The Discarded Wife

by Camille Oster

  Alfie lingered for a bit.

  Sophie turned to him as she sat down at her dressing table. "What do you think if tomorrow, I start learning how to ride?"

  A smile brightened his face. Apparently facing her fears and putting her body at risk was all it took to finally alleviate his concern.

  "We can ride together."

  "Absolutely. Do you think Aberley can get me a pony too?"

  "No, you need a horse." Of course, she did. A big horse, and a very long fall.

  "Now, off you go."

  Turning back to the mirror, Sophie considered herself. She felt as if she'd been holding her breath. Tension sat like claws in her shoulders. It had been such a long, strange day and time was running out for her to dress. Not to mention she had three dresses coming, which she hadn't intended on buying—correction, Aberley had bought, because her dresses were more revealing than she had imagined. Further nervousness clenched her stomach.

  With shaky fingers, she smoothed her hair.

  Walking down the stairs, Sophie clutched her shawl around her shoulders, ensuring it covered her sufficiently. With a tight smile, she walked into the salon, where Aberley and Lady Woolwich were sitting.

  "There she is," Lady Woolwich said. "I was just telling Tristan we had such a lovely day in Bournemouth."

  "Yes, of course," Sophie said, sitting down on the edge of the sofa seat. Her typical sherry was handed to her by Wellswar and she gratefully sipped it.

  "We got Sophie some absolutely gorgeous dresses."

  Sophie felt herself internally cringing, uncomfortable with the idea that Aberley had just bought her dresses. What did that mean? Did she now have to be grateful, and would that be misconstrued? Everything was so awkward now.

  Lady Woolwich was watching them intently, and neither her or Aberley were looking at each other, or in any way interacting. Sophie simply couldn't bring herself to look in his direction, or note the dark breeches he had changed into. Dark colors suited him. It made his cool, pale eyes even more noticeable.

  "They are to be delivered in a week, I understand," Lady Woolwich continued when no one else spoke. "Although I'm not entirely sure I will be here to see them arrive."

  "Oh, you might be leaving?" Tristan asked. "That would be a shame."

  "As much as I like staying here, I can't stay forever, can I?"

  The idea of Lady Woolwich leaving felt a little like the carpet being yanked out from under Sophie's feet. If she left, it would be only her and Aberley here, day after day. Lady Woolwich was their buffer. "Your company has been such a pleasure."

  "Yes, I would like to think we have become friends," the woman said with a bright smile, until her attention was stolen away by Wellswar coming to tell them they were ready to serve.

  "After you," Tristan said and waited for her to walk ahead of him, fully aware of his presence behind her as she walked into the dining room and took her seat. When sitting, she smiled and rechecked her shawl to ensure it still covered her. She would never be able to feel comfortable in her dresses, and prayed for her new ones to arrive early. How often had she been displaying herself in front of him? And the time she got caught in the rain. Mortification crawled up her back.

  The soup was served.

  "Could you pass the salt?" Tristan asked and Sophie noted the salt bowl was on her side of the table.

  "Of course," she said and leaned forward to grab it, handing it to him. Their fingers touched slightly, and sensation trickled up her arm.

  "Winters you really should spend in London," Mrs. Woolwich said. Sophie had no idea what to say as her attention travelled between them, Lady Woolwich seemed to imply both of them. "I understand the theater season will be superior this year. Do you like going to the theatre?" Her attention was definitely on Sophie now.

  "Yes. We used to go to concerts when possible."

  "The Philharmonic, of course. You like music, don't you, Tristan?"

  "I am not opposed to music."

  "Then we should plan to go together this winter."

  "I'm not sure we intend to… " Sophie started.

  "Of course you must come. This house will be much too cold and drafty in winter, won't it, Tristan?"

  "It does get cold," he said, his discomfort apparent. "You are, of course, welcome to spend the coldest months at the townhouse in London."

  Her smile might be more of a grimace, because Sophie wasn't sure how to react. Them wintering in London had never been mentioned and Sophie didn't know what to say.

