“Wake up, Louisa. Up, up!” Mama’s voice roused Louisa from a blessed sleep devoid of dreams—and betrothals.
Louisa pulled the blankets over her head.
“The Duchess of Atherton is calling today, and I expect you to join me in entertaining her. You’ve hidden yourself away since Sunday.”
“It’s only Tuesday.”
“That’s not the point. Tibbetts, keep her awake and get her dressed for the day, and send for tea and toast.”
“Yes, milady.”
“One half hour, Louisa, and you had better be downstairs with me.”
Louisa peeked her head out from beneath the blankets to see Mama marching toward the door. “I’d really prefer not to, if you don’t mind, Mama. I don’t feel well at all.”
Mama stopped and turned. “Tibbetts, please leave us.”
“Yes, milady.” Once Tibbetts was gone, Mama sat on the edge of the bed and drew the blankets completely away from Louisa’s face.
“Are you ill?” She laid a hand across Louisa’s forehead. “No fever, at least,” she said. “Shall I call for the doctor? Oh, I wish Mrs. Shaw were here instead of at Ashworth Park. I’m sure she could produce an herbal remedy to help you feel better.”
“I’m not ill, really, but . . . Mama, did you always love Papa?” Louisa asked.
Mama closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. “Ah, I see. I should have known, shouldn’t I? You seemed so sure of your decision and have handled yourself so admirably, I didn’t allow myself to think that perhaps you were merely putting on a brave face. Perhaps I didn’t want to see anything else.” She stroked Louisa’s hair away from her forehead, and Louisa wished she were a young girl again when Mama did such things frequently, as if brushing away all the childhood cares of the day. She turned her cheek to rest against Mama’s palm and closed her eyes. “Did you love Papa back then?” she asked again in a low voice.
“I had a certain regard for him,” she replied, “and that grew into an affection and then into love.”
“Did he love you?”
“Oh, Louisa, such questions! It was years ago.”
“I know nothing about him, Mama.” She meant Viscount Farleigh, not Papa, but Mama would know that.
Mama said nothing, just continued to stroke Louisa’s forehead. “Marriage is a fickle thing, Louisa, especially amongst the noble ranks. A couple can think themselves in love and then grow to despise each other—but the opposite is equally as true. But this is a conversation that needs to occur when we have more time. Visiting with the duchess will do you a world of good. She’s excellent company, as you well know.”
She patted Louisa’s shoulder. “Besides, the duke doesn’t refer to her as The General for nothing. She’s more skilled than Lady Putnam at sifting through gossip, and she’s infinitely more discreet. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she has discerned a thing or two about your Lord Farleigh.”
“He’s not my Lord Farleigh,” Louisa grumbled.
“Nevertheless, we shall welcome the Duchess of Atherton, and we shall see if we come away with any knowledge about your betrothed. For—”
“For it is what the daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Ashworth would do.”
“Precisely. Ah, here is Tibbetts back again, and if my nose does not deceive me, she brought you chocolate rather than the tea I ordered.”
“Begging your pardon, milady—” Tibbetts began, blushing.
“She knows I prefer chocolate to tea, Mama.”
“Enjoy your chocolate, then.” She rose. “I shall be waiting for you downstairs in a half hour’s time. Make sure she eats, Tibbetts. I want her at her very best when we entertain the duchess.”
And so it was that a half hour later, Louisa was dutifully sitting with Mama and the Duchess of Atherton in the dayroom, Mama’s favorite room. It was a cheerful room, decorated in pale pinks and greens, with cozy upholstered sofas and chairs, the sort of chairs one would wish to curl up in with a book on a rainy day—or any day, for that matter.
“I’m so pleased that dear Louisa is with us today, Eleanor,” the duchess said as Mama rang for tea to be served. “Such news! I can hardly wait for you to share the details.” The Duchess of Atherton had come out with Mama, and they had remained close friends over the years.
