William asked Walter to have the carriage to London ready to leave at dawn Sunday morning. He intended to be at the church well ahead of the scheduled service when the second banns were to be read. Besides, he was ready to take a break from the estate.
The past few days had been a trial for everyone at Farleigh Manor.
After a lengthy conversation between Miss Purnell, Heslop, and himself, William had finally convinced Miss Purnell that there was a place for them at Farleigh Manor and that as head of the family, he could not and would not allow her and her children to fend for themselves, with no income and no other persons to whom they could turn for help. For, regardless of the illegitimacy of her marriage to his father, they were family; Peter and Daisy were William’s blood relatives. There was a modest dower house on a corner of the property, he had explained to her. A very modest dower house that was not much bigger than a cottage, but with room enough to hold her and her children comfortably.
He and Matthew had actually discussed leasing the dower house as a means of bringing in income, something the former steward should have arranged to be done years ago—but that was no longer an option now. Since Miss Purnell would have been the dowager viscountess had his father not played false with her by marrying her while William’s mother was still alive, it seemed only right that Miss Purnell and Peter and Daisy make it their home.
She had reluctantly agreed, on the condition that William help her find employment in the village. She was an educated woman and had worked as a governess before marrying his father, she’d reminded him, and would do whatever she must to see to the welfare of her children and not simply rely on the charity of others.
William had felt a begrudging admiration for her. His own mother had been a lovely and genteel woman of means who had also fallen for his father’s guile. He would allow Miss Purnell the same benefit of the doubt.
Due to the threat of eviction by her landlord, Miss Purnell had already packed most of their personal belongings before making her first visit to Mr. Heslop on Thursday morning. Her efforts had ended up saving them all a great deal of time and had allowed them to begin their travel early that afternoon.
William hadn’t pushed her for further details, considering the poor woman had only just learned that the man she’d thought was her husband had died, that she was penniless, and that her children were illegitimate, and William had no desire to add to her grief. Heslop had laid all the legal facts out clearly enough, and as far as William was concerned, it had been sufficient for the time being.
He had opted to take his horse to Buckinghamshire so she and her children could ride in the carriage alone and would not feel encroached upon by a stranger. The ride had taken longer than usual, with multiple stops for the children to have comfort breaks. During those stops, William had conversed with Miss Purnell while they watched the children stretch their legs and play, and she had confessed to him that while her marriage to his father had started out happily and well, it had deteriorated over time and that, eventually, she hadn’t minded his long periods of absence. In fact, she had preferred them. It had been enough that she’d had her home and her children and had only needed to tolerate him on occasion. Glowing words, indeed.
They’d arrived at Farleigh Manor late Friday afternoon, where the staff had formally greeted them in the courtyard the minute the carriage had come to a halt at the front doors. William had quickly jumped from his horse and quietly explained to Mrs. Holly and Grimshaw who the occupants of the carriage were before assisting Miss Purnell from the carriage. Peter had scrambled from the carriage on his own.
William had helped little Daisy down, picking her up and keeping her in his arms. Whatever the reason, Daisy had come to accept William on friendly terms at some point on the journey, and as she was his half sister, he wasn’t inclined to object. Peter would take time to win over, and William understood better than most the reason why.
Mary had burst from the ranks almost immediately, eyes huge, her arms waving wildly. She’d run straight to William, crying, “You brought a wife! And you brought babies!”
Miss Purnell had frozen in place, and Peter had looked ready to throw fists at being referred to as a baby, so William—with great care and patience—had explained to Mary that Miss Purnell was not, in fact, his wife but that the three of them were special guests who were to live in the dower house and be welcomed by everyone, and he had left it at that. More explanation would have to occur over the course of several days or even weeks before Mary would comprehend it completely.
At the mention of the dower house, Mrs. Holly and Matthew had come to full attention. Until William’s comment, the dower house had dropped in priority, the preparation of the manor house for the impending arrival of a Lady Farleigh being the most important consideration. With the arrival of Miss Purnell, work on the manor house had been diverted to the dower house early the following morning.
In the meantime, Mrs. Holly and Sally had set about cleaning the nursery and airing out a guest room so Miss Purnell and the children would have somewhere to sleep. William had left the trio in the capable hands of Mrs. Brill, who would see that they were well fed, and then he had gone out with Matthew to review the improvements that had been set into action on the estate. Since it had been mere days since William had been at Farleigh Manor, there hadn’t been much to see, but he’d listened and looked and made suggestions.
