Chapter Five

"I 'm surprised by you, Mabel," Leona said the following day as Juliette fixed her hair. She sat before the vanity in Mabel's room as they prepared themselves for their trip to the museum. "Accepting an invitation from Mr. Bentley. That's not like you."

"What's so surprising about it? You know I love books," Mabel said as she fixed a woven gold bracelet that had once belonged to their mother to her wrist.

Although it wasn't fashionable for unwed ladies to go about town with excessive jewelry, since Mabel was a divorcée, she was permitted a few privileges that wouldn't garner her side glances. Besides that, people were staring regardless, so why not let them admire a fine piece of jewelry?

"Yes, but I spoke with Mr. Bentley during the ball and he's, well, rather… nice, isn't he?"

Mabel smirked.

"You mean, too nice for me, is that it?"

Leona turned, her eyes wide.

"Oh no, it's not that!" she hastened to say, nearly tripping over her words.

"It's all right dear," Mabel said reassuringly. "He is too nice to suit my tastes, but I couldn't refuse his invitation."

"Why not?"

Mabel bent over her shoulder and held up a pair of earbobs next to her ears as she viewed them in the mirror.

"Because the look on the earl's face was too tempting."

"Oh, Mabel," Leona said, her tone disheartened. "I wish you wouldn't tease Lord Trembley. Not to mention it's wrong to accept such an invitation from a man, who appeared genuinely interested in you, for no reason other than to bother another."

"Leona, you're too sensitive to this world," Mabel said, straightening up. "Accepting an invitation to a museum—within a larger group of people, mind you—isn't tantamount to accepting a marriage proposal."

"Still, it isn't nice to do so solely to bother Lord Trembley."

"He's a grown man. I'm sure he'll survive it."

Leona made a face as if to say she disagreed but she let the conversation end. Mabel did not suffer the idea that men of position and power would wilt from teasing. If anything, she felt it would do the earl some good to have his pride punctured a bit. These British gentlemen were so unlike the gentlemen from Philadelphia. There was a sense of entitlement among them, an inherited knowledge that their words, their likes and dislikes, could and would shape the world they lived in. They all seemed stunned when met with the slightest bit of resistance, and it entertained Mabel beyond words just how indignant Derek Trembley became whenever she spoke out of turn or disagreed with him.

"Perhaps if you were kinder to him, he would not be so prickly with you," Leona suggested.

Mabel wanted to retort that the earl was not capable of being anything but prickly…and yet she couldn't bring herself to say it, since she knew it wasn't true. She had seen that there were other moments where he would be sympathetic, particularly to family members. Just last night, for example, when the family had settled down to dinner, Derek had apologized for having a previous engagement and not being able to attend the meal. His mother had appeared somewhat crestfallen, and the earl had taken her hand, reassuring her that he would be home for breakfast.

As the memory replayed in her head, Mabel thought back to the other thing she had noticed—namely, that the countess seemed to be somewhat troubled. It didn't happen often, but Mabel did notice that every once in a while, the dowager countess would become nervous, but not in a usual way. When something did not go as expected, the woman's left hand would begin to shake, seemingly without control, just like her eldest son. Mabel wondered if it was a family trait. All the Trembley men seemed aware of their mother's condition and would swiftly come to her aid. Whenever she seemed particularly agitated, the one physically closest to her would spring into action. Last night, it had been Derek.

He had gripped his mother's shaking hand and held it, rubbing her forearm until the shudder dispersed, which only took a moment or two. Really, it wouldn't have registered to anyone if they were in a larger group. Still, Mabel had been unfortunately so aware of Derek that she had witnessed the tender moment. And to her surprise, a warmth had passed through her at the earl's sensitivity.

Warmth? For the earl? That was an emotion that needed eliminating promptly.

So, in a moment of rebellion, Mabel had made a comment, quietly enough so only Derek heard, that it would be to the benefit of the table to have a peaceful meal for once. The annoyance at her audacity that shone on his face made her both ashamed and giddy all at once. But he hadn't retaliated. She had expected some sort of blistering comment or biting quip, and when he hadn't unleashed any, she found that it had bothered her all night.