  "I can introduce you in London's best parlors," Lady Woolwich continued.

  "I don't think that's a good idea. Things are very complicated," Sophie replied. She was still a divorcee, who was ejected from her marriage within months, and that was without considering her more humble background to begin with. The last thing she wanted was to be introduced around London's parlors.

  "I don't think Sophie is that socially inclined," Tristan said. Was he defending her? Or was it that he was embarrassed of her? Uncertainty and confusion flared in her mind. "Unless, of course, you want to."

  They were all saying 'of course' too much. "No, I have no wish to be known in those circles."

  "Oh, I think they know of you," Lady Woolwich said with a snort. Sophie's attention turned to her, and so did Tristan's. "All his friends and enemies are aware of the situation. Well, mostly enemies. I am sure you are aware that his friends are few and far between."

  The plastered smile didn't budge from Sophie's face, even as she had no idea how to react to this. Technically, she was one of those enemies. But were they enemies now? Everything about them was uncertain. And also, it seemed all of his society were aware of this curious situation. Renewed nervousness clenched her stomach. They were not the kind of people she wanted to be known to.

  "Is everything alright with Alfie? He seemed a little anxious today," Lady Woolwich continued, mercifully changing the subjection.

  "Yes. He was a bit disconcerted." Sophie blushed, ashamed that their dealings had affected their child. It was unconscionable that she had been so distracted and determined that she hadn't been aware. "I had to promise him I would learn to ride with him tomorrow."

  "I will teach you, if you'd like," Tristan said, and Sophie turned to him.

  "I will completely understand if it would be inconvenient for you, but I would appreciate if you can lend me one of your horses. Preferably on the smaller side."

  "I will buy you a horse."

  Sophie blinked. "No, that is unnecessary, I'm sure."

  "It's no bother, and I would be happy to teach you."

  "I couldn't impose."

  "No imposition at all."

  Lady Woolwich was watching the exchange intently. No one could escape how awkward they were around each other, but she couldn't help it, and neither could he, it seemed. "Splendid," she finally said. "That settles it. Important plans for tomorrow. Tristan will make a splendid teacher. Under his careful tutelage, I am sure you will be savvy in the saddle in no time."

  A blush roared up Sophie’s cheeks, unsure if Lady Woolwich had meant the double entendre. She tried to smile. How had she managed to talk herself into agreeing for him to teach her how to ride?

  Chapter 36

  THE INSIDE OF THE TACK room smelled like oil as Tristan pulled down the side saddle. It hadn't been used in decades, but it was well oiled and well maintained, as were all saddles new and old. With it balanced over his forearm, he grabbed a whip and saddle blanket off the wall as well.

  None of his horses had recently been ridden by female riders, but they weren't going to do more than get her used to the saddle. Horses did tend to get used to it, so maybe they would train the horse at the same time.

  "Bring Tempest," he told the stable lad, who returned into the stable to bring out the chosen horse.

  The hoof steps were heard before the horse appeared in the stable doorway, one of the smaller horses in the stable, with a lovely red coat. This had been his sister's horse some time ago.


  Placing the blanket and saddle on her back, Tristan tightened the girth. Sophie appeared nervously behind him, wearing one of her typical dresses underneath her jacket. Her eyes were large and her cheeks rosy as she smiled awkwardly. "On second thought, this might not be my best idea."

  "Nonsense. It will give you a sense of freedom like no other. You could go anywhere on the estate. We'll only sit and walk today. Won't even leave the enclosure."

  A look of relief softened her features. What did she expect—that he would send her galloping across the lawn?

  Tentatively, she took a step forward, clearly having no idea what to do. Well, she was born and raised in the city, and had probably never been on a horse.

  "Perhaps say hello to the horse first," he suggested and she looked at him questioningly. "Pat it's neck maybe, for her to take note that you intend no harm."

  "Right, a she."

