The Discarded Wife

by Camille Oster

  Roast pork was the main course and Tristan had to admit it melted in his mouth. The pleasure was clear on Sophie's face too. Surely now she could not claim any preference for her life in Holborn. This was divine. Tristan wasn't sure he'd ever enjoyed his supper so much. Maybe also the weariness from the travel made him feel languid and wistful.

  There had been some profound shifts in his own life too that made him plaintive. He had a son, and it had a more profound impact on him than he'd expected. The boy looked so much like him and being in his presence brought back all injuries and hopes from his own childhood.

  And then there was Sophie, with whom he could only say his relationship was tentative. She certainly wasn't the quiet and retiring creature he'd known during their marriage. She was something else entirely. More forthright as he’d expected, but in so many ways she was nothing like he'd expected. Her interests were not that of her brother’s. If that was because she had never been in league with her brother, or simply that motherhood had changed her, he simply didn't know. One couldn't trust what people said about these things, but her actions revealed her character more and more. That she was stubborn was beyond a doubt. She bent for nothing unless she absolutely had to—except for her son, and also her brother.

  That was a problem. Tristan feared Oliver Bancroft's influence on Alfie. The man had no scruples and could lead Alfie into all sorts of trouble if not guarded against. Where Sophie stood was still to be determined, but she had certainly run to her brother's rescue when he'd needed it.

  Chapter 21

  SOPHIE'S ROOM WAS LARGE and comfortable. The bed was perfect and she slept like she hadn't for a while. Coming here truly had a calming effect on her—perhaps because she knew what she faced now. This was where they would live, and it really was wonderful.

  The gardens were beautiful, the plants all old and established, and well maintained. There were parkland and a pond. A well-stocked library, and she even had her own salon.

  In the last few days, that cloying nervousness inside her was starting to loosen its grip. It had been there for a long time, since long before Doug had died.

  The tension of Lord Aberley's appearance had only caused her more distress, but here, finally, she felt as though she could lay her weapons down a little. That Alfie was happy made it so much easier to feel at ease. He loved everything about Sommerfield Hall and explored every part of it. Mr. Herman was an excellent tutor and Alfie looked forward to the lessons.

  There was nothing Sophie needed to fight. The tension was still there with Lord Aberley, but it relented when out of his presence. In a way, it felt a little like they were competing for the same prize, which was a ludicrous notion. He was just such a disagreeable man; it was part of who he was.

  She only saw him as they dined in the evenings. Needing to tend to the estate, which apparently he had neglected quite shockingly, he was gone most of the days.

  For the first time in years, Sophie had time on her hands. When Alfie had his lessons with Mr. Herman, she wasn't needed for anything. Even the domestic duties of the house were not hers to deal with. She was a guest, not the mistress of the house. This meant she didn't really have anything pressing on her.

  Mostly, she spent her time in the library or tuning the instruments in the music room, which included a harpsichord rather than a piano. It could well be that pianos hadn't been invented when this room was last used. It was both interesting and informative trying to tune a harpsichord.

  All instruments were of excellent quality even though most were old. A few had to be discarded due to damage from the years. The sheet music was brittle and faded with time.

  Perhaps she needed to speak to Lord Aberley about a piano, but her insides strived against accepting his assistance, or in any way asking for it.

  Lord Aberley didn't like her clothes and she understood that they were jarringly out of place here, but accepting his help again made her feel indebted, even if she would never earn the money to acquire the kind of clothes he wanted her to wear.

  Pulling on her woolen shawl, she walked out of the house toward the garden. The ground was soft from recent rains. Over to the right was the more practical part of the estate where the barns, stables and farming equipment was. The estate had extensive lands. She understood that a farm overseer had an office there. In fact, the village not so far away was part of the estate too.

  It was hard to think this was all going to be Alfie's one day. It seemed outlandish, and the idea of it still made her nervous—but saying that, he could be an old man by the time that happened. Lord Aberley was a strong, healthy man, who could live for a very long time.