“Indeed. Ah, John, there you are. Tea, please.”
The footman bowed and left.
“What a surprise for us all to hear the announcement of your betrothal at the Meltons’ assembly last week, Louisa,” the duchess said, not being one to beat around the bush.
Louisa glanced at Mama, unsure how to proceed.
Mama simply returned Louisa’s look with a raised eyebrow and a nod, which, translated, meant, “This is for you to explain, not me.”
Louisa opened her mouth to speak, although what she intended to say, she wasn’t entirely sure—
“Here you are, my dear!” Papa poked his head through the door. “I’ve been looking for you—what ho! We have a guest, I see! Always a pleasure to see you, Your Grace.” He strode across the room and bowed over the duchess’s hand and then gave Mama a kiss on the cheek.
Louisa blinked at the sight. A kiss, even on the cheek, was a highly intimate thing for him to do in front of company, even an old friend such as the duchess. And yet it also warmed Louisa’s heart to see them share their love for each other so openly.
“The combined beauty in this room quite eclipses the sun,” Papa said.
“You’re laying it on thick, Ashworth,” Mama said with twinkling eyes.
He laughed. “Not in the least, my dear, I assure you.”
“I am here to learn all about Louisa’s betrothal to Viscount Farleigh.” Once again, the duchess cut through the small talk to get to the point.
“Ah, yes,” Papa murmured, becoming a bit more serious.
“We had expected an announcement of some sort to be forthcoming, you know, but I daresay we were all caught by surprise.”
“Life does tend to offer its share of surprises, does it not?” Papa glanced over his shoulder as the footman brought in the tea service. “Here is your tea, ladies. I shall, therefore, excuse myself, as this conversation cannot be enhanced by the presence of a lowly male.” He bowed and left.
It appeared to Louisa as if he couldn’t escape quickly enough when he realized what the topic of conversation was to be.
“Milk or lemon, Martha?” Mama asked.
“Milk, please.”
While Mama set about pouring tea, Louisa reflected on what she’d observed about the Duke and Duchess of Atherton over the years.
The duke and duchess’s affection for each other was no pretense, just as her parents’ love for each other was also obvious to her. It should make her feel better to know there were married couples within the highest levels of Society who actually loved each other. Such emotions were often frowned upon and were rarely even considered when brokering marriages—and yet Louisa had always yearned for such a match.
It was utterly discouraging, she thought as she sipped her tea, to think of spending her entire life with an indifferent partner.
“Viscount Farleigh has been on everyone’s tongues the past several days,” the duchess said. She took a small bite of biscuit and chewed thoughtfully. “I vaguely remember his father, the former viscount. I saw him on a few occasions over the years, but we were never introduced.” Her tone implied that the former Viscount Farleigh’s reputation would have prevented him from having any personal connection to the duke and duchess. “Handsome man, when he was younger—” Meaning, he hadn’t aged well. Louisa had spent enough time with Mama in the duchess’s company to infer the real meaning behind what she was saying.
“I was rather hoping, Martha, if I may be so bold . . .” Mama’s words trailed off.
“Yes?” the duchess said before taking a sip of tea.
“Well, Louisa is my only daughter, as you know, and . . .”
The duchess took another bite of biscuit, obviously waiting for Mama to dig herself out of the hole she was making for herself.
“I am not nearly as adept at . . . um . . .” Mama threw her hands in the air and gave up speaking altogether.
“Leave off, Eleanor. I take your meaning and am not insulted in the least. It takes a certain skill and a bit of luck to be privy to idle chatter without actually being called a gossip. It also helps that I’m a duchess, and people seem to think providing me with juicy information is a coup of some sort.”
She dabbed at her chin with her napkin before continuing. “The Earl of Kerridge, whom we all expected Louisa to marry, is the catch of the Season,” the duchess continued. “As rich as Croesus, incredibly handsome, and Aylesham’s heir, to boot. A future duke who isn’t round about the middle and still has all his hair is a rare commodity—and he was Louisa’s for the plucking, from what I saw and heard.” She looked directly at Louisa with gimlet eyes.
