Chapter Fifteen

D erek's return to London was not nearly as eventful as he had expected, mainly because he had spent so much time during the ride home imagining what sort of homecoming he might enjoy with Mabel. By the time he arrived, it was already well past sunset, and he hurriedly handed off his horse to a stable hand and entered the house, climbing the stairs two at a time to reach his bedroom as quickly as possible. He might appear eager, but then again, he was, and there was no use denying it. He simply couldn't wait to see his wife.

It was rather fascinating how much he had changed since their wedding. During the long trip back and forth to Henley-on-Thames that day, Derek had enough time to examine his new life, and he realized how much more at peace he felt having Mabel as his wife. It wasn't something he had been expecting when he'd proposed to her, yet he couldn't deny that she had altered his moods for the better. He was less sharp with himself and more patient with others. Hell, even the shaking of his hands had lessened.

Derek had been equally surprised by how much he craved not only the physical aspects of their relationship but the mental and emotional ones, too. He was well and truly obsessed with Mabel, and he couldn't ignore how his body reacted to being so close to hers again. He wanted to undress, bathe, and lay with her a dozen times before the morning.

But as he reached the bedchamber, it was apparent that he wouldn't be engaging in such activities.

Mabel was already sleeping soundly, tucked beneath the thick brocade comforter of their bed. Her deck of cards sat on the edge of the end table. It was odd to see them as she usually kept them in their box, but then he assumed she had used them to soothe herself because she'd missed him.

Touched, he began to undress. While he had been eager to hear about her day, he guessed it was too late. He would have to wait until tomorrow. The ride to Boxwood Park and back had been long and exhausting. As soon as his head hit the pillow, Derek was fast asleep.

His dreams were ambiguous and vague, with pale versions of people moving in and out of his mind as the night wore on. Eventually, he realized he was standing in a dark pond, with the water waist-deep, surrounded by nothing but blackness. He thought he could hear Mabel's voice, far away, but he couldn't make out what she was saying.

Thankfully, the dream faded, and soon, he was opening his eyes, searching the bed with his hand. The soft, broad curve of Mabel's hip met his hand, and he sighed peacefully. Rolling to his side, he saw his wife, her mouth partially open with her hair covering her closed eyes. A soft snore escaped her, and Derek couldn't help but smile.

It was strange how much his opinions of her had changed in the days since he first met her. As each day passed, he became more convinced that he'd made a brilliant decision in choosing to marry her. They were ideally suited, and if he was a pessimist, he might be worried that something terrible was on the horizon—a counterbalance to how perfectly his life had fallen into place. But as far as he could tell, all was well and seemed likely to continue so.

Even now, as Mabel snored next to him, every inch of him wanted to wake her. To love her and show her just how much he found her irresistible. But something gave him pause. Perhaps it was her peaceful countenance, or maybe it was his desire for her to be fully rested, but he restrained himself from waking her and decided to rise and get dressed instead. As quietly as possible, he left the room before he could disturb her.

He was descending the stairs on his way to the dining room for breakfast when George appeared at the bottom of the steps, looking eager to gain his attention.

"My lord," he said with a quick bow. "I sought to speak with you last night, but by the time I learned you had arrived, you had already retired and I didn't wish to disturb you—"

"It's all right, George. What was it you wish to speak to me about?"

The footman fidgeted as Derek walked around him, continuing to the dining room.

"Well, um… Did the countess not mention anything?"

The worry in his man's voice gave Derek pause. He faced him.

"No."

"Oh."

A sense of dread began to fill Derek's gut. "What would she have to mention?"

George squirmed, looking as if he didn't know what to say. "Ah, well, um… I do not wish to betray her confidence."

Impatience rose, and it took everything Derek had to keep from snapping at the lad. "George. What happened?"

"Well, the countess was approached by a man yesterday morning in the park during her walk. A man who, well… She addressed him as—"

"Who?"

"Comte de Retha."

Derek stared at the footman, unsure if he had heard him clearly. The Comte de Retha? Why would Mabel's former husband be approaching her during her morning walk?

"Excuse me?"

"He did not stay long in the countess's presence, and I was not close enough to catch everything they said, but I know I heard him mention their marriage. She was quite displeased when we left the park."

"What business would the Comte de Retha have with Mabel?"

"I do not know, my lord."

That wasn't the answer Derek wanted to hear. What purpose would the comte have for seeking Mabel out? And wouldn't that be something worth telling him? Granted, she had been sleeping when he returned home, but it seemed very much something to stay up for.

Derek turned and took several steps into the dining room. After a moment of silence, George spoke up.

"M-my lord? You should know that the countess was most distressed."

Derek delayed lowering himself into his chair as an arrow of discontent shot through him. Shaking it off, he sat and glanced at George, unsure what to say.