  In fact, she saw him over by the farmyard, dealing with a man she assumed was the overseer. They were surveying something in a sack, lifting the material up and letting it pour down. Seeds perhaps, or wheat. Farming and anything to do with it was far out of her realm of experience.

  Lord Aberley was talking and they checked another bag. She'd never actually seen him do anything before. This was a whole side to him that she had never seen before, the estate manager who cared about things such as seeds and crops. For such a long time, he had been this brooding wall of disapproval and negativity.

  In a sense, they had nothing to be at odds about now, except perhaps details about how Alfie was taught or treated. Their lives would be comfortable here. Lord Aberley would return to London to deal with whatever he did there, and they would remain here. Alfie being educated and her being an eternal guest.

  At least Mr. Herman was very cordial. They might even continue to dine together once Lord Aberley departed.

  *

  On the floor of Sophie's salon, Alfie was drawing on a piece of paper. A large house and figures of himself and her, then Lord Aberley and Mr. Herman. Sophie couldn't readily tell which was which from the drawings. This was perhaps how Alfie saw his new world. A spear of sadness shot through her, because Doug wasn't there. He might even fade from Alfie's memories completely.

  In a way, it felt right to release Doug, belonging to a chapter of her life—one she would treasure. Maybe she had been trying to hold onto it for a while longer, and that was partially why she had fought so hard to keep Lord Aberley away from them. The other reasons were still true. She did fear Alfie becoming like him.

  There was something so very contained about Lord Aberley. It would be a stretch to say he was comfortable around Alfie, or anyone else for that matter. It seemed a lonely existence, one invested in keeping people at arm's length. But perhaps she had it wrong and he had a multitude of friends she had never seen, and the most active and rewarding social life. Coming here, though, there had not been any invitations sent out to people in the area, and none had arrived. From what she understood, though, his life had predominantly been in London, so it was perhaps not surprising.

  Sophie had still to introduce herself to the vicar. When Lord Aberley had departed, she would invite him to tea. Mr. Herman would, of course, be welcome as well. They were both new arrivals into the district, and this was to be their home for years to come.

  The door to the salon opened sharply and Lord Aberley stepped in. It was usual that he sought her, and Sophie wondered what had brought him here.

  "There you are," he said, looking down at Alfie. "I have something for you."

  "For me?" Alfie said, delight lighting up his features.

  "Come."

  Alfie rose and followed Aberley out of the room. Putting aside her book, Sophie followed. Aberley was leading them down the main stairs and out the front, before continuing to the farmyard, where a small horse stood.

  "This is Artex," Aberley said and stopped by the stable lad who held the reins. "He is a Dartmoor Pony, and he is yours."

  "Mine?" Alfie said with astonishment. He was a little too scared to approach. Horses were always something to stay clear of in his experience—taught from an early age to stay as far away from their hooves and legs.

  "You must treat him well and learn to ride him. Ponies need
exercise or they become stale and lame."

  The pony had a brown coat and black mane and legs. He was quite small, but still taller than Alfie. Slowly he approached and the curious pony leaned to smell his outreached hand.

  "He is also six years old," Aberley continued. "Same as you. We have a saddle. Do you wish to ride him?"

  Alfie's enthusiasm was clear, but it outstripped his experience.

  "I'm afraid Alfie has never ridden a horse," Sophie said. She should have brought her shawl, but she hadn't expected them to go outside. She hadn't expected Aberley to go buy a pony. In the realm of gentlemen, riding was a requirement, so perhaps she shouldn't be surprised.

  "Then today you will start. Is the saddle ready?" Aberley asked the stable lad, who handed over the reins to go retrieve it.

  Nervousness gripped Sophie's insides. Riding wasn't something she had any experience with either and she worried about Alfie falling off. But she guessed that learning to ride was best done on a pony.