He had also spent time with Miss Purnell—Jane, as she’d asked him to call her—after supper, wanting to assure himself that she felt comfortable at Farleigh Manor. She’d told him that she did and even opened up a bit again, although she’d shared few particulars—but what little she’d said had been enough. It had sent him careening back to a dark time in his childhood, so familiar were her words to ones his mother had spoken so many years earlier. Birchings, sarcasm, punishments for small childhood infractions, like dirty clothes and crying, all reared their ugly heads. Toughen up, boy. You’re an embarrassment. You got your mother’s weak character, you sniveling little pest. But then there were the other times. That’s right, my boy, you’ve got it. You’re like granite; they’ll never win now. Never let them win.
Jane had been careful in her choice of words, but William knew what his father had been like with his mother. He had ears, after all, and his father hadn’t been particularly discreet during his rants. You’re dull and tedious; it’s no wonder I can barely stand to come home anymore. Stop crying. You’re so weak it’s pathetic. I need a drink.
William felt a kinship with Jane. He understood her, and he was starting to recognize the wounds that had been inflicted on all of them by his father. It explained his own stoicism, albeit his reticence to show himself to others, really share himself, and not hide behind a facade, had begun to show a few cracks in the past couple weeks.
Thanks to Louisa.
And now he was on his way back to London with the hope that Louisa would accept his explanations and answers—lacking though they surely would be—with the generosity of heart he knew was inherent in her character. He could not tell her about Jane and the children, however. It was too scandalous, and their betrothal was too precarious. But he could try to tell her more about himself, as he’d promised. And eventually, when he was more secure in their connection, he would explain the appearance of Jane Purnell to her.
He settled into the seat of the carriage, placing his feet on the seat opposite and crossing his ankles, then slid his hat down so the brim covered his eyes. It had been an exhausting three days. It had been exhausting trying to read between the lines and discern truths from carefully chosen words and vague expressions. He’d begun to understand why Louisa had reacted as she had at Vauxhall. He owed her a huge apology. And he owed it to her to open himself up to her.
He tapped his hat firmly in place over his eyes and tried his best to sleep while the carriage bumped along on the road back to London. He needed a fresh head and his wits about him when he was reunited with Louisa this afternoon. He may understand that he needed to share himself more fully with her, but he hadn’t the vaguest idea how to actually go about doing it.
* * *
Louisa peered out the window of the carriage as she and her parents and Anthony arrived at the church, right before the noon service was to begin. She saw William standing outside the doors, looking as he always did: tall, handsome, modestly but neatly attired, and completely unreadable.
Her heart leaped at the sight of him. He was here. Whatever business had taken him from London the past few days, he’d told her he’d be here today for the banns, and he was. She had at least a hundred questions to ask him, but the two most pressing ones were simple and straightforward: Are you going to be forthcoming with me today, and will I be able to tell if you aren’t?
His current expression didn’t give her a great deal of hope.
They made it through the church service, however, along with the second reading of the banns. They sat side by side, her parents on one side of her in the pew and Anthony seated next to William on his other side. Louisa clasped her gloved hands in her lap, and William did the same with his. It was all very appropriate, as it should be—especially during church—but it did nothing to allay Louisa’s concerns about the conversation they were to have afterward.
“Lord Farleigh,” her father said after they had all exited the church and shaken hands with the rector and greeted several acquaintances. “I would ask you to join us at Ashworth House for dinner, if you are agreeable.” Knowing her father as well as she did, Louisa recognized it as a command rather than an invitation.
“Thank you; I shall,” William replied. “Perhaps Lady Louisa would care to join me in my carriage for the journey there.” He looked at her with his usual impassive face, but his eyes gleamed with awareness. He had not forgotten his promise to her after all.
Mama glanced from Louisa to William and back to Louisa. “I’m not sure—”
“I shall be fine, Mama,” Louisa said. “The drive is a short one, and we are betrothed. We won’t scandalize anyone.” She looked at William and raised her eyebrows in defiance. “Will we?”
