Now there was a child. Goosebumps rose across his skin. This boy was his heir—the future to the Aberley name and title. Now it was only a matter of claiming him.
Chapter 5
SOPHIE MISSED DOUG every single day, but there was also a gratitude that his suffering was over. It was a strange mix of feelings, at times hard to reconcile. But they adjusted to a different way of living.
Condolences came every day from their customers, who really were the sweetest people. The musically inclined tended to be more reserved, but they were sorry to hear of Doug's passing.
Alfie was excited about starting at the school which wasn't all that far from their street, and the day finally came when Sophie dropped him off on the way to the shop in the morning.
With relief, she hadn't seen hide nor hair of Oliver, which suited her fine. It was clear that they were never going to have an understanding between them, but she also knew he would come back with some proposal—probably to be the mistress of some wealthy man. Oliver didn't understand that she did not treasure the same things he did—and she certainly wasn't obliging to be his leverage to getting what he wanted.
She and Alfie had everything they needed, and she was going to guard that with everything she had—even if that included keeping Oliver completely out of their lives.
The morning air was brisk as she walked to the shop. The grocers were putting out their wares, the bakeries long since opened for the day. Her customers tended not to be the early risers. She rarely saw anyone in her shop until eleven, but the morning was a good time to clean, sort and position new things.
She had also had the good fortune of selling a piano the other day, which refilled some of her depleted finances.
Unlocking the door, she left it open to air out any stale air in the shop. The paper the music was printed on was often fragrant, but as she had so much of it, it was good to air the shop first thing in the morning.
It was quiet inside and Sophie sat down on the small wooden stool behind the counter. She missed spending time with Doug here. With his skill, he could advise the customers beyond what she could, but she had learned a great deal from him—enough to run the shop successfully on her own. And she missed his music. He’d loved playing and did so every night, until he'd gotten too weak to.
A shadow appeared in her vision and she knew someone had walked in the door. Smiling, she turned to them, to her surprise seeing Mr. Lawrence. She blinked a few times. He'd never come to her shop before and she immediately grew worried.
He looked slightly forbidding in his finely tailored dark suit. "Mrs. Duthie," he said and took off his hat.
"Mr. Lawrence," she replied with a tentative smile. "I hope nothing is wrong with the estate." Cloying concern crept up her spine. The last thing she needed right now was more trouble. It felt as if they were just recuperating from an intensely sad and stressful period. Please, don't let the reprieve be over, she prayed.
"No, no," he said, looking around the shop. "Everything is fine with the estate."
With a sigh of relief, she relaxed partially, but he was still here for a reason. An image of Lord Aberley crept into her mind, but she had no idea why. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with her, but there was always that fear there, that he could come in and wreck things, exact revenge for what he saw as the injury done to him. And then there was an underlying fear concerning Alfie.
Even before she'd started showing, Doug had come with his proposal of marriage, saying he would take responsibility for the child and in every way be its father. She'd had few options, and would likely have ended up in the workhouse, where poverty and disease would have killed both of them. Oliver could not care for her, and the stigma of having a sister with a child born out of wedlock would have dragged him down too—something he could never abide. Hence he had persuaded Doug to marry her, and it was the only good thing Oliver had ever done for her.
Her mind was carrying her away and she quickly refocused on whatever peril brought her solicitor to her shop that day. "How may I assist you?" she asked as she rose from her stool and walked around to where he stood.
"I come with news of a proposal." It wasn’t a happy expression on his face and she grew more concerned.
Was this Oliver trying to get to her through her solicitor? No, he was never so circumspect. "I see," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Lord Aberley,—"
Sophie closed her eyes and wished to be away from there.
"—wishes to take over the care for Alfie," Mr. Lawrence continued. "He proposes—"
"Absolutely not. You can tell him no."
Although she did see why Mr. Lawrence would seek her out for this rather than call her to him like he normally did.
"I had a feeling you would react that way. It is a generous offer—a monetary sum to—"
"To what?" she said sharply.
"To give up your claim to him."
Sophie's eyes widened. It had always been a persistent fear that Lord Aberley would come with an offer like this. For a while, she hadn't expected it—until she had read that his engagement had fallen through. With a child of his own, he'd want nothing to do with Alfie. Not the right pedigree, he would say. "Tell him to marry and produce his own child. He is not having Alfie. Over my dead body." Heat coursed through her blood and she couldn't stand still. "Never. Even if I died, I will ensure Lord Aberley doesn't get him. Can we do that?"
"I am sure we can arrange specific instruction that Lord Aberley have nothing to do with the child." Mr. Lawrence almost seemed pleased with the idea. "I don't mind telling you that he expects you to agree to his proposal."
"Well, he can sing it to the moon for all I care. Alfie is mine and Doug's child, and will always remain so."
"I will convey your sentiments to Lord Aberley if you will permit me."
"Do as you wish, just don't come back here with some ridiculous proposal. I am fully serious—over my dead body and not even then."
"I can see that you are set against the idea."
"I believe that is an understatement."