How was she to respond? She couldn’t simply blurt out that she’d been won in a wager. No one could know of those circumstances beyond the few who already did, and heaven forbid those few share their knowledge with anyone else. Louisa bit her lip, holding back the words and looking at Mama in panic, passing the responsibility back to her.
Mama cleared her throat. “Sadly, Martha, they ultimately did not suit,” she said rather unconvincingly. Her eyes flickered back toward Louisa as though she knew she’d failed; it would never be enough to satisfy The General.
“‘Did not suit,’ you say? I’m sorry, Eleanor, but you must do better than that.” The duchess set her cup and saucer down with a clatter. “There is no conceivable reason why the two of them wouldn’t suit; in fact, I heard the marriage contracts were very nearly complete. Try again.” She folded her hands in her lap and waited.
Mama actually began wringing her hands. “I don’t know quite what to say. There was a prior . . .” Mama stopped speaking and stood to pace about the room.
Louisa, by contrast, sat frozen in place, a terrifying bubble forming in her chest.
“There was a prior . . . what? A prior understanding with Farleigh? I was given to believe the viscount was nearly a complete stranger before he arrived in Town so recently. But if there was an understanding, why would marriage contracts have been drawn up, and why would you be here hoping I know anything—” Her brows furrowed with confusion. “I’m at a total loss.”
The bubble inside Louisa was pressing against her heart and lungs now until she could barely breathe. And it grew bigger and bigger still until it continued up her throat to her lips—and then it burst. “Lord Farleigh won me in a wager,” Louisa blurted out, then threw her hands over her mouth as if to force the words back inside.
“What?” The duchess’s eyes doubled in size, and she whirled to look at Mama.
Mama collapsed into the nearest sofa as if Louisa’s words had taken her breath away too. She nodded weakly, laying a hand over her eyes.
“Good heavens!” the duchess exclaimed.
“Yes,” Mama replied.
There was nothing for it now that Louisa had spoken the words aloud. “Lord Farleigh won the daughter of the Marquess of Ashworth in a wager. That is to say, the former Lord Farleigh made a wager with my grandfather in which he bet a future daughter of the marquess. The wording was all rather . . . conveniently vague and . . . surprisingly legitimate . . . and suddenly, there I was, not betrothed and then betrothed again, and, and . . .” And Louisa could tell that, once again, she was beginning to babble.
“Oh, my poor girl!” The duchess rose and moved to the chair closest to Louisa, wrapping her in a hug and patting her back over and over again. “It goes without saying, Eleanor, that Louisa’s words won’t leave this room. Oh dear, oh dear.”
“So you see, Martha, why any knowledge you can provide would be a great help. My only daughter is to marry a total stranger, a stranger who descends from an entirely despicable character. And yet, Louisa feels honor bound to do it.”
“Well, I am quite without words for the moment.”
“You would have done the same, I daresay,” Louisa replied. “There is a reason you are called The General. I daresay women are no less honorable than men.”
“Louisa!” Mama exclaimed, aghast.
The duchess waved off Louisa’s comment. “I know very well what I am called. Eleanor, and I’m quite proud of it, actually, considering what other options there may have been. I hope you are right, Louisa, that if I were in a position to make such a difficult choice, I would choose honor over my personal feelings. We’ll never know though, will we?” she said. “Hypotheticals provide little of value, in my opinion. Very well. I daresay I’ve heard nothing as of yet about the son, but the father, well, that’s a different matter altogether . . . I shall tell you what I know about the man and what little I have heard—”
There was a discreet knock on the door, interrupting the duchess, and then John entered once again, this time bearing a salver with a calling card on it. “Lady Putnam and Miss Harriet Putnam to see you, Lady Ashworth,” he said.