  "Tempest. The name is deceiving. She is very mellow. An elderly lady, if you will."

  "Right," Sophie repeated again.

  "Where is Alfie?"

  "He is having tea with Lady Woolwich," Sophie said. "She insisted."

  Clearly Minette wanted them to spend this time together, and as much as he wanted to deny it, he did too. It was nice when they spent time together and weren't screaming at each other. Which brought to question what he actually wanted, and he struggled to answer. He was stuck in a sort of limbo. He couldn't leave; he couldn't stay. There was intense discomfort either way, but he didn't appreciate Minette threatening to leave, because it felt like they needed an intermediary.

  Gently, Sophie moved over to stroke the horse. Slim, pale fingers stroked down the coat. Sophie's nervousness was clear and she jerked slightly when Tempest flared her head.

  "Now that introductions have been made, you better step up on the mounting block. You need to sit sideways on the saddle before maneuvering around the pommels."

  She took his offered hand as she stepped up and heat from her hand seeped into his. With his hands on her hips, he helped her lift up onto the saddle. Her skirt was not made for riding. "Lift your right leg over the top pommel." There was no way of doing this without adjusting her skirt and the white, soft cotton of her chemise around the pommels. Then her right leg into place in the stirrup. His hand at her slim ankle, her lean expanse of leg showed before he could right the skirt to cover both her and the pommel.

  Taking a deep breath, he stepped away. Everything felt a little safer if he wasn't touching her lovely legs. "Alright," he said, trying to gather his thoughts. "You hold the whip in your right hand."

  "I don't think I can bring myself to whip an animal."

  For a moment, he blinked in confusion. "No, you use it in lieu of your other leg, to inform the horse where what you want to go by touching it to its side."

  "Oh, I see," she said.

  "Contrary to what you believe, I am not a monster that whips defenseless animals."

  Color deepened on her cheeks. "I didn't mean to imply…" she said, drifting off.

  "Now the reins, they come in to rest on your pinkies, then out across the top of your forefingers. Your grip and your thumbs hold them." He maneuvered her fingers around the reins to a proper grip. "It gives the best control, but your legs are more for telling the horse what you want. Leg and whip in your case. Pull back on the horse and she should stop. Gently. A horse's mouth is sensitive."

  Now she was ready and he slowly led the horse around the enclosure. They walked in silence and he very much felt like he was leading her. For a moment all fell away and they were simply walking, a man and a woman going somewhere they needed to. That deep sense of satisfaction returned. It felt as if all was as it should be.

  They walked in silence for around twenty minutes, then it was probably enough for one day. Not used to riding, her backside would probably be sore. And truly, he wasn't sure he could take any more of her body gently moving with the steps of the horse. It brought things to mind that probably shouldn't be.

  Stopping the horse he stepped over to her. "Enough for one day?"

  She nodded. With his hands, he helped her out of the pommel holds until she was sitting sideways on the horse again. Perhaps they should have done this close to where the mounting block was, but that wasn't where they'd stopped.

  With his hands on her hips, he helped her down, feeling an urge to pull her to him. Her hands were on his shoulders. Did she know this was torture for him?

  "Thank you for spending time teaching me how to ride. It is very kind."

  It didn't feel kind; it felt selfish. He was using this an excuse to… impress her? Did he want to impress her? Yes, he'd wanted to impress her for quite a while—with his power, with his abilities and with his suitability as a father.

  He should say something now, something clever and skillful, but nothing was coming out now that he had her here, practically in his arms, with her looking up at him intently. How could it be so impossibly awkward to kiss a woman? He was a man of the world, a man who was more capable than most at the bulk of the things he did, but he couldn't bring himself to kiss a woman, who had stood at the altar and said she would love and cherish him for the rest of his life—a woman who had borne him a child.

  "I believe it will start raining soon," she said, stepping away from the horse and from him. The material of her skirt slipped out of his fingers. "Perhaps we will have to think of some games in the parlor."