The corners of William’s eyes crinkled just the slightest bit at her declaration. “We will maintain the highest level of decorum,” he said. “I have missed my bride-to-be, and we must take every opportunity presented to us to get better acquainted. It is my fault, I know, and I hope to remedy it in the remaining time we have before our marriage.”
Their marriage! Good heavens, Louisa thought, she’d been so focused on getting him to open up to her and getting through the reading of the banns that she hadn’t even considered an actual wedding date, though she and Mama had made a few essential dowry purchases while William had been absent. William had wanted to marry quickly; they’d be married already, in fact, had she not asked for the three weeks with the banns. He would not want much time to pass before their marriage took place once the final banns were read.
She could be a married woman within two weeks.
“Very well, then,” Mama said, shooting William a severely arched eyebrow meant to put fear and trembling into him. “Come, Ashworth, Anthony. I suppose I must eventually learn to trust Lord Farleigh if he is to become my son-in-law.”
“I will be spending time in my study this afternoon, Farleigh,” Papa said. “I expect you to join me there at some point.”
“Understood, your lordship,” William said.
Anthony said nothing at all, which was unusual for him. He’d been that way all morning, come to think of it. Alex had still been in bed when they’d left for church; no one had said anything about it, and Louisa suspected that even if he had spent the early part of the evening with the Marwoods and Lady Elizabeth, he had probably spent the rest of his night visiting gentlemen’s clubs. Anthony had been planning to go to White’s, but Alex had suggested he—how had he phrased it?—“make the rounds.” Had he learned something Louisa needed to know while he’d been out making these so-called rounds?
William extended his hand to Louisa and assisted her into his carriage. He looked tired. That came as no surprise, considering he’d ridden to Buckinghamshire and back twice in the past week, in addition to whatever he’d done there. She wondered again what his urgent business had been about.
He gave directions to the driver, then climbed in and seated himself next to her. “For the record, I do not intend to take the quickest route back to Ashworth House,” he said. “I hope that doesn’t distress you. I wished to spend some time alone with you, without your parents or brothers about, so we—I—can communicate more freely, for that is what I promised you earlier this week.”
“I am not distressed,” Louisa said.
His eyes did that crinkly thing again for just a moment, and Louisa realized it was the faintest beginnings of a smile. It didn’t extend to the rest of his face or reach his mouth, but—
She really had to stop looking at his mouth so much, she thought as she felt her face heat up.
The corners of his mouth twitched.
“Maybe I am a bit distressed,” she remarked rather lamely.
His mouth twitched again, but he didn’t say anything to her in return, which was a surprise, considering he’d caught her in the act of staring. Her brothers had teased her so incessantly over the years about absolutely everything that she’d come to expect it as a matter of course. William, however, had not subjected her to any teasing.
It was a nice change.
By this time, they’d reached the outskirts of Mayfair, and the carriage took them down a street lined with respectable houses before coming to a stop in front of one of them. “Welcome to Farleigh House,” William said. He jumped out of the carriage and set the steps for her, then gave her his hand. “You wished to learn more about me. I thought I’d begin by showing you this.”
He led her to the front door and unlocked and opened it and then allowed her to precede him inside.
Louisa’s immediate reaction was that it was a man’s domain. The wallpaper in the entry was bold, the woods dark in color. The sitting room, which was just to the left of the front entry, was similar in tone. A sofa upholstered in brown-striped silk faced the fireplace, while two leather armchairs sat on either side of it, facing each other. The painting over the marble fireplace was of a hunting scene, with men on horses and dogs in pursuit of a fox. A sideboard held an array of decanters, full of a variety of spirits, with a selection of drinking glasses nearby.
“This was my father’s domicile; his place of refuge,” William said matter-of-factly. “I didn’t even know the place existed until I went through the estate holdings with Heslop after my father’s death. It was a well-kept secret. I don’t recall my mother ever accompanying my father on a trip to London, though he traveled here frequently. My own first time in London was with school friends when I was at Oxford. We came to Town only a handful of times, usually for academic symposiums and the like—not very exciting, I know. After that, I moved to Edinburgh and remained there. Until now.” He ran his hand along the back of the chair nearest him. “Would you care to see the rest of the floor?”
Louisa nodded, trying to figure out what his demeanor and tone meant. He was still unreadable, but there was an edge to his voice now that he was unable to completely hide from her.