Once Leona's hair was finished, the two made their way downstairs. Mabel wondered if perhaps she had been too cutting to the earl the night before and internally debated whether or not she should simply behave herself around him today.

Upon reaching the foyer, Leona went directly to Alfred, who was between Derek and Mr. Bentley, who had decided to travel with them that morning instead of meeting them at the museum. The earl had taken out his silver pocket watch and glanced at it with a frown, as if they were late.

"Miss Meadows," Mr. Bentley said, coming forward to offer her his arm. "May I help you to your carriage?"

"Goodness me," Mabel said, charmed by the man's manners. "You really mustn't make such a fuss over me."

Mr. Bentley's face dropped.

"But, of course I should. You are a lady."

"Being monied does not make someone a lady," the earl said beneath his breath, causing Mabel to glare.

Maybe she wouldn't behave today after all.

"Well thank you, Mr. Bentley. And yes, you may escort me. It's a comfort knowing that gentlemen such as yourself exist in this city," she replied, giving Trembley a pointed gaze.

"Let's not tarry," Alfred said quickly.

"Indeed," Leona agreed as she and her fiancé hurried behind Mabel as if to put a buffer between her and the earl.

It was really rather silly, Mabel thought as they entered the carriage. She and the earl didn't need to be separated from one another as if they were combative children. But as maddening as they found each other, they did want the same thing, and she had to concede that they were technically on the same side.

The morning air was exceedingly warm, to the point that by the time they reached the museum, Mabel was grateful to find relief in the cavernous stone building. It was a fashionable thing to do, visit the museums, and Mabel was soon aware that the trip would be about being seen instead of actually giving much attention to the artifacts that lined the halls of the great building.

Mr. Bentley was a mild, if somewhat cautious, companion who was far too gentle for Mabel's liking. He took every precaution to not overwhelm her as he answered her and Leona's questions. He had a vast knowledge of the Roman occupation of Britain, and while the subject matter might have been tedious, he made it all sound rather intriguing. At one point, Leona must have smiled too brightly at him, for Mabel noticed Alfred's chest puff out somewhat as he shepherded her away to view another exhibit, leaving Mabel alone with Mr. Bentley. The earl had disappeared nearly twenty minutes prior, and Mabel did her best to purposely not care where he had gone.

"I hope I didn't offend Alfred," Mr. Bentley said as he and Mabel were left alone to gaze at a display of partially broken statues found in Greece.

"Oh no," Mabel reassured him. "I just think Leona found what you were talking about rather interesting and… well, I suppose it pricked Alfred's possessiveness a bit to have her so attentive to someone else. Ah, to be young and in love."

"I wouldn't know, unfortunately," he said. "I've never had the pleasure of falling in love."

"Well, there are people who would say that it is a wonderful thing to experience. But if I'm being honest, I don't think there's much to get excited about."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Is that because…" He began before shaking his head as if he had just remembered something. "Never mind."

Mabel peered at him.

"You needn't stand on silly protocols with me, Mr. Bentley. I would rather you speak with me honestly than be polite."

The young man's cheeks became bright red.

"Well, I was just going to ask if you didn't think love was worth it because you had never experienced it before."

Mabel smirked, though she didn't feel delighted by the question. She had, actually, believed herself to be entirely in love when she married. The feelings had been quite real…but they had been founded on a false premise. Her husband was not the man he had pretended to be, leaving her to gradually recognize that she had fallen in love with someone who didn't actually exist.

"On the contrary. I have experienced love and I decided that it was not made for people like me."

"People like you? Why, how can anyone not be made for love? That seems a rather desolate idea, doesn't it?"

"I don't believe so," she said, shaking her head. "Romance is lovely for those who require it. But some people don't."

Mr. Bentley appeared like he wanted to argue the point, but his face changed to surprise when he glanced over her shoulder.

