Derek nodded. “The fact that you care about what they think proves that. You care,” he enunciated. “People who care are not without feeling, without compassion. However, that does not mean that we are all equally able to endear ourselves to others. Believe me, I myself am a rather reticent man.”
A warm smile lit up her face. “You’ve said quite a lot tonight,” she observed, the tone in her voice teasing.
“It was an unusual night,” Derek replied, reluctant to release her hands, but knowing he ought to. “Get some sleep. You must be exhausted.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, allowing her hands to slip from his. And yet, Derek thought to see a touch of regret in those dark green eyes.
“Good night.” Turning to the door, Derek felt himself breathe easier than ever before, and he realised how much the strained relationship to his wife had bothered him. He could only hope that the future would see them happier.
“Wait!”
Stopping with his hand on the door handle, Derek looked over his shoulder, his heart tightening as he saw renewed tension on his wife’s face.
“What should I do?” she asked as she strode toward him, wringing her hands. “I don’t know how to prove them wrong. I don’t know?”
“Meet them with an open mind,” Derek said, nodding to her encouragingly, wondering if he ought to make more specific suggestions. However, judging from the distraught look on her face, he thought she might be grateful for every bit of advice he could offer and not see it as criticism or even an insult. “Maybe you should start by dressing more…comfortably.” For a moment, Derek held his breath, knowing that ladies of the ton were very particular when it came to their wardrobe.
However, his wife nodded eagerly. “I’ve thought of that, too. Maybe Kara can help me.”
“I’m certain she would be delighted to,” Derek replied, his gaze seeking hers. “Everybody likes to be of help.”
As understanding found her, her eyes lit up and she nodded.
“Why did you bring me lunch today?”
Holding his gaze, she swallowed as though embarrassed to reveal the truth. “Because I wanted to help, and I couldn’t think of anything else.”
Derek smiled. “Then let them see it, too. Once they do, they will be more open to seeing the person you are and not the person they believe you to be.”
For a moment, her brows drew down in confusion before they suddenly shot up, and he could see that she had understood him.
“Good night, Madeline,” he whispered, turning back to the door. For a reason, he could not name, he had felt compelled to use her name, to feel it on his tongue and hear it spoken out loud. Maybe this shared moment had truly brought them closer, and using her given name was merely an expression of how it had made him feel.
How indeed?
He could not say.
And yet, his heart felt lighter, warmer and full of excitement for the days ahead.
As he closed the door behind him, he heard the faint sound of her voice, whispering, “Good night…Derek,” and for a moment after he had stepped out into the hall, he closed his eyes and leaned back against the hard wood of the closed door, wishing with all his being that his eyes and his heart had not deceived him.
That she had come to care for her life at Huntington House.
For his family.
For him.
Chapter Twenty-One ? A Night in the Stables
“Madeline, get up!”
Rolling over in her bed, Madeline tried to ignore the rather insistent voice whispering into her ear. Her limbs still felt heavy, and sleep clung to every fibre of her being.
“Madeline, get up!”
This time Madeline recognised the voice as her husband’s, and her senses immediately flared into wakefulness at the thought of him in her bedroom. Surging up from the comfort of her pillow, Madeline pulled the blanket tightly around her, wondering if she had overslept again. However, as she glanced toward the window, she could not detect a single ray of dim daylight. “What’s going on?” she croaked, her voice heavy with sleep as she turned to see her husband standing by her bed. “Why did you wake me?”
A sense of urgency rested on his features as he tossed a ball of clothes at her. “Put these on,” he instructed before he leaned down and set on old pair of worn boots by the side of her bed. “These are Kara’s. I hope they fit.”
“What? Why?” Brushing the sleep from her eyes, Madeline gawked at him.
“I need your help,” was all he said as he strode to the door. “Meet me in the stables as soon as you can.” And then he was gone, his thundering footsteps echoing down the stairs.
I need your help.
Those words echoed in Madeline’s sleep-deprived mind and finally managed to lift the veil of detachedness that usually clung to her after waking too early. Pulling apart the ball of clothes he had tossed at her, she found they were a worn, old shirt as well as a pair of breeches. Frowning, Madeline stared at them before she remembered that she needed to hurry.
Why? She could not say. However, the urgent and somewhat tense look on her husband’s face remained with her as she slipped into the unfamiliar clothes. Never had she worn a man’s breeches before, and she had to tie a string around her waist to hold them up. Pulling on Kara’s boots, Madeline sighed in relief when her feet settled comfortably into the worn leather.
I need your help.
No one had ever needed her help before. At least not in the way her husband had spoken. Whatever was going on, it had him deeply concerned, and Madeline did not know if she ought to feel flattered that he would ask for her help before anyone else’s or feel terrified at the thought of disappointing him, of letting him down when he truly needed her.
Rushing down the stairs, Madeline did her best to keep her thundering pulse under control. It would serve no one if she fainted now. Although she had never fainted in her life, it was something attributed to ladies of the ton. Something accepted. Something natural, like adding sugar to one’s tea.
Shaking her head, Madeline wondered how such an expectation had ever developed. Why were ladies seen as so weak that they would faint at the sight of blood or distress or excitement? Why was it that they did not object to being seen like that?
As the cold night air hit her, Madeline wrapped her arms around herself and pushed onward. The wind pulled on her, making every step a struggle as she headed toward the stable, a dim light glowing within.
Pulling open the door, she slipped inside, sighing at the warmth that engulfed her, and quickly pulled the door back closed. As her gaze shifted around her surroundings, she took note of the different animals all settled into one outbuilding as there were not enough of them to warrant maintaining more. The smell of hay drifted to her nose as she made her way down the aisle, her gaze gliding over a fat pig resting in the straw, a bunch of piglets at her side.
“Madeline! Over here!”
At her husband’s voice, Madeline hurried to the back of the small stable where the farm horse Milly had her home.
Snuggled into the last box, Milly had often greeted her and Collin when the boy had dragged her to the stables yet another time, drawn to the chestnut mare with the kind, dark eyes. Madeline had to admit that the young horse had grown on her over time. She was nothing compared to the fine steeds Madeline used to ride through Hyde Park or out on her father’s country estate, but there was a spirit in Milly that demanded respect. After all, she lived a hard life…and she did it well.
As the door to Milly’s box was open, Madeline rushed inside…and stopped short.
With her head bent, Milly stood by the far wall, her legs trembling, as Derek gently brushed a hand over her heaving flanks, whispering words of comfort.
Although Madeline had never witnessed a foal coming into the world, she would have had to be a dimwit to not see the signs that the mare was in trouble. Something was wrong. Something was not going as it ought to.
Milly was in danger.
As was her foal.