The Discarded Wife

by Camille Oster

  She'd never been to Sommerfield Hall, and it was probably going to be her home for quite a while. At least until Alfie was older, and perhaps even then. Alfie was to be the future master of the hall.

  Smiling, she regarded Alfie, who was clearly excited about leaving London. In his brief life, he hadn't had the opportunity to travel anywhere, except for the odd train journeys. It was still hard to imagine how his life would change with this. More so as he grew older. Worry creased her brow again. She feared him becoming a young buck of society and embracing all their stifling rules and traditions.

  The springs shifted as Lord Aberley stepped into the carriage and closed the door behind him. It certainly felt smaller with him in it. His presence was uncomfortable, especially as they were sitting in such close proximity. Their knees were just about touching.

  At first, they simply watched in silence the sights of London out the window of the carriage. They traveled west and it took little time to reach the very outskirts of the city. Most of London was in the other direction and parkland started appearing outside their window, then more rural scenery.

  With little but fields outside the window, it was harder to ignore the man sitting right in front of her. It started raining outside, fat drops of water appearing on the window pane. Even Alfie had to turn his attention to inside the carriage.

  "You'll like Sommerfield Hall," Lord Aberley finally said. "As much space as you can possibly want. We will have to get you a pony to ride."

  Alfie's eyes widened. "And a dog?"

  "Alfie!" Sophie chided, but Lord Aberley smiled. It startled her because she hadn't actually seen him smile before. It wasn't an expression she knew he was capable of.

  "Yes, you can have a dog. There are even hounds there. One can go with you when you go out riding."

  "I've never ridden a horse."

  "You'll learn. I learned to ride when I was about your age."

  "Horses bite."

  "Only if you don't know how to read them."

  "You can read a horse?"

  "Oh yes. Horses tell you everything they are feeling, if you know what to look for."

  "Will you teach me?"

  Aberley paused for a moment, but Sophie couldn't make out what he was thinking. Unfortunately, he was not as easy to read like a horse, but then she couldn't really read horses either. "If you wish," he finally said and Alfie beamed.

  "What else is there?" Alfie asked. It was clear to see that Alfie was very curious about this man who was his father. It was a meaningful relationship for him and that worried her, because relationships were not meaningful to Aberley—hers hadn't been in any case, and probably still wasn't. If only she could be assured that Alfie would not be hurt as part of Lord Aberley having his heir. Sometimes no father was better than a poor one.

  "Well, there is a stream where you can fish."

  "I don't know how to fish."

  "I suppose I can teach you that as well. Your education has some glaring gaps." Well, there was a little pot shot if she'd ever heard one. Sophie refused to rise to the bait, instead tried to see out the rain-stained window.

  "There are fields with cows," Aberley continued. "Sheep as well."

  Sophie had never lived anywhere but in the city. Even when her parents had been alive, they had always lived in London. It had been a comfortable upbringing, but not of the kind where they'd had an estate somewhere that they’d retreated to when they wanted peace and silence. She almost feared the silence.

  "Are you going to marry my mother?" Alfie asked.

  "Alfie!" Sophie chided him again. A smile ghosted over Aberley's lips then disappeared. He wasn't looking at her, only at Alfie.

  "No. We were married, but now we are not. Your mother married Mr. Duthie instead." Didn't that just sidestep the whole drama and make it sound like it was all her fault. Who knew how Alfie would interpret it all. "But now we must both take care of you."

  "Because fath… Doug died?"

  "Yes," Aberley said.

  "Mother was very sad," Alfie continues. The statement was a little too personal for Sophie’s liking, but she also didn't want to interfere with Alfie’s interpretation of the world. It was the truth and she didn't want to deny it and confuse him even more.

  "It is sad when someone dies," Aberley replied.

  At least Aberley wasn't disparaging Doug in front of Alfie. For that, she was grateful. Alfie had loved Doug as he would have a father. Now he had another father, one he didn't know. It must all be confusing for him. Although it seemed that Alfie had presumed that they would marry. Where had he got that from? Remarrying was never something she had discussed with him.

  The turn of the conversation made Alfie more withdrawn and Sophie's heart ached for how confused he must be. He was so very young. Hopefully he wouldn't forget Doug completely.

  Alfie started playing with a small wheeled elephant toy he had in his bag. It was made of wood and the wheels squeaked slightly as he rolled them on his thigh.

  "That used to be mine," Aberley said. "A long time ago."

  Alfie smiled again, watching the man who he looked just like. Their relationship was taking on a life on its own, one she had no part in. They were father and son irrespective of her, and they would have a relationship she had no control over.

  For a moment, she watched the man that had once been her husband. Not really. It had always been false—an illusion. It had been a painful lesson learning that. The fact that he had never wanted her had probably been more painful than him actually throwing her out of his life. A slow, painful lesson that happened in silence and in complete absence of anything specific happening—simply a realization that the handsome man she had married had done so in word only, and truly wished he had never met her.

  He watched as Alfie played with the toy. What was he thinking behind those piercing eyes? They were soft now—softer than she had ever seen them. He simply watched. Was he capable of loving the boy, or did he carry the same prejudices he had against her? Then again, he had fought for his boy with everything he'd had. Hopefully that meant something more than annoyance at being defied.