"Oh, Miss Meadows, if you would please excuse me," he said quickly as he moved past her. "I'll only be a moment."

"Of course," Mabel said, watching after him as he left, headed straight across the large room to an elderly man with a square face, salt and pepper hair, and bushy white eyebrows.

His expression was not pleasant.

Oh well . She faced the scarred statues once more. Perhaps if she were more interested in Mr. Bentley, his companion might tickle her curiosity, but Mabel was finding the half-winged statue of Psyche to be far more compelling.

Tilting her head as she stared at the stone sculpture, she vaguely remembered the story of Psyche and Eros. He had stolen her away from her family, refusing to let her see his face and asking her to trust him without any reason. Psyche had obeyed him, for a bit, before her sisters—jealous of her situation—had convinced her that she was living with a monster to trick her into sneaking a look at him anyway, in defiance of his rules. She had suffered for that choice, but she'd found redemption in the end, and Eros and his beloved lived happily ever after.

Mabel let out a puff of breath. Of course, they had because someone had written their story to succeed. It was unfortunate life couldn't turn out that way.

"You might want to take some pity on Mr. Bentley," the dark, masculine voice of Derek suddenly said behind her, closer to her ear than she would have expected. "He's not nearly as jaded as you are."

"A mistake made by most," she said without turning around. She ignored the heat that flooded her extremities as she saw Derek, leaning against a pillar. "Were you spying on us?"

"Hardly," he said. "I've been here for a quarter of an hour, at least. You two walked into my vicinity."

"Well, for someone so particular about eavesdroppers, you might have made your presence known," she quipped. "And as for being jaded, I simply believe that young people should be made aware not to trust so easily. Particularly people they find attractive."

"Does Mr. Bentley find you attractive?"

"Yes."

"Rather sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"It isn't vanity on my part. You can tell," she said, leaning forward slightly. The earl's pupils widened, and much to Mabel's ire, her heart beat faster than it had a moment ago. "It's in the eyes."

"You mean the way he looks at you?"

"No. I mean the intricacies of his face. How his mouth curves up and quivers just so. How his pupils widen and his breath becomes shallow from excitement." Derek stared at her with something akin to fascination, and she felt her self-control falter. She swallowed and tried to regain control of herself, ignoring the swift uptick of her pulse. "Every person is the same when they see something they desire. Whether it be a lady or a horse or a meal."

Derek's eye squinted.

"Is that so?"

"Of course," she said, spinning around. "But, Mr. Bentley should be made aware of the fallacy of love. It might save him from some future disaster."

"And you're planning to teach him this lesson?"

Mabel laughed.

"Heavens, no. Although I'm sure it would prove entertaining," she said as she gazed across the room to where Mr. Bentley stood, speaking to the sour-faced elderly man. "But I've other business to attend to."

Derek stared at her.

"I'm glad to hear it," he spoke after a moment.

"Why is that?"

"Because the young chap fancies you and if you were just trailing him along, well, I would find that rather dastardly."

"Oh, would you?" she quipped. "Well, take comfort in this, my lord," she said, leaning toward him as her voice dropped. "You needn't worry. I've no intention of playing with people's hearts. Particularly Mr. Bentley."

"That's good of you."

"I'll only kiss him once and be done with it."

Derek's eyes snapped to hers. Mabel only said that because she saw Mr. Bentley returning over the earl's shoulder.

"I'm sorry I was taken away," Mr. Bentley said just as Derek opened his mouth to say something. "I hope you'll forgive me."

"Of course," Mabel said, taking his arm to steer him away from Derek. "Now, tell me more about the Romans. How long ago were they in Britian?"

"Over three centuries, actually."

As Mr. Bentley continued to enlighten Mabel about all things Roman, she glanced over her shoulder to see a flustered earl. She had shocked him and left him speechless, which was precisely what she'd wanted to do. To her surprise, however, once their trip to the museum was finished, Alfred informed them that his brother had left the museum before the rest of the party.

"Did he not say where he was going?" Leona asked.

"He did not, unfortunately."