  The lad returned with the small saddle and proceeded to saddle the horse.

  "These are the stirrups," Aberley said. Alfie wasn't able to reach them, so Aberley simply lifted him up in the saddle. "We'll have to find you a stool, I think."

  Alfie smiled proudly as he sat in the saddle and tried to get his feet in the stirrups. The stable lad led him around, the pony moving its stout legs.

  "That's it," Aberley called. "You hold on with your legs. Grip the side of the horse."

  Alfie actually gripped the saddle with his hands. Sophie could tell he was scared, but also excited. This was nothing but an adventure for him. And if he knew how to ride, this whole estate would be his playground. He was so young, though. It felt like only yesterday he was little more than a toddler.

  "It is a lovely pony," Sophie said, noting it wasn't skittish. She didn't know what else to say. In a way, it felt like too large and extravagant a gift, but Aberley wasn't some stranger giving a gift to the boy—he was Alfie's father and had every right to give him a pony. Besides, learning to ride had very practical purposes, even if she struggled receiving any of his generosity.

  "Yes," Aberley said, turning to her. "You are, of course, welcome to use any horse here, if you wish."

  "I think I will keep my feet on the ground."

  "It can be very isolating if one doesn't know how to ride. You should reconsider. Perhaps learn to ride at the same time as Alfred."

  There was merit to his point. She would perhaps be happier if she had some mobility, but she could learn to drive instead. Something inside her strived against Aberley seeing her complete lack of skill in either department. For as much as she decried his coldness and distance, he was an eminently capable man.

  Chapter 22

  THERE WERE THINGS TO SEE to around the estate, things that were put off and ignored when they were simply too complicated to sort without him there. A bridge across one of the streams needed attention. It wasn't as stable as it used to be, and it was only a matter of time before it collapsed. No one around here had the skills to deal with the issue. It actually needed an engineer to come and assess what needed to be done—which was an expense the farm manager was uncomfortable permitting, and he also saw it as out of his responsibility.

  Now that Tristan was here, he could get on and deal with it, requesting an engineer to come visit from Bournemouth.

  There were also farming practices to update. Improving seed quality, livestock health and soil management.

  Footsteps sounded behind him and he turned to see Alfie with a carrot in his hand. Tristan smiled. "Come to give that to Artex?"

  "Mr. Herman says that horses like carrots."

  "Everybody likes carrots."

  The look on Alfie's face showed he didn't agree. "Mum says that carrots make you strong."

  "Perhaps she is right. Horses like them, after all, and they are strong." Alfie seemed to accept this. "This way," Tristan said and led Alfie to the stable, walking into the comforting smell of hay. As a boy, he'd loved the stables. It had felt a little like a refuge. "Artex is over here, but his mouth is on the other side of the stall, so you have to go there. But you don't have any experience with horses and don't know how to read them." Large eyes were looking up at him. "Sometimes they don't want to be disturbed and you need to respect that, or there will be consequences. Do you understand?"

  Alfie nodded.

  "Best to touch them lightly on the rump so they know you're there. If they move aside for you, they are inviting you to come visit. It also pays to be loud as you approach. They don't like surprises. Never a good idea to surprise a horse, because they kick."

  Running his hand along the pony's rump, the beast moved aside. Tristan had picked this pony because it was good-natured and used to children. "Now you can go and give him the carrot, but don't stick your fingers in its mouth. They are not good at telling the difference."

  The boy was nervous as he approached. He was still brave, though. Willing to face down his fear.

  "They're quite happy to eat the tops too."

  Alfie emerged out of the stall again.

  "You should give him a carrot every day. Then he will look forward to seeing you."

  "They like apples too."

  "They never say no to an apple."

  Tristan walked out of the stable and the boy kept pace, following him as he walked into the tack room and grabbed his saddle. In fact, Alfie was seemingly studying everything he did. "I have to ride down to the bridge over to the west."

  "Can me and Artex come?"