  As she moved away, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. There was no going back now. There could only be full steam ahead. His lips sought hers, sought the softness of her. A small gasp gave him access and he savored her, the taste of her suffusing his mind as his eyes drifted shut. His arms slid around her back and drew her in as he had wanted.

  She didn't fight him as he deepened the kiss, explored the warmth of her. Every part of his body paid attention, tensed at the impossibly delicate kiss. He couldn't breathe, but he didn't need air—he needed her. Soft breasts pressed to his chest, and he deepened the kiss even more. In fact, he wasn't sure he had ever kissed anyone like this, taking as much as he could, consuming all of her. The kiss wasn’t so delicate anymore, and it seemed to last forever, because there would be awkwardness and probably recriminations when it was over. Within the kiss, they were safe, they were united. They were one.

  Drawing breath, he let the kiss end, his eyes still closed as he rested his forehead to hers. He wanted more—he wanted everything. It wasn't perhaps a surprise to her, but he had acted on it. A slap might sting his cheek in a minute, but it would be worth it. It was a stolen kiss, but he could never bring himself to regret it.

  "Oh," was all she said. Her wrist was still in his hand and she gently pulled away. When he finally opened his eyes, hers were large and searching his. What could he say—how could she be surprised? The desire for this kiss had twisted his gut for a while now, and it had been everything he'd hoped for. If it had been for her, he had no idea. He wouldn't have a clue what raced through her mind right now.

  In fact, she looked a bit stunned. Was this a surprise? Had she not expected this would be a possibility after he'd laid his heart out on the table in front of her?

  Gently, she pulled away from him, pulling out of his reach. Her fingers came to rest at the bottom of her neck and her other arm wrapped around her. She was avoiding his eyes as she took another step back.

  Not perhaps the welcoming reception he'd hoped for, but there had been no slap either. Neither had she hadn't pushed him away, had instead let the kiss fully unfurl.

  With her back turned to him, she walked back to the house.

  Chapter 37

  AGAIN SOPHIE STOOD behind her bedroom door with her fingers pressed to her lips. She could still feel the pressure of the kiss. It had been glorious, and she hadn't done a single thing to stop it.

  Emotions were crashing through her. She'd just stood there and let it unfold—she'd participated. Granted, it had been so very long since she'd kissed someone like that, with such passio
n. In fact, it probably hadn't happened before.

  But what had it meant and by participating, was she promising things she didn't intend to? Neither of them had spoken of any form of promises at all. It had just been a kiss. An expression of…

  She didn't know how to answer that. He desired her, which could simply be that she was the only woman around—except his dear friend, but then he'd gone to London and been drawn back. By his own words, he'd admitted it.

  What did this mean? The question was posed over and over in her head. What did it mean other than desire? What did he want from her? It clearly wasn't a wife, and he certainly had liked very little about her before this attraction had afflicted him.

  But then he'd also said he'd felt like they were married. What did that mean? Why could this man not explain himself?

  With annoyance, Sophie pushed herself off the door and walked into her room, but she only got so far as her dressing table, where she just got lost in her own thoughts again.

  Physically, the attraction was mutual. There was no denying that. He was a very handsome man, and at one point, she had thought him the most handsome man in the world, but his personality, and also his rather vehement disdain for her, had dampened that attraction. For a long time, he had blamed her for duping him into marriage, had seen it as a major flaw in her character.

  Why would he kiss someone he thought so little of? Why would she kiss someone who thought that of her? Weren't they just as bad as each other?

  A knock sounded at the door and Sophie froze. Was it him? Did he wish to explain, or something else more incomprehensible? Pressing her lips together, she wondered what to do. If she let him in here, would she succumb again—this time in her bedroom, with a convenient bed. A thrill of nervousness shot through her.

  "Mrs. Duthie?" It was Wellswar. Sophie's shoulders sank in relief and she went to answer the door. Wellswar smiled in that awkward way he did, as if it wasn't a natural expression for him. "Lady Woolwich wonders if you would like to join her for tea."