"Well then, shall we go to Gunter's Tea Shop?" Mr. Bentley asked. "They have dozens of flavored ices that I believe would prove refreshing on a day like today."

"I believe we can manage that," Alfred said. "Would you like to, Leona?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"Will it not be busy?" Mabel asked, suddenly weary as her hands slipped into the pocket of her gown.

She thumbed the edges of her card deck, but refused to bring them out.

"It may be."

"If it's all the same, I think I'd prefer to return home." A wave of lethargy had come over her. "The museum was most stimulating, but I'm afraid I've had enough of crowds for the day."

"Oh, yes, of course," Mr. Bentley said as if nothing could possibly make more sense. "I'll see you home at once then."

Leona would not drop her scrutinizing gaze, and for the entire ride back to the Trembleys' Mayfair home, she seemed on the verge of speaking. Thankfully, she waited until after they returned, and Mr. Bentley bid them farewell.

"What was that about?" she asked as she followed Mabel up the stairs in the foyer.

"I'm tired."

"But you're never tired."

"Which is probably why I am so exhausted now."

"Are you ill then? Do you have a fever? Or maybe you're nauseous—"

"Leona, I'm fine," she said upon reaching her room. She quickly shifted her body so that her sister could not enter. "I'm just a little weary is all."

Leona frowned.

"If you were ill, you would tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, of course. I only want a little rest, that's all."

It was obvious she wasn't pleased with Mabel's answer, but she relented.

"Very well. Perhaps I will rest too, before dinner."

"A fine idea. I'll come to your room in a few hours then."

Leona nodded, though it was apparent from the frown on her angelic face that she didn't quite believe her sister. Mabel smiled before entering her room and closing the door. Leaning against the wooden door, she sighed.

It wasn't like her to be despondent. Believing that she was tired, she undressed and laid in bed but found no rest. Tossing and turning, she wasn't sure when she fell asleep, but was surprised that when she opened her eyes, it was dark.

Confused, she sat up and scanned her room. A rectangular tray with a silver cloche sat on the small table between the two wingback chairs before the fireplace. Apparently, she had fallen into a deep enough sleep that she had missed dinner, and a tray had been brought up for her.

Stretching her legs over the edge of the bed, she went to the hearth to see the polished walnut mantel clock. Eleven o'clock.

Goodness . She had slept for quite some time. Having no appetite, she tried to lay back down, hoping that sleep would come over her again, only to find that she was tossing and turning. Her mind could not hold onto a single thought, and after several minutes, she sat back up.

"Bother," she murmured as she walked to the wardrobe and plucked out an aubergine silk dressing gown.

She had gone to sleep too early and was now wide awake. Wrapping herself in the robe, she crossed the bedroom and opened the door, deciding to go to the library. Hopefully, she could find a book that would settle her mind.

The entire house was fast asleep, and as she walked through the hallways, she found an almost calming sense come over her. It was really rather peculiar that she felt so at ease in this place, even if she saw its owner as bothersome, but then she didn't think too deeply about it as she made her way down the staircase.

As quietly as she could, Mabel reached the landing and hurried down the hallway, remembering the last time she had been in the library. It had been the night of the ball, when she had eavesdropped on the earl and his friends.

She found herself wondering about the earl and why he had left the museum without telling his brother where he was going. A nagging little voice in her mind told her that she would probably do well to steer clear of the earl for a day or two. Her little quip about kissing Mr. Bentley had likely aggravated him, and as much as she had enjoyed his reaction in the moment, she found now that she regretted it.

When she reached the library, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. To her surprise, the oil lamps were still brightly lit, despite it being so late in the evening. Crossing the elongated room to reach the bookshelves, Mabel sighed loudly, wondering what book she could possibly find that would entertain her or at least might bore her enough to put her to sleep.

But before she reached the wooden bookcases, she paused, suddenly feeling like she was being watched. Mabel swallowed and cocked her head slowly, looked across the room. There, seated at the card table that sat before the fireplace with a split deck of cards in each of his hands, was the earl, watching her.