  She did wish that they would have a loving relationship. How could she not wish that for her son? But she had no control over Aberley or how he acted. What was true was that he hadn't simply dispatched them to be hidden away in the country. He was even promising to teach Alfie to ride and fish. And then what? Would they not see him for years? Would that break Alfie's heart?

  They continued in silence for a while. The rain was slowing them down for a moment, but there was nothing they could do about it. Alfie shifted and played with the elephant on the bench, lost in his own world, while Sophie worried about what was to come.

  The rain stopped and they could see out the window again. Endless miles of fields and pastures.

  "How often do you return to Sommerfield Hall?" she finally asked, bringing her gaze to her former husband. The question was really: how often do you intend to return?

  "Primarily the summers. Often at Easter."

  Sophie nodded.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Just curious," she said with a tight smile. The last thing she wanted was one of their confrontations in front of Alfie. He certainly didn't know that they quarreled just about every time they spoke to each other—or sat in uncomfortable silence as they did now in this enforced intimacy inside the small space of the carriage. "Do you require anything of me as you will so seldom be there?"

  "Require in which way? You are a guest in the house. Nothing is required of you. You may do as you please."

  "Thank you. That is very generous." It felt as if she choked on the words, but perhaps he was correct in determining polite etiquette was the best way of dealing with their situation. Neither of them behaved particularly admirably when they let the politeness drop.

  "As I said, an allowance is available to you."

  "That is not necessary."

  "The estate has an account with all the shops in the nearby town,
available for anything you should need. Dress material, for example. You might need a more sturdy wardrobe to brave the weather in the country."

  Sophie knew exactly what Aberley thought of her clothes. "And how am I to present myself?"

  "Well, that is more tricky. I am not sure how many in the district are aware of my marriage and divorce. You are, of course, mother to my heir. It is a complex situation. How do you think you should be introduced?"

  "If we do not mention the relationship between us, they will assume Alfie is your nephew or a cousin."

  "I suppose you are right. I will acknowledge him as my child."

  "Then I will have to acknowledge myself as your former wife."

  "This is highly unusual," he said.

  But it was her they would judge. It didn't bother Sophie. The divorce was not something that would ever go away. "Perhaps I will tell them that I ran off with my lover," said quietly, ensuring Alfie was distracted. Telling people that would be embarrassing to Aberley. It wouldn't do her standing much good anyway. But she just couldn't help herself. Even when she swore she was going to behave in strict accordance to polite etiquette, she still couldn't stop herself from taking her own pot shot at him.

  His eyes narrowed. "We could always go with the truth. There is a certain virtue in telling the truth."

  "The truth would be harmful for everyone," she finally said. And by everyone she meant Alfie.

  "Agreed." That might actually be the first time they had agreed on anything, and it assured her that it was Alfie's wellbeing they agreed on.

  Chapter 20

  THE JOURNEY TO SOMMERFIELD felt arduous. They stayed the night on the way, but it was a cramped journey with three of them in a carriage. It felt a blessing for Tristan to have some time to himself. Alfie tried to entertain himself, but at times, the monotony got to him. Sophie had then tried to entertain him. She told him stories and played games with him, showing an endless reserve of patience.

  Late in the afternoon, they arrived at Sommerfield. Wellswar, Tristan's father's old retainer, met them as they arrived. With stiff knees, Tristan stepped down from the carriage after Sophie and Alfie.

  Alfie was looking up at the house with wonder.

  "This is your new home."

  "I'll get lost."

  Tristan smiled at the sentiment. "There are certainly places to hide." It had been a favorite hobby of his growing up, hiding from whoever wanted him. He turned his attention to Sophie. "I think you will both be very happy here. There is a village over to copse in the distance there, where they have a few shops if you shall require anything. As I said, there are accounts."

  If she would take advantage of the opportunity, he didn't dare guess. He could only hope after a long journey where he'd had nothing else to do but to study her, and the dress that obviously had no stays. Her figure didn't need them, but the thin material of her dress hadn't been completely bolstering during any rough patches on the road. Unable to prevent himself, he had noticed that too.

  "Is Mr. Herman in residence?" Tristan asked Wellswar.

  "He arrived some two days back," the man replied.

  "The tutor," Tristan pointed out. "I suppose if you meet him and take exception, we will have to discuss some alternative."

  Sophie nodded and didn't say anything.

  "Is there someone who can see to Master Alfred's comfort?" he asked Wellswar.

  "Mary can do so."

  "Excellent. We should all need to seek our rooms to refresh ourselves before supper, I think."

  "This way, my lady," Wellswar said to Sophie.

  How to deal with her was something he would have to discuss discreetly with Wellswar, but that could wait. He was too tired to deal with anything except a stiff drink.

  Tristan went straight to his room and pulled off his traveling coat and changed his shirt. The room had been aired and a fire crackled in the grate. The few days before, he had sent a message telling Wellswar to expect them. It had been some time since he'd been here—not quite sure what his objection was. Perhaps it had felt a little like a prison as he had been a young child.