The duchess shook her head. “It needed only this. Well, I daresay you’ll hear everything and then some about Lord Farleigh now,” she said.
“Send them in, John,” Mama said with a sigh. “Send them in.”
* * *
Now that the first of the banns had been read, William needed to travel to Farleigh Manor so preparations could be made for the arrival of its future mistress, albeit he’d been reluctant to leave London as of yet.
It was not an exaggeration to say Louisa had been deeply upset by their chance and unfortunate encounter with Lord Kerridge on Sunday. William doubted the Earl of Kerridge would consider Belinda Hughes, a mere “miss,” an appropriate wife for the heir of the Duke of Aylesham; it had been obvious that Louisa had been too upset to come to the same conclusion during their encounter.
He’d left her alone and in peace on Monday as a result, but he couldn’t afford to be away from her side for too long. He needed to call on her this morning before he left Town.
He purchased a single red rose from a flower girl on his way to Ashworth House, approached the front door, and straightened his neckcloth before knocking.
“Good afternoon, Lord Farleigh,” the butler said as he opened the door and allowed William to enter. “I shall inform Lady Louisa of your presence.” He gestured for William to wait in a small parlor off the front door.
He felt restless. During all of William’s time at Oxford, and even the past few years in Edinburgh, he’d not found himself foolishly wondering how to act around a lady, of all things. It was embarrassing.
He stood by the fireplace and stared out the window, tapping his foot.
“Ahem.”
William whirled around, then silently berated himself for letting his reaction show.
The butler stood in the doorway, a bland expression on his face, as though he hadn’t noticed William’s actions, just as any good butler would. “The ladies will receive you in the dayroom,” he intoned. “Follow me, please.”
If William had heard the man correctly, it meant Lady Ashworth was most likely there to receive him, as well as Louisa. That wasn’t the best of scenarios; he would get a better read on Louisa’s state of mind if he was able to meet with her alone.
The butler led him past the formal drawing room and down the hall. “Viscount Farleigh,” the butler announced when they reached their destination.
William entered the dayroom—and five sets of female eyes turned to look at him, stopping him in his tracks. Blast it all. The situation was even more complicated than William had anticipated.
“Lord Farleigh, what an unexpected surprise,” Lady Ashworth said, rising to her feet. “Welcome.”
“Thank you,” he answered, feeling uncomfortably conspicuous. He cleared his throat. “Forgive me for intruding,” he said.
“Not at all,” Lady Ashworth replied. “You have met the duchess, I believe?”
“A pleasure to see you again, Your Grace.”
“The pleasure is entirely mine,” the duchess said with a suspicious twinkle in her eye.
“And we have Lady Putnam and Miss Putnam with us as well,” Lady Ashworth said.
He nodded graciously toward the two Putnam ladies, both of whom were eyeing him like hawks who’d spotted prey, notwithstanding their knowing about the betrothal. “An honor to see you again, ladies,” he said, hoping he sounded like he meant it.
Louisa had stayed silent throughout the exchange. Considering how their last encounter had ended, he couldn’t really blame her.
“Would you care to join us?” Lady Ashworth asked as she resumed her seat. “I shall send for a fresh pot of tea.”
“Er, no, but thank you.” He took a breath. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Ashworth, I had hoped to steal Lady Louisa away—”
Lady Putnam gasped, and the duchess bit her lip, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh—
“That is, I—” Of all the words he could have chosen, steal was the absolute worst he could have used around Lady Putnam, whom he’d already concluded was a gossip of the first order. William was flustered, unsure what to say next, which was intensely annoying. He glanced about the room, not knowing precisely where to look, and then turned to Louisa. “May I have a few moments of your time?”
She rose abruptly to her feet. “You may. Perhaps a walk in the garden?”
He nodded, concealing his relief as best he could.
“So good to visit with you all,” she said to the other ladies before placing her hand on William’s arm. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I intend to spend some time with my betrothed.”
