Elsbeth swallowed, her eyes serious as she held Madeline’s gaze. “Is this how you see yourself? Or how you fear he sees you?”
Unable to answer, Madeline turned away, her eyes catching sight of her husband’s tall figure as he carefully balanced on the side of the roof, Elsbeth’s husband by his side. Even from a distance, he looked like a force of nature as though his will alone could move mountains and shape the world to his expectations.
“Did you tell him about Lord Townsend?” her friend asked, stepping up beside Madeline.
“I was about to,” Madeline admitted, “when you arrived last night.”
“Will you try again?”
Madeline shrugged, feeling worn out. Never in her life had she found the simple task of breathing, of going on, so tiring and exhausting and utterly draining.
“Be honest with him, Madeline,” her friend urged. “Even if he suspects nothing of what happened, he might sense that you’re keeping something from him and that will drive you apart.”
Madeline swallowed, shaken at hearing her own thoughts uttered out loud. “He does suspect,” she whispered. “I think he tried to ask, but then changed his mind.”
“Maybe he’s afraid of the answer,” Elsbeth suggested. “How would you feel imagining him with another woman?”
Madeline cringed, unaware how much she had come to think of him as hers. “I’m…afraid he won’t forgive me,” she whispered, her voice choked as she tried to hold her emotions at bay. “I’m afraid he will turn from me and never look back.” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “He slept in the stables last night. He prefers that to my bed.”
Elsbeth sighed, “Once again, you see what you fear to see.” Grasping Madeline by the shoulders, her friend turned her around, Elsbeth’s blue eyes seeking her green ones. “But you don’t know what the reason for his actions is, and you cannot know until you ask him. Maybe he did so out of respect for you,” she suggested, nodding her head encouragingly. “Maybe he thinks that you do not want him, and he respects you too much to force his presence on you. Has that ever occurred to you?”
Madeline shook her head, afraid to allow herself to believe that he thought of her that way.
Because if she did so and it turned out that he did not, it would tear her heart apart.
Chapter Eighteen ? Men at Work
Shifting onto his right foot, Derek drew the hammer from his belt, all the while careful not to lose his footing. Next to him, Elmridge stood, suddenly swaying precariously, his arms stretched out to the sides to regain his balance.
On instinct, Derek bent his knee, leaned forward and reached out. Grasping the man’s arm, he pulled him forward, further onto the roof. “That was close.”
Elmridge exhaled a long breath, a relieved smile on his face. “That it was. Thank you.”
Over the past few days, the two men had fallen into a comfortable routine. As their wives spent most of their time together, quite unconcerned with their respective husbands, the men had turned to one another for company. At first, Derek had wondered if Elmridge’s offer to help had been sincere. However, every morning, the man came down into the kitchen, dressed in his work clothes, a smile on his face and a sense of eager anticipation in his eyes. “It feels good to work with one’s hands,” he had observed on the second day of their visit. “I had forgotten how satisfying it can be.”
At first, their conversation had never strayed from their work or the demands of an estate in general. However, as they continued to work side by side, Derek noticed the occasional comment that could be considered personal. “As a marquess, my father was never one to work with his hands. Of course, considering his position, it was not expected of him. Quite on the contrary, it was expected he delegate the work necessary to be done.” He sighed, “Terrible how expectations define our lives, taking our choices out of our own hands and forcing us down a path that might not lead to anything good.”
Derek stopped, looking at the other man whose words echoed within his own heart. Never would he have expected to find a kindred soul among the men of the ton. And yet, Tristan, his best friend, was a high-born gentleman as well. Were there other so-called gentlemen who entertained thoughts quite like his own? Who felt trapped in the life they had been born into? Who wished that their choices could be easier?
From what he had observed, Derek had to admit that the Marquess and Marchioness of Elmridge were kind and decent people, who showed respect to those who deserved it no matter their station. They were not prejudiced to believe those born without a title to be of lesser value. On the contrary, was it not Derek himself who could not help but feel a general animosity toward the ton, not differentiating who deserved such a sentiment and who did not? Quite possibly he was the one who was prejudiced, and that realisation stung.
Who else had he judged wrongly?
His wife?
Shifting his gaze to the far pond where Madeline and the marchioness were walking side by side, their heads bent toward one another in confidence, Derek wondered about all the many things he did not know about his wife. By now, she no longer appeared as the proud, selfish and rather uncaring person he had once thought her to be. By now, he knew that she, too, often wore a mask to hide her true self.
However, the question remained: who was she at her core?
“My wife insisted on a visit,” Elmridge spoke out next to him, his gaze turned toward the two women as well, “despite…the cold weather. I suggested to wait until the spring, but she would not hear of it.”
Inhaling deeply, Derek listened, suspecting that the marquess was not one to speak idle words, and so he waited, curious to learn what the man wanted to say.
“She has a way of seeing when another soul is in trouble,” he whispered, his voice warm with devotion and admiration, “and she feels compelled to save them.” Shaking his head, he chuckled, “She saved me although I didn’t make it easy for her; she refused to give up on me. She made me a better man.”
Derek swallowed. “Is she still worried?” he asked, feeling a pang of guilt over the fact that the marchioness thought her friend in trouble, and yet, he had to admit to himself that he knew very well that Madeline was far from happy. The only question was -- was that an unchangeable fact? Had he truly ruined her life by marrying her? Or was it within his power to make her happy? Was that what Elmridge was trying to tell him?
“I think she has hope,” the marquess answered, a note of confidence in his voice as he wiped his sleeve over his brow. “She told me that despite her confident exterior Lady Ainsworth is just as afraid to be vulnerable, to be rejected as everyone else. Only she hides it well, but that doesn’t mean it is any less true.”
Surprised, Derek turned to look at Elmridge. “I thank you for your open words,” he said honestly, “and I’m relieved my wife has such a good friend by her side.”
Elmridge nodded then lifted his head to gaze up at the sky after a raindrop fell onto his forehead. “I believe we should finish. Those clouds over there seem far from friendly.”
Derek chuckled while turning to gather his tools, casting another look toward the pond. The two women had disappeared, and his pulse continued to beat at a regular rhythm now that he knew his wife was safe and sound inside.
As they began their way down from the roof, the clouds opened and released a downpour that soaked them through within moments. Keeping a steady grip as they made their way down the ladder, Derek prayed that their repairs would hold.