The urge to move was so strong that Sophie couldn't stay still, how dare he come with some proposal to purchase her son off her. Never.
"As Lord Aberley's heir, your son would be in a very privileged position."
"Under the care of Lord Aberley," she said. "Have you met Lord Aberley?"
"I have."
"You would put him in charge of one of your children?" Maybe she was talking to the wrong person, but as a mother, she would have to be out of her mind to put her child in the care of someone so cold and callous. "No amount of money in the world would be worth it. Alfie is perfectly fine as he is. He has no need of a title. A completely obsolete concept as far as I'm concerned. He is six years old; he certainly doesn't need to be raised by a monster."
"If that is the way you feel, I will convey your sentiments to Lord Aberley."
"Ensure you do," Sophie said with a nod, steeling her back. With a by-your-leave, Mr. Lawrence left and the shop suddenly felt quiet and empty. It seemed the moment of peace she had found was over. The worst thing possible had just happened. Lord Aberley had decided he wanted Alfie, but she was fully meant it would be over her dead body before she let that awful man turn her son into a younger version of himself.
People like Lord Aberley thought their power, wealth and title meant everything. A man like him thought she'd give up her son for money. His advantages in life might normally give him anything he demanded, but it wasn't getting him Alfie. First of all, that was despicable, and secondly, it showed that he was completely clueless about mothers if he thought she'd just give up her son. Did that reveal what kind of parent he would be if he even thought that was within the realm of possibility?
Hopefully this would be the end of it and Lord Aberley would understand that he wasn't getting his way here. He was only doing this because he wanted an heir—a human being he could stash away until such time as when he was needed.
Mo
ney and the pursuit of money was the source of all her troubles in life. Money had never brought her any happiness, and even in their most strapped times, she had been happy with Doug. They'd had each other and that was all they needed. They'd always had enough to eat and to keep them warm.
The destitute fared badly in this city and the boy Lord Aberley wanted to claim would have been one of them, through the same man's negligence if it hadn't been for Doug. Lord Aberley could offer wealth, but it was a cold house he would live in, with not an ounce of love. As a person, he was much better off in their more humble circumstances—one where they had everything they needed, particularly without the type of men who were forever chasing or guarding their money.
Chapter 6
RETURNING TO THE HOUSE after a ride through Hyde Park, Tristan saw the correspondence neatly laid out on the vestibule table. Invitations, which he ignored. As an unmarried man of wealth, there were always invitations where women touted their vapid daughters. Ladies' salons were not where he wanted to spend his time. He never attended, except occasionally when Lady Woolwich ordered his attendance, but he still diligently received invitations to events he wouldn't attend, day after day.
At the odd shooting party he might appear, but he didn't relish the travel. Instead, he preferred his club, and even the more exclusive gaming halls. He liked a certain degree of familiarity with his activities. Perhaps his life had finally quashed that part of him that as a youth had wanted to be an explorer of far-off places. Now he wished for as little disturbance as possible.
Then there was a letter from Mr. Lawrence's office. Well, the boy hadn't appeared on his footstep, so the little schemer was trying for more, it would seem.
Taking it to his office, he broke the seal and opened the crisp paper with the law firm's letterhead.
Mrs. Duthie, the former Lady Aberley, has refused the offer with vehemence, was all it said except for Mr. Lawrence's sincerest regard.
Vehemence—what was that supposed to mean? Clearly not a good negotiation stance.
Sitting down in his chair, he considered the letter, trying to understand what it meant. Refused. Annoyance tingled along the edge of his consciousness. Why had he expected that she would make it easy on him? From her perspective, she was playing her trump card, so it wasn't perhaps surprising that she was holding out.
Maybe it wouldn't suit her in the end. If there was some way he could claim the boy without giving her a single shilling, he would do it. It could be infinitely more messy and he wasn't sure he had the tolerance for it. He just wanted this to be over as soon as possible. It seemed the offer would have to be increased.
Considering for a moment writing a letter, he decided to go see Mr. Lawrence instead, and requested Mr. Smyth bid the stableboy to bring his horse back. Smyth went to do his bidding, leaving Tristan in an utterly silent house. It was inconceivable to have a noisy child in the house. Children weren't something Tristan had really seen since his own childhood—in fact, there had been remarkably few children in his life then too. The boy would have to be sent to Sommerfield Hall, where a tutor would have to be engaged.
That was how Tristan's own childhood had been—years spent with staid and unassuming education masters at Sommerfield Hall, to biannually be presented to his father for inspection. Only at Oxford had he had a modicum of freedom, until his father's death, when he'd have to assume his duties to the title and estate. The carefree days had to be put to side to deal with estate management and investments.
None of those friends from Oxford had he kept, except curiously the sister of one of them, who had married Lord Woolwich. For some reason, his and Minette’s acquaintance had outlived all others.
In a sense, other men of his station were competitors—some with better titles and more wealth, but few who had grown their fortune the way Tristan had. It garnered respect in the right circles.
Through the window, he could see the horse being brought around and he got up and walked to the door where Smyth was waiting with his hat and coat.