“Not too much time, I hope,” Lady Putnam muttered under her breath.
“Of course not, Alice,” Lady Ashworth said. “Lord Farleigh is the epitome of a true gentleman, I assure you.” Lady Ashworth probably thought she was lying between her teeth at her statement regarding his character, but William appreciated her public display of support.
Louisa’s hand dropped from his arm once he’d shut the door behind them, leaving a warmth behind that gradually faded.
William held the single rose out to her as soon as they left the house. “For you,” he said as they began their stroll.
She took it from him and held the red bud to her nose. “Thank you.”
Silence.
“Please forgive me for arriving unannounced,” he said, hoping a conciliatory gesture would get them past this awkwardness.
“Not at all,” she replied. “Your arrival was a godsend.”
It was? His heart sped up.
“Lady Putnam was beginning to wear on me with all her talk. Terrible of me to acknowledge it out loud, I know, but, really, the woman would try the patience of a saint.”
Not quite the reason William had hoped for—not that he should be hoping for anything anyway.
They walked through Lady Ashworth’s rose garden and down a path that led toward a small folly set amongst a few young maple trees, Louisa occasionally breathing in the rose’s fragrance, William clasping his hands behind his back. The property around Ashworth House was ample, despite being merely their Town residence. He could only imagine what Ashworth Manor must be like in size and opulence by comparison.
“I’m sorry the lady’s company was distressing to you,” he said.
She stared at him, her large blue eyes speaking volumes.
“Ah,” he said. “I was the topic of conversation.”
“The topic, yes, although there wasn’t much to say. Apparently you are an enigma to everyone. Your father, however, is not.”
“You knew that already.”
“I did. The duchess, at least, was discreet when speaking of your father. Lady Putnam, on the other hand . . .” She stooped to brush away a twig that had caught on her skirts.
“Anything you wish to share with me?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t take him up on the offer. He loathed talking about his father—or thinking about him at all, for that matter.
“No,” she said.
William breathed an inward sigh of relief—
“Just the usual sorts of things, you know,” she said, apparently unwilling to talk about it but unable to let it go either.
“Like?” he begrudgingly asked.
She shrugged but averted her eye, her face turning bright pink.
“Ah,” he said. “I can’t say I’m overly surprised, can you?” William hoped his casual reply masked his true thoughts on the matter. “Does this mean you would like to discuss these things after all? I saw my father but once after my mother’s death, so I’m afraid I haven’t all the particulars of his wrongdoings. I take that back; I do know the particulars of his financial wrongdoings.” He needed to step back from this conversation and get his thoughts in order, as he was precariously close to speaking with more excitability than was good for the situation.
“I know you do; it’s why we are betrothed, after all,” Louisa said.
There was clearly nothing he could add to that. The best thing for now was a change of topic. “Come,” he said. “Let us set this distressing conversation aside for a while, shall we?” He offered her his arm, and thankfully, she slid her hand into the crook of his arm this time, and they strolled onward.
* * *
Louisa walked with William across the garden to the maple trees—hardly more than saplings, they were, as the groundskeeper had only added the folly and the trees the previous year. The folly itself was a small marble pavilion with a marble bench within, offering a view back toward the house. It was a pleasant place to sit and usually made Louisa feel as if she were at their country seat of Ashworth Park.
Usually—but not today.
They sat on the bench, and Louisa dropped her arm, choosing instead to clasp both hands on her lap after laying the rose on the bench next to her. The feel of him, the male strength she sensed in his arm, was beguiling, and Louisa didn’t want her nascent attraction to him to interfere with her determination to learn about him. She needed a clear head in order to do that.
William adjusted his position on the bench in order to face her, causing their legs to brush together, and Louisa drew in a breath. “I’m traveling to Buckinghamshire this afternoon,” he said, “and wished to take my leave of you before doing so. It will be a short trip, as I intend to be back tomorrow evening, if all goes to plan.”
