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.
Once on the ground, he followed Elmridge as they ran around the corner of the house, their long strides carrying them toward the front door. In the dim light, Derek could make out two women standing side by side just inside the foyer, their gesturing hands urging them onward.
As the marquess passed the threshold, his wife welcomed him, wrapping a large blanket around his rain-soaked shoulders. Her face glowed as she smiled at him, gently brushing wet strands off his face. “You look like a drowned cat,” she laughed, hugging him tightly, completely unconcerned with the fact that her own clothes were soaking up more and more water with each moment that she stood in his embrace.
Rubbing his hands together as his body began to shiver, Derek turned his head and found his own wife, a blanket in hand, hesitantly stepping toward him. Her gaze met his, and Derek’s heart soared at the thought of wrapping her in his arms and having her brush his wet hair from his face.
As they stepped toward one another, suddenly strangely shy, he could not keep the smile from his face. Her own mimicked his, and she swung the blanket forward and around him, leaning into him to reach.
Derek could feel her warm breath on his skin, felt her warmth chase away the chill in his bones, and without thinking, he pulled her into his arms.
At his touch, she drew in a sharp breath and her gaze flew up to meet his. Hesitant for a moment, she bit her lower lip, then allowed herself to be drawn deeper into his embrace, her hands holding the blanket now wrapped securely around his shoulders. “You need to change out of these wet clothes,” she whispered, her gaze occasionally fluttering from his as though she did not dare look at him for too long. “Or you’ll catch a cold and will be of no use to us.”
A teasing tone had come to her voice, and Derek could not help but smile. “I could say the same about you,” he pointed out, a large grin on his face as his hands ran over her body, feeling the wet fabric as it clung to her skin.
Madeline swallowed as she looked at him, her gaze now steady, filled with longing and…desire.
Derek’s breath hitched, and when her gaze momentarily dropped to his lips, his arms tightened on her, pulling her closer against him, and his head bent down toward her.
“Shall we inspect our work?” the marquess’ voice tore them out of their shared moment, and they almost jumped apart, their gazes fluttering around the room, looking anywhere but at one another.
“I was about to suggest the same,” Derek replied, clearing his throat. As he gestured toward the large staircase that led to the upper floor, he noticed a slight smirk on both their guests’ faces. No doubt, they were very much aware of the flying sparks that surged through the room whenever he met his wife’s gaze.
As the marquess led his wife upstairs, casting a meaningful look at Derek over his shoulder, Derek held out his arm to his wife. Taking a deep breath, Madeline accepted it, and they proceeded up the stairs, his body very much aware of hers as it occasionally touched his as they moved. He turned to look at her, but she quickly averted her gaze, a slight blush coming to her cheeks that had Derek’s heart hammering in his chest.
“This looks promising,” Elmridge observed as they entered Madeline’s bedchamber, currently occupied by him and his wife. “Do you see it dripping anywhere?” he asked his wife, peering into a jug placed by the window. “This is still dry.”
“This one is, too,” the marchioness declared, open praise in her voice as she turned to her husband. “I had no idea you were so good with your hands.”
He chuckled and once more drew her arm through his. Then he looked at Derek. “I believe this afternoon was well spent. Let’s hope our improvements shall hold until the morning.” He glanced out the window at the darkening sky as sheets of water came pouring down. “They surely will be put to the test this night.”
Derek nodded, a smile on his face. “Indeed, they will be,” he agreed, “however, I have every confidence that our repairs will hold. Thank you for your help. Indeed, it was most fortunate that your wife insisted on a visit.”
The marchioness laughed, “See? I told you it wouldn’t be a mistake.”
Taking their leave, Derek led his wife out of the room and closed the door behind them. “We need to get changed,” he observed, then opened the door to his bedchamber. Glancing back at her, he noticed a sullen expression on her face as her eyes seemed to be looking at nothing. “Is something wrong?”
Startled, as though she had all but forgotten his presence, Madeline looked at him before a forced smile appeared on her face. “I’m fine.”
Frowning, Derek stepped closer, noting the way she backed away, her head lowered. “Tell me,” he insisted, his hand gently grasping her chin and lifting it so her eyes met his once more. “Tell me.”
Inhaling deeply, she swallowed, and he could feel her trying to lower her head. When he would not let her, she finally met his gaze, a touch of wilfulness in her eyes. “It is nothing. Go and change before you catch a cold.” She lifted her hand, trying to dislodge his.
“If you want me to change,” Derek observed, his voice determined as he held her gaze, “then I advise you tell me what’s wrong. Otherwise, we’ll be standing here all night.”
The look in her eyes hardened, a touch of annoyance in them. “It is nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. Tell me.”
She rolled her eyes. “It is silly.”
“I doubt it.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” she said in a breathless voice, a lone tear rolling down her cheek as she once more tried to turn her head away, but to no avail.
As his eyes were locked on her face, Derek saw her hard exterior slowly crumble away, revealing something much more vulnerable underneath. “Try me,” he whispered as his thumb gently brushed away her tear.
For a moment, she closed her eyes before taking a deep, fortifying breath and meeting his once more. “I know I’m a horrible person for thinking so, but…your accomplishments only serve to remind me…that I have none.”
Stunned, Derek stared at her. Whatever he had expected, it had not been that.
Holding his gaze, Madeline slowly removed his hand from her chin, then stepped away. “Go and change,” she whispered, turning down the corridor. “I shall help your mother prepare supper.”
“What about you?” Derek croaked, still shaken by the depth of her self-doubt that he had glimpsed. His gaze moved up and down her body, indicating the wet patches of her dress.
“I shall change later,” she replied, taking another step back…away from him. “The kitchen is warm. I shall be fine.” Then she turned around and walked away.