  Tristan paused and considered what to say. "It's a long ride." Taking the boy would slow things down considerably, but the child was following him around like a puppy. A good ride was the best way to get him used to a saddle. "Your backside will be sore. I am telling you now, so you can't complain about it later." That didn't seem to deter the boy, who seemed more and more eager. It hadn't been Tristan's plan to bring a child along, but the eagerness of the boy's face made it hard to say no.

  His father would have said no, not wanting a child to intrude and disrupt. Was that the kind of relationship Tristan wanted with his son? It wasn't that great a hassle to slow down and bring the boy. He was, after all, going to leave the estate soon and wouldn't see the child for a while.

  "Guess you had better learn how to saddle a horse, then. Can you carry that saddle?"

  Alfie walked over and lifted up Artex's saddle. It looked large for the little boy, but he managed. Obviously, he had no idea how to saddle a horse, but his enthusiasm wasn't discouraged for such paltry practicalities. Tristan had to show him and the boy watched everything. Tristan wasn't sure he'd had such an attentive audience before.

  The boy still had to be lifted up in the saddle, but he seemed to have a stable enough seat as he waited for Tristan to mount his horse. They looked utterly mismatched, him on his sixteen-hand horse and the small Dartmoor pony. Artex would diligently follow without much concern, even if Alfie had no idea how to manage him. The boy copied how he took the reins and they set off at a slow pace.

  It was a nice day. The sun was shining and it was warm enough. It had been a very long time since he'd ridden this slowly anywhere. Alfie was led more by Artex than the other way around, but there was time enough for him to learn to manage his mount.

  *

  Sophie was standing outside in her overly simple shawl when they returned. There was nervousness in her features, but she smiled as soon as she saw Alfie.

  "Look, Mummy, I rode all the way across the fields." The pride was evident in his voice. True to his word, the boy hadn't complained, but it was clear from how he shifted that his backside was sore.

  The stable lad came out to receive them and Tristan dismounted. For a moment, Tristan considered if he should let Alfie get down on his own, but something told him not to let that go awry while Sophie was looking, so he lifted Alfie down.

  "Goodnight, Artex," Alfie called as the stable lad led the horses away. The boy ran to Sophie. "Did you see me
riding? I rode all that way."

  Tension rose up Tristan's back, half expecting Sophie to take exception to them riding out for some reason or another. She disapproved of just about everything about him, so probably felt he was taking liberties with Alfie's safety, even as the boy hadn't really been in any peril. It could happen that the horse would have bolted, but it had been unlikely.

  "Go inside and change," Sophie said and stroked her son's hair. Clearly, she wanted a word, and Tristan wondered what form of reprimand she would come at him with.

  "Only one way to learn how to ride," he said, countermanding her before she had a chance to start.

  Her arms were crossed and she had that disapproving line to her lips, but then she smiled weakly. "You have become very meaningful to Alfie," she said.

  That was not exactly the reprimand he expected, but it was hard to argue. The boy was practically following him around. There was a certain admiration, which Tristan was just now discovering. Perhaps not surprising as he was the boy's father. Still, in a way, he hadn't expected the boy's interest in him.

  Right now, though, he didn't quite know how to respond. "Perhaps that is inevitable." There was still a large question he had to answer in terms of what kind of father he wanted to be. It was a decision he hadn't really foreseen either. His own upbringing didn't need to be the model for how the boy was raised. It was the upbringing Sophie feared so much. Originally he took her reticence as an insult, but it was now clear that the boy wanted to spend time with him, wanted his approval.

  The boy's presence and eagerness were uncovering more injuries and longings Tristan had forgotten about. He too had longed for his father's approval and had never quite received it. What would it have meant to him if he'd had it? A part of him had always thought his upbringing had made him strong. But it had also made him cold and distant, and there was no point arguing that. It wasn't simply Sophie and the way she and her brother had abused him that had made him so—and she knew it.