“That seems to be a great deal of travel for such a brief visit,” she said.
“Perhaps, but it is for a good reason. I wish to personally review the preparations being made at Farleigh Manor in order to receive a new viscountess.” He paused, the corners of his mouth flickering for the briefest moment in what was almost an actual smile before disappearing. “And then I’ll return to London in time to escort you to Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow evening, if you would be willing to do me the honor.” There was that flicker again.
She ignored it and what it did to her insides and firmed up her resolve. “Naturally, I am willing to go to Vauxhall with you; I am your betrothed, after all, and such things are to be expected. I have heard that Vauxhall Gardens are not to be missed, and I shall look forward to it with anticipation. But—”
“But what?” he asked.
“I have conditions that I wish to have met in return.”
His eyes shuttered. He reached out and took her hand in his. With his free hand, he began lightly stroking each finger, from knuckle to fingertip.
Louisa swallowed. “Conditions,” she repeated.
“Conditions,” he said. “Undoubtedly, you do. You have beautiful hands, Louisa, soft hands with long, delicate fingers. And yet they feel capable and strong too. Such a paradox. If I were an artist, I would paint your hands.”
“You’re speaking foolishness,” she said, her voice a bit shaky, which annoyed her. What did her hands have to do with the current conversation anyway? “You’re not an artist, I daresay, and even if you were, I’m not sure I find it flattering that my hands are the subject you would choose to paint.”
He threaded his fingers through hers, interlocking them, moving his head this way and that as though looking for the best angle to view them before returning his gaze to hers. “Oh, I would wish to paint your face too, rest assured. And your throat—from right here behind your ear down to your collarbone.” With his forefinger, he traced the spot he’d just described without touching her; still, she could swear she felt it all the same. “The line here is exquisite. If only I’d been given a true artist’s talent,” he said in a low voice.
Louisa could feel herself melting, much as she had before the Melton assembly when William had kissed her the first time—
The scoundrel was making it happen again!
“Stop it,” she exclaimed, pulling her hand free. “You kissed me before only to make me look betrothed in front everyone present. You flatter me with your words only to distract me from my intent. You must think me a weak female to use such tactics on me.”
“Not at all, Louisa, I promise you.” He turned his head away and stared outward toward the house.
“My conditions are simple ones, William. Talk to me. Be forthcoming with me. Be honest. That is all I ask.”
He turned back toward her, his dark eyes burning in a way she’d not seen before. “You think your conditions are simple, but they are not.” He reached for her wrist and pulled her toward him until she was pressed closely to him, their faces mere inches apart.
Louisa’s heart pounded with excitement and fear and just a touch of triumph; she’d poked the caged tiger with a stick and had finally gotten a reaction.
“There is not much to tell,” he said, the look in his eyes scorching her. “Anything of any import you know already. My mother died far too soon. My father died far too late to benefit anyone. The only thing of any worth he ever did was wager against your grandfather.” He cupped her chin with his hand and moved so his lips were but a breath away. “And when I kiss you,” he whispered, “it is because I cannot help myself.”
His lips met hers then, firm and persuasive, and the entire world melted around Louisa, her senses once again colliding. Gradually, oh, so gradually, his kisses gentled and began softly exploring, and she floated into a place without time, eyes closed, receiving, taking, giving. Wanting more. Not knowing what she wanted.
Eventually, much too soon, William drew back . . . and time gradually returned. She didn’t want to open her eyes. “That is all I can tell you for now,” he whispered, running his forefinger over her eyebrow. “But I give you my solemn promise that I will do better. Will that suffice?”
“Yes,” Louisa breathed. Her eyes fluttered open.
His dark eyes, intensely serious now, locked with hers and held her gaze—with passion, yes, she recognized that now, but also with pain. “I must go, although it gives me no joy. I will console myself with the thought that I will see you again tomorrow evening,” he said. He pressed a lingering kiss at the corner of her mouth. “Adieu, Louisa.”