He showed her the dining room, which held a fine oak table and chairs with an elaborate chandelier hanging above them. Next was a man’s study with a connecting door into a decently stocked library.
Louisa wandered through each room, surprised at the level of prosperity she saw. But there was nothing personal, no pictures of family, nothing that helped her understand what William’s father had been like. Even the books in the library seemed to be more for show than anything—shelves of tomes in similar bindings that appeared never to have had their covers opened or their pages read.
They returned to the hallway. “Down those steps at the back of the house is the kitchen. There is a small apartment beyond it where the housekeeper, Mrs. Gideon, lives. According to her, when my father was here, her nephew acted as his valet. I have not employed his services—something she wasn’t particularly happy about when I first arrived.”
“Was she your father’s housekeeper here for many years? May I meet her?”
“Ten years, give or take. Assuredly, you may meet her, but it will have to happen at another time; Sunday is her day off, and she’s not here. She also gets half days on Wednesday.” He led her back to the front entry. “These stairs, as you might surmise, lead up to the bedrooms and guest rooms, but they can wait for another time, as they are essentially much the same as you see down here. Bachelor lodgings for a man who was not a bachelor. Besides, it’s past time that I take you home.”
They returned to the carriage, and Louisa pondered what she’d seen. He’d given her a piece of the puzzle, a bit of clarity, to be sure, but she couldn’t see the entire picture yet.
When they were back on their way to Ashworth House, William turned slightly, angling himself toward her on the carriage seat. “Did you learn anything on our little tour?” he asked blandly.
Louisa gazed at his face. There were no crinkles at the corners of his eyes, no smile lurking behind his lips. His face was as impassive as it had been the first time they’d met, save the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced. “Yes,” she said at last. “I have learned that if your father left the estate in tatters, it was due to selfishness. The house here in London is in excellent condition, which means that he lived well, and I must, therefore, presume that he did so beyond his means.
“There was no portrait of your mother, no mementos of any kind, nothing of sentimental value anywhere that I could see. I doubt it is because you cleared away anything of his, although I suppose you may have instructed Mrs. Gideon to remove them. I am sorry, William.”
William stared out the window beyond her, but she suspected he saw nothing but shadows from his past. He was far away. “When one is reared by such a person and it is all one knows, it is difficult to change.”
Louisa wanted to reach for him, to take his hand in hers and comfort him, but she did not. He had shown her a glimpse into his life but only a glimpse, and it was not enough. Not yet. Not when he still wore a mask he kept so firmly in place. Not when he still had so many secrets. He was making the attempt to keep his promise to her, but she wasn’t sure it would be enough, that he could open himself enough to address her concerns and give her the reassurances she desired.
A week from today, the last of the banns would be read, and then there would be no excuse to delay the marriage further. She had asked him for three weeks, and he would have given them to her.
She must have her answers before she was out of time.
* * *
When William and Louisa returned to Ashworth House, they found her family in the drawing room, with a sleepy Halford also in attendance. Conversation was polite and amiable. Halford and Lord Anthony were rather serious in their questions toward him and prodded him further about his time at Oxford and his years in Scotland.
“But why Scotland, Farleigh?” Halford asked him. “No offense, but it seems to me there is plenty to see and do here, by comparison, and with somewhat better weather . . . although, arguably, not by much.”
“There is an extraordinary group of academics and innovators in Edinburgh,” William replied. “And I discovered not long after I arrived that I enjoyed their association and, therefore, decided to stay. I confess that I had little to contribute to the group but found it humbling—and enlightening—to be a part of that society.” The fact that it was several hundred miles from Buckinghamshire had only added to its appeal.
His answer seemed to carry some weight with Louisa’s parents, who doubtless suspected he was a reprobate like his father had been. Lord Ashworth gave the slightest of nods at his words, and Lady Ashworth looked up from her needlework.
Even with William seated on an elegant sofa with Louisa next to him, he was unsettled by the experience, which, today, felt more like he was standing before a magistrate than contributing to a casual conversation.
After luncheon, Alex and Anthony invited him to join them in a game of billiards, which William agreed to after a quick glance at Louisa since he’d promised her they would get better acquainted this afternoon. Her smile seemed to indicate that she would be fine with him spending an hour or so with her brothers.