  Sophie would likely make it a different experience for Alfie. From what he'd seen, she was an attentive and loving mother. Stroking his head when the boy had laid down in her lap to sleep. It wasn't as though he'd felt envy, but it was a maternal intimacy he hadn't known. Perhaps his own father should have tried harder to bring in a maternal influence on his life. It had probably never occurred to the man as necessary. Unless Sophie had forced him to, it hadn't really occurred to him as necessary either. But seeing them together, he understood better the relationship between them.

  Wellswar appeared quietly through the door to see if he was needed.

  "I think," Tristan started, "that we will invite Mr. Herman to dine with us tonight." In a way, he wanted Sophie to approve, because there was always that disapproval with her for just about everything he did. In a way, he wanted to prove to her that he could make excellent decisions for Alfie.

  A quick wash and he felt better, felt as though he needed that drink sooner rather than later. Dressing, he made his way down to the sitting room and Wellswar provided him with a decent portion of whiskey to sip as he waited for his dining companions.

  Mr. Herman appeared quickly, wearing black as expected of a man of his position and they shook hands. He was young, late twenties perhaps, with a kind, open face. Not perhaps the most handsome man, tall and lean, but there was a sturdiness about him. The man was pleased with the invitation and they chatted amiably about Oxford until Sophie turned up.

  A different dress graced her form, but still much too simple for the setting. Her hair had been combed and set. Rosy cheeks, but the travel had taken some of her strength.

  "Mrs. Duthie, please let me introduce you to Mr. Herman, Alfred's tutor."

  "I am most pleased to meet you." Sophie reached her hand to him and the man bowed to kiss her fingers.

  "I hope your journey wasn't arduous."

  "No more than expected. Travel makes the body weary."

  Wellswar appeared. "Supper is ready to be served."

  "I am sorry to hear about the passing of your husband," Herman said to Sophie, and for a moment, Tristan wondered if Mr. Herman was trying to make a good impression on the mother of his charge. It would perhaps make his life easier.

  "Thank you. It has been a difficult time for us. Alfie is holding up. Children are so resilient, but I do wonder if he fully comprehends the change in his life."

  Still, she made the move to a sumptuous and protected life sound like such an arduous sacrifice. Tristan gritted his teeth as he seated himself at the head of the table. It still seemed wrong sitting in what still felt like his father's seat. Being in Sommerfield brought a certain level of remembrance, which was perhaps why he felt uncomfortable here.

  "Where were you residing previously, Mr. Herman?" Sophie said with a smile. It surprised him how curious and conversational she was. They certainly weren't when they were together, but with this stranger, she was chatting amiably, curious and considerate.

  "I came from Dartmoor, so not that far away in the scheme of things."

  "How romantic. I have always wanted to visit there."

  "You are a romantic," Herman said with a smile, and Tristan felt he had completely lost grip on the conversation. What were they talking about? "It is certainly an inspiring place. I always found it so."

  "A poet, perhaps?" she suggested. Was she flirting?

  "Of a kind, I suppose. My real passion is history." Tristan just about rolled his eyes. Well, it seemed Sophie approved of his choice of tutor. That was something, at least. She couldn't come to complain now.

  Mr. Herman turned his attention to his host and employer. "I understand your family has been residing on this land for a long time."

  "Around four hundred years. Back to when Edward the third reigned."

  "A golden era," Herman said.

  The soup course was served. Something creamy with fish.
The flavors mingled on his tongue. The food was better in Sommerfield, fresher and flavorful. Everything was caught or slaughtered right on the estate. In London, he honestly didn't know where the food came from.

  "This is delicious," Sophie said.

  Well, her incarceration here had an upside then, he thought. Perhaps those beliefs about their paltry and precarious life in Holborn was starting to dissipate. "The house has an extensive kitchen garden, so everything is perfectly fresh."

  Sophie smiled quickly, then took another spoonful of soup. She held the spoon daintily. The correct manners were there; she had been trained as a child. Although she hadn't even had a dining room for the last six years. Seemed she could draw out the right manners when she needed to.

  "There is also a music room, but I am sure the instruments need some attention," Tristan said.

  "I can tune them," Sophie offered. Tristan hadn't intended for her to offer, but he didn't really have a reason to say no. Still, not normally a task asked of guests.

  "Mrs. Duthie's husband was a musician." He couldn't quite bring himself to say he worked in a music shop. It was still difficult to marry her life with her husband to her new role as mother of the future lord of this house.

  "Alfie's education had included some musical practice. Do you teach music, Mr. Herman?"

  "No, I'm afraid not. Never was much inclined."

  Sophie's smile didn't falter, but Tristan felt it as an indictment from her—a thing he had done wrong. "I am sure we can find someone in the district to continue his musical education," Tristan said wryly.

  Sophie's eyes shifted to him and then back to Mr. Herman. "Alfie would appreciate that."

  No child ever appreciated music lessons, but Sophie was trying to keep a semblance of Alfie's old life. Again, Tristan tried not to feel offended. The way Sophie portrayed it, Doug Duthie was just short of a saint, who was at that very moment singing in Heaven's choir.