"What did they speak of?"

"There were only a few words I overheard. Money, regime and well," George stalled, visibly swallowing his distress. "Um, bigamy, my lord."

"Bigamy?" Derek repeated as his discontent evolved into silent outrage.

His hands gripped the armrest of his chair, and he nearly stood up, wishing to go upstairs right then and shake Mabel awake to demand an explanation, but he stopped himself. He could not act when he had so little control over himself. He was furious and worried for reasons that weren't entirely clear to him.

As George waited for him to speak, Derek took a deep breath.

"Thank you, George."

"My lord, do you wish me to—"

"That will be all."

Visibly unsure, George bowed after a moment and left the room. After several minutes of sitting at the table without getting up to make himself a plate, a servant came forward to plate him some food, but Derek held his hand up.

"I'm waiting for the countess to join me."

"Yes, my lord," the servant said, instantly replacing the plate on the sideboard.

"Have the papers not been delivered yet?" he asked.

"Ah, not yet my lord."

"Bring them at once when they do."

"Yes sir," the servant said as he left Derek alone.

How long he sat there, Derek wasn't sure, but he kept his eyes on the door as his mind raced. What reason would Pascal have to corner his wife during her morning walk? Blast those walks. Why was Mabel so dedicated to them? He should have forbidden them the moment she arrived on his doorstep. But even as the thought passed through his mind, he knew she would have bristled and retaliated three-fold.

As his mind reeled with possibilities, some harmless, some infuriating, Mabel finally entered the dining room.

Dressed in a violet morning gown with gold leaves trimmed along the hem and bust, she was a vision of beauty and desirability. Short puffed sleeves were embroidered with the motif as well, and her dark hair framed her face, with most of it pinned back, and bits of curls hung around her cheeks.

Her eyes, however, appeared tired, and when her gaze met his, Derek noticed a slight jump in her.

"Derek," she said, coming forward. "I didn't know you were home."

"I slept next to you last night," he said evenly. "Did you not notice?"

"I guess I didn't," she said, noticing he didn't have a plate in front of him. "Have you already eaten?"

"I was actually waiting for you."

"Oh. That's kind of you, but you didn't have to. How long have you been here?"

"It's of no consequence."

Mabel seemed confused by the pointedly even tone of his voice, but rather than commenting on it, she nodded hesitantly as she walked to the buffet. A servant helped dish a bevy of eggs, toast, jams, and meats onto her plate, though it appeared that she didn't point at any of it.

Watching her fix her coffee, Derek wondered why she hadn't brought up her meeting with Pascal yet. Every moment she didn't mention him, his exasperation grew.

He waited as she added a spoonful of sugar and cream to her beverage. She stirred it slowly, glancing up at him occasionally, and eventually picked it up and brought it to her lips before cursing.

"Blast it, Derek, why are you staring at me like that?" she asked, putting her undrunk coffee down.

"Like what?"

"Like you're plotting my demise."

He didn't make a move.

"Tell me, wife, how was your day yesterday?"

Mabel's face became pale, and he braced himself. God help her if she lied to him.

"Why?"

"Isn't it a husband's prerogative to inquire about his wife's day to day activities?"

"From your tone, I can only assume you already know."

"Know what, my love?"

The endearment was meant to be mocking, but the moment he said it, he realized it was far too close to reality.

"That Pascal is in town," she said, the words seemingly difficult to say. "He found me in the park yesterday morning during my walk."

Derek dropped his napkin to the table.

"What have I been saying? Those bloody walks of yours—"

"Do not blame my walks for me being ambushed by that man. He would have found me somehow."

That caught his attention. Derek's gaze narrowed.

"Why are you so certain that he would have found you regardless?"

"Because if he is anything, it's persistent."

"And what did he want from you?"

Mabel opened her mouth and then shut it, instead chewing on her bottom lip as she apparently debated on what to say next. Hesitating was the wrong thing to do as Derek's fury mounted even further.

"Tell me," he demanded after a moment of unbearably strained silence. Her attention snapped to him.

"It's of no consequence. I told him no."

Derek stood up and walked toward Mabel, who was still sitting.

"What," he said slowly, "did he want?"

After a moment, she exhaled.

"Money."

"Money? For what?"

"He's convinced Charles X is poised to take over in France. Being a loyalist, he would receive state funds once he is crowned, but they need money to put him on the throne."

Derek frowned.

"And he thought you would help?"

"I don't think he has any other prospects. He kept my dowry after the divorce, but I guess he used it to repair his ruin of a castle. When he learned that I had married a wealthy man, he thought you might be the source of funds he needed."

Derek actually let out a puff of audacious laughter.

"Is he mad?"