"I shouldn't be long," Tristan informed him. "I intend to return for supper tonight."
"Very good, my lord," Smyth said as he always did.
The streets were a little more crowded than in the morning, the ladies preferring to venture out later in the day for rides around Hyde Park. Mr. Lawrence's offices were not far away and a stableboy was found to tend to his horse.
"I am here to see Mr. Lawrence. Inform him that Lord Aberley is here," he stated when he entered the office and was tended to by a clerk. The clerk disappeared. And returned saying Mr. Lawrence was just finishing up with a client and would tend to him momentarily.
The office was dark and gloomy. Tristan was sure he would fall asleep here if he were required to spend the day there, but the clerks were working diligently.
"Lord Aberley, what a pleasant surprise," Lawrence said as he appeared.
"Hardly a surprise considering, is it?"
"No, perhaps not. Please, come into my office. Could you use some refreshment?"
"No, let's get on with this."
Lawrence led him into an office that was again very dark and gloomy with enough wood to make it seem like the inside of a ship.
"Might as well not beat around the bush," Tristan started. "What does she want?"
Lawrence sat down behind his desk. Tristan didn't like sitting down like some supplicant, needing this man to help him, but he did. This was the means in dealing with Mrs. Duthie. The name suited her, he decided, suggesting a fishwife or something similar.
"I believe her exacts words were: 'Over my dead body.'"
Tristan sat still for a moment, absorbing this. "Then what will convince her?"
"I believe the lady,"—she was absolutely not a lady—"feels that you are a monster and consigning her child to you would be on par with giving her child over to the devil."
Tristan's eyebrows rose. "So she will not do so willingly. Is that what you are saying?"
"Yes," Mr. Lawrence said, clearly enjoying this. Second and third sons always had that bitterness that made them want to see strife for their more fortunate older brothers. Mr. Lawrence certainly didn't escape the trend.
"Then we must force her to."
"Well, that would prove difficult. She is the child's mother and the courts are not in the habit of willynilly taking children away from mothers."
"I am the child's father. It is clearly in the child's benefit to be with me."
"Mrs. Duthie disagrees, but that is not perhaps as relevant as the issue that legally, Alfred Duthie, the child in question, is the legitimate child of Douglas Duthie."
"But that is not true. It is clearly my child, conceived within our marriage."
Mr. Lawrence stroked along his chin. "Except he was born within another marriage and Douglas Duthie's name is written as the father on the birth certificate. The court will take that as fact and hence, you have no claim on this child. Even if not married, he would be an illegitimate child and it would be difficult to legitimize him, but as he is the legitimate child of another man, it is highly unlikely a court would rule in your favor."
Annoyance crept up his spine with every word. "The child is mine. It is inarguable. Anyone could tell by simply looking at him. The similarities are striking. The child is a young version of myself."
"Unfortunately that is irrelevant. As the conception of this child was so close to the start of the marriage between Mrs. Duthie and her husband, the court will not overturn the legitimacy as it stands, especially if Mrs. Duthie disagrees. Mr. Duthie is unfortunately not here to testify otherwise."
Tristan's body was on fire with displeasure. This couldn't be. No one could say that child wasn't his when it clearly was. "She did this," he finally said.
Mr. Lawrence didn't argue and for a moment, Tristan felt like punching him. She couldn't just get away with stealing his heir.
"And if she relinquishes the child?" Tristan finally said once his emotions were under control.
"Then even if the courts do not agree, you are perfectly within your right to adopt the child, but that would require her agreement, which, from my dealings with her, she has made clear that you will never have."
"Then she must be made to see reason. She offers the child nothing and I offer him everything."
"Apparently, the lady finds the offer distasteful."
"She is not a lady," Tristan said sharply, knowing it sounded petulant, but his temper was seriously frayed.
"I apologize, the former lady."
Being as Lawrence was her solicitor, he wasn't the right person to discuss alternative courses of action. This man was dutybound to be on her side of this fight.
"You will hear from my solicitors with regards to how we will proceed," Tristan finally said and rose. He left without giving his regards and marched out into the air, where he felt he could breathe.
The woman was either playing a long game or she genuinely believed he was unsuitable to raise this child. What an utterly absurd notion. Him unsuitable, when she was a mere shopkeep. This had to be spite and bitterness from being pushed from the lofty heights she had briefly achieved. And she was taking vengeance out on her son. That alone had to mean she was a dreadful mother. What woman would turn down the opportunity to have their child inherit untold amounts of wealth—a title and an ancient estate? It was utterly absurd.
Obviously the woman couldn't actually think he was a monster. How could she? He had never treated her cruelly. He'd never hit her, had never even sworn at her—had even been very considerate whenever they'd had to conduct their duty. At least he believed so; he had needed to bolster himself with alcohol to overcome his revulsion at forcing himself into the act. Perhaps he had said something that was distasteful to the woman—or more likely, it was simply that he'd asked her to leave without anything when her, and her scheming brother's, leverage over him had ceased to be. Perhaps that made him a monster in her book.
The Discarded Wife Page 3
