optimism. She left the room as Mabel pulled on her gloves. Within minutes, she met George, who had been awake since Derek's departure. He had taken it upon himself to order the coach to be readied, and soon enough, he and Mabel were making their way down Grosvenor Street.

Deciding that she was being ridiculous and superstitious, Mabel exhaled slowly as she began to pay attention to things around her. The softness of her kid gloves against her fingertips. The sound of the horses' hooves clip-clopping along the cobblestone road. The smell of rain that seemed unsure if it should fall from the sky. Concentrating on things in her immediate vicinity always helped bring her mind into focus.

As she climbed out of the carriage with George's help, she began her walk. Briskly, she strolled along the Serpentine, wary not to get too close as the footman followed her.

Her thoughts drifted to the situation between George and Juliette. Their recent interactions had become somewhat strained, and whenever Mabel mentioned George in Juliette's presence, she would grow quiet. Which was rather unlike her, considering how vitriolic she had been toward him in the beginning.

Was there a romantic connection blossoming between them? Mabel, thankful for the sudden distraction, glanced over her shoulder to see if she might speak to him when she saw the wary look on the footman's face. Looking to see what had caught his eye, she spotted a well-dressed man approaching them from several yards away. That dread she had been experiencing all morning suddenly flared, and she felt a flash of warning wash over her as if some internal instinct was telling her she should turn around and run.

Staring at the man, her feet slowed as he lifted his head to reveal his face from beneath the brim of his hat. Their eyes met, and Mabel's stomach dropped as the last person she expected to see glared back at her.

Pascal .

Mabel lost a step for a moment before correcting herself.

"My lady?" George said behind her as she stopped in front of Pascal. He smirked at her and bowed gracefully.

"My dearest Mabel. How good to see you," he said, his accent curling around his words.

"My lady?" the footman repeated, coming forward.

"It's all right, George," Mabel said softly, waving her hand behind her.

"Who's this?" Pascal said, bending slightly to peek around her. "Your new husband? I thought you married an earl, not a footman."

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked quietly, stepping away from George so that he might not overhear them. "Have you lost your mind coming to London?"

"Well, when I read in the paper that your sister was coming to England, I had the good manners to visit. But then I heard that you were here and, to my surprise, remarried."

"Stay away from me," she said shortly, turning on her heel.

"I would not walk away from me so quickly, ma cherie," he threatened softly, causing her to stop. Rotating back, she saw him glaring daggers at her. "We've much to discuss."

Curiosity mixed with the apprehension engulfed her.

"Like what?"

"I'm in the business of finding capital. Capital you will help secure for me."

She huffed.

"Are you mad? You took my entire dowry. It's not my fault you sank a sizeable fortune into whatever failures you've had. No doubt the pile of rubble you call a home."

A flash of fury showed in his blue eyes. He was dedicated to his ancestral home, and Mabel knew it.

"Be careful, ma cherie," he said with a quiet threat in his tone. "As I was saying, when I learned of your sister's engagement, I thought to contact you through her, but when I learned that you had accompanied her, I thought I might see what you had to offer."

"Nothing for you."

"But I have something for you ," he said, reaching for something within his coat pocket.

It was a folded piece of paper that he held it out to her.

"What is this?" she asked, taking it to read. She frowned. "I don't understand."

"It's not quite legitimate, but it will cause you a great deal of time and energy, as well as money to deal with it."

"What is it?"

"A statement declaring our divorce invalid."

Mabel's eyes snapped to his.

"Our divorce was perfectly valid. My father handled it himself."

"Oui, that's true. But a very dear friend has written this up for me and it will cause quite a bit of a public scandal here for you, and your new husband, should you choose to ignore me."

"So, you're trying to blackmail me with faux documents?" she hissed. "Unbelievable."

"Believe it."

"What do you want?" she snapped at him.

"I require some money."

"Perhaps you should work for a living then if you're in such dire straits."

The flash of impertinence shone in his eyes.

"Once the regime is back in place, I will be handsomely rewarded."

"What regime?"

"Do you not follow the papers? Oh no, of course you don't. Well, for your information, Charles X of France will be ruling the country soon enough. His ascension to the throne is eminent, if only he has the resources to manage it."

"What do you want of me then?"

"Funds. From your new husband."

Mabel stared at him for a moment before a choking sound came from her throat. He had lost his mind.

"Ha," she laughed. "You must truly be mad. Derek would never give you a farthing."

"Oh, I think he will. Especially because if he doesn't, I have plans to sue."

"On what grounds would you sue him?"

"Not him, ma cherie. You. If I don't get what I want, Mabel, I will go to the papers and expose you as a bigamist."

"A bigamist? Surely you're joking."

"I am not."

"It wouldn't up hold in court."

"No, but it would ruin your reputation for a time. And even if you're vindicated in the end, will everyone truly believe it? It's so much more delicious to think of someone as guilty, whether they are or not. You wouldn't be able to show your face once everyone reached the conclusion that the Countess of Trembley was actually just a whore." He said the word loud enough that George could hear, and rage bloomed within Mabel's chest. "And I don't think your husband would appreciate his good name being dragged through the mud by the likes of you."

"My lady, I believe we should leave," George said firmly.

"Burn in hell, Pascal," she snapped at him as she spun away.

Before she got several steps away, she heard him yell after her.

"Then so be it!"