"Yes, he is," she said, shifting in her chair to look up at Derek. "Because when I told him he wouldn't receive a penny from you, he threatened the respectability of this house."

Derek felt a cold snap course through him, as any man would whose home was threatened. It was primitive and deadly.

"And how would he do that?"

"By claiming that our divorce was improperly filed, meaning that it never went through—and that I am, therefore, a bigamist for having married you."

"And are you?"

The shocked expression she wore on her face instantly told Derek that he had gone too far, and he regretted it. But he had no chance to apologize, even if he could have found the words. After a moment, she seemed to collect herself and stood, purposely hitting his leg with her chair as she moved to leave, but Derek quickly followed her. By the time she was halfway up the stairs, he reached for her hand.

"Mabel, wait—"

But she drew it from him.

"Don't touch me."

"You cannot think that I would have been pleased with this information."

"And that gives you the right to insult me?"

"I didn't insult you. I merely asked if it were true."

"Which is insulting!" she snapped. "As if I would have married you if my divorce hadn't gone through." She paused for a moment, her gaze shifting to the ground. "Is that what you think of me?"

Regret slammed into Derek's chest as he reached for her other hand. Stepping up, he stared down at her.

"No. No it's not."

Mabel seemed at least partially pacified by his words. But before either of them could say anything more, the front door suddenly opened. They both turned to see Leona and Alfred, arguing and looking visibly worried as they hurried in.

"—means absolutely nothing—"

"—yet if it were true—"

"—but it's not!"

"Are you so certain?"

Derek came down the steps, his one hand still holding Mabel's as they both approached their siblings.

"Alfred, Leona," Derek said, halting before them as a footman hurriedly helped them out of their traveling cloaks. "I didn't expect you until this evening."

"We arrived in Watford last night, and had planned to have a peaceful enough evening, when Leona suddenly had an unsettling feeling," Alfred said, his eyes darting in between them. "She insisted that we travel through the night."

"Are you all right?" Leona asked, approaching her sister with worry written all over her face.

"Oh, Leona."

"We made it into the city just as the sun came up and I'll admit, I was rather annoyed that I had been nipped out of breakfast, so I convinced Leona to stop for something to eat."

"It's already in the paper," Leona said.

"Am I missing something?" Derek snapped, annoyed that everyone seemed informed of something other than him.

"Did you not receive the papers this morning?" Alfred asked.

"No."

"Oh no," Mabel said softly under her breath.

"Do not worry," Leona said, coming forward and gathering Mabel into her arms. "It will be proven as a lie soon enough."

Derek frowned as he saw the servants who had been in the foyer scurry away. It seemed they knew something he didn't. Something, it seemed, they were hiding from him.

"We had some trouble locating the papers this morning," Derek said, his temper rising. "Why? What has been reported."

Instead of answering, Alfred gave Mabel an apologetic look before handing over the folded newspaper he had been carrying beneath his arm.

Unfolding it, Derek read the top headline, something about the passing of the Gaol's Act, before a second large headline caught his eye from the lower right corner.

Bigamy!

The newly minted Countess Trembley, née Meadows, previously Comtesse de Retha, has been accused by her former husband, the Comte de Retha, of bigamy. The comte claims:

While my wife and I certainly partook in marital strife, I never consented to a divorce.

The words on the page seemed to shake and dissolve after that. Peering up, he saw Mabel's strained face. He handed the pages to her, feeling disconnected as she read it. Was the comte indeed that desperate? To accuse Mabel of bigamy was outrageous unless…

Unless there was a reason to.

"He's obviously lying," Mabel said.

"Even so, the damage is done," Derek said quietly. Though his anger was palpable, he wasn't sure if it was directed at her. A familiar tingling sensation began to pinprick at his fingertips, but he ignored it. "Why on earth would he publicly slander you if he didn't have just cause?"

"Because he's irate that I refused to give him any money, and he wants to punish me."

"Then maybe you should have paid him off and saved us from this embarrassment," Derek declared loudly before striding toward the front door.

"Where are you going?" Alfred called after him, but Derek didn't answer, shaking out the aggravating prickling of his hands as he left.

He wasn't sure where he was going, but he wouldn't stand another minute in this house, not when his entire family's reputation had been besmirched. Why hadn't she considered the consequences of her words, especially knowing the man she was dealing with?

Perhaps the hope Derek had felt at the beginning of their marriage had been misguided. Maybe Mabel wasn't capable of handling her new position in the ton, or maybe she just didn't care enough about it, not truly. The thought made him sick with doubt and while a part of him knew she hadn't meant to dishonor the Trembley name, he couldn't help but feel betrayed in some ways.

Mostly, however, he just felt hollow as he departed from Trembley Terrace.