Playing billiards was usually intended to be an enjoyable pastime, but William quickly discovered he was facing more interrogation. He was a decent player—one had to be to survive Eton and Oxford—but wasn’t nearly in the league of either Halford or his brother, he immediately discerned as they took shots to warm up. They had obviously spent many hours bent over this very table, hitting balls into pockets.
“Scotland. And academia,” Halford drawled, leaning against the wall, while Lord Anthony prepared to take his first shot. They had decided amongst themselves that Lord Anthony would challenge William to the first game. “I confess, I was only too glad to put Cambridge behind me when I completed university. But you chose to go to Edinburgh to study further. Are you a glutton for punishment, Farleigh?”
“He must be; he wants to marry Weezy, after all,” Lord Anthony said. He took his shot, sending his ball across the table, short of its mark. “Blast it, Alex. Stop speaking when I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Edinburgh is an amiable city, full of history and interesting people,” William said. Definitely more interrogation disguised as small talk.
“I knew you weren’t going to put that ball in the pocket; your angle was completely wrong,” Halford remarked to Lord Anthony. “Amiable, eh?” he asked while William studied the table for his next shot. “Amiable as in long-winded lectures on mechanics and philosophy, or amiable as in assemblies and balls and flirtations, by any chance?”
William hadn’t been entirely virtuous since arriving at his majority, but the few liaisons he’d had as a very young man had left him feeling empty inside. His father had hurt his mother with his own infidelities. Even as a boy, William had understood that something had been amiss between the two of them, and it hadn’t taken much time after arriving at Eton for him to put two and two together. Boys will be boys, after all, and boys will talk about such things with crassness and bravado.
“Edinburgh is amiable in all those ways,” William replied as obliquely as possible to Halford’s question before shooting his ball into the corner pocket.
Lord Anthony eventually won the first game, and Halford had just challenged William to the next when a footman arrived to tell them Lord Ashworth requested a few minutes of Lord Farleigh’s time.
“That’s too bad,” Halford said, “as I’m quite certain I could have won a bit of money from Tony over who would beat you by the most points. Well, we shall have to give it a go another time.”
“Another time,” William replied. He had no plan to return to the billiards room after his meeting with Lord Ashworth, especially not if there was to be wagering involved. Besides, it would be past time to be with Louisa.
The footman knocked on the door to Lord Ashworth’s study.
“Enter,” the marquess replied.
“Lord Farleigh,” John said.
“Thank you, John. Come in, Farleigh; have a seat. We have unfinished business to attend to.” He gestured to the seat across from his own, next to the fireplace. William had expected the marquess to be seated at his desk in a position of power, with William on the opposite side. Instead, they were seated informally. William’s mind began to scramble: did the marquess intend their meeting to be informal and open, then? Or was it a strategy to catch William off guard? Read the clues; look for the tells.
“For a man intent on wooing my daughter, you have been remarkably absent this week,” the marquess said, getting right to the point. “Or have you decided you need not bother since she has chosen to act with honor and marry you regardless?”
“I am here today to woo your daughter,” William replied as coolly as possible. “But it would seem the men in her family think time with me and asking pointed questions, which I am willing to answer, by the way, are part of that wooing.”
“She is our diamond and our delight. You will forgive us if we are protective of her and entirely suspicious of you until proven otherwise.”
“I understand completely, Lord Ashworth, and would expect nothing less.”
The marquess did not appear convinced. “I shan’t keep you long, so you may go about this so-called wooing. I wanted to inform you, however, that the marriage contracts are drawn up. If you haven’t heard this from Heslop yet, you may presume it is because you have been off in the countryside doing who knows what. Don’t be surprised to hear from him tomorrow.”
“Thank you, your lordship. For the record, I was seeing to matters at Farleigh Manor that needed my personal attention.”
“As you say. Well, that is something, at least.” The marquess gestured with his head toward a stack of documents atop his desk. “The marriage contracts are there, awaiting our signatures. We could sign them today and have it done . . .” He paused, drumming his fingers lightly on the arm of his chair. “However, I am not pleased at your absences this past week, even if you claim to have had good reason. I have watched my daughter closely, you see, and she has been unhappy. She would never say so, but as her father, I can tell that this is the case. I will not elaborate on it further, for that is for you as her future husband”—he nearly spat the words—“to discover for yourself. And I expect you to do so to my satisfaction.” He leaned forward and said in a low, threatening tone, “For, you see, Viscount Farleigh, I will not put my signature to these marriage contracts until I am thoroughly convinced Louisa is willing to subject herself to this vowel you hold over her. Do we understand each other?”
Don’t let him get a read on you. “Clearly, your lordship.”
“Excellent.” The marquess stood, indicating that he had said what he’d intended to say to William and now wished for the conversation to be done.
William rose to his feet, bowed formally, and took his leave.
* * *
Louisa had excused herself from sitting with Mama in the drawing room and had wandered into the music room, something she seemed to have done a lot over the past week or two. Not because she was what anyone would call a musical proficient but because reading the notes gave her something to concentrate on beyond her present concerns, and the melodies soothed her in spite of the occasional wrong note or two or several.
She had asked her brothers to learn what they could about William, so she should hardly have been surprised when they’d dragged him off to play billiards, but she had been nonetheless. She’d expected them to be a bit more covert about the whole business. She should have known better.
Her fingers stumbled over a passage in the Mozart sonata she was attempting to play. She stopped and worked out an agreeable fingering and then played the passage several times until her fingers began to go where she willed them. Herr Mozart’s music was a bit more challenging than the pieces she usually attempted to master, but today, she needed something that required her complete concentration.
Except she wasn’t concentrating on the sonata at all. She was reminding herself of all the reasons she needed to concentrate on something else—which meant she was really concentrating on all the reasons why she needed to concentrate on something else.
Goodness, she was babbling inside her own head now. She might well go mad if she wasn’t careful.
The sound of the door shutting behind her made her jump. She twisted around on the piano bench to see who it was, hoping it was William come to spend time with her at last.
It was. He stood silently by the door, his hands behind him. “May I come in?” he asked.
“It looks to me as if you already have,” she said.
“Touché,” he replied. He didn’t move any farther into the room, however. “Will you play for me?” he asked.
“Play for you?” she asked stupidly. She’d performed piano pieces at parties before—what young lady of quality wasn’t required to do such a thing, or something similar?—but William asking for a private performance flustered her.
It was silly, she told herself.
“I would appreciate it above all things,” he said.
She took a deep breath and ordered her fingers not to tremble. “Very well, but not the Mozart.” She wouldn’t be able to hit a single correct note in the passage she’d just practiced with William standing by listening to her. She set it aside and thumbed through the small stack of music on the music stand, choosing a more tranquil—in other words, slow—movement from a Bach suite.
He crossed the room quietly after she began to play. She could hear his steps and see him out of the corner of her eye as he seated himself in a chair not far away. And then she turned her attention to the music. He, she noticed after she finished the piece, sat without moving, his eyes closed, so she chose another piece and played it and then another.
After the fourth piece of music, she stopped, folded her hands in her lap, and watched him. He gradually opened his eyes. They were dark and soulful and, Louisa realized with a start, utterly bleak. And then he blinked, and the window into his soul closed once again.
But Louisa had seen what she’d seen.
“Thank you,” he said.
“May I ask you a question?” she asked.
“You may.”
“Will you tell me more about the tree? The tree in the painting you gave me?”
“It’s a tree at Farleigh Manor that I painted from memory while at Oxford.”
“You painted it?” she asked, surprised by this new revelation. She’d not been able to decipher the signature on the canvas. “You’re a painter?”
“No, not at all, but what young boy or girl hasn’t had some tutoring in it as part of his or her education? I enjoy painting on occasion, and on one such occasion, I chose to paint the tree.”
“Why did you give it to me?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Perhaps I wanted to show you some of the beauty of the place since it is to become your future home.”
He’d painted the tree, and even if he claimed to be an amateur, he’d managed to create an image Louisa found appealing, one that offered sunshine and shade . . . and peace. He’d given it to her in a less-than-peaceful time, and yet she’d sensed what was within the painting.
“Tell me about your mother,” Louisa said.
* * *
“Tell me about your mother,” Louisa had said. She was waiting for him to reply.
William was no musician, but Louisa’s performance had moved him. He’d had to fight back the desire to weep. He hadn’t wept in years—not that he’d succumbed this time either, fortunately. He attributed this unusual swell of emotion to the music and to the vision of Louisa at the piano, her face, even in profile, a work of beauty. His mother had been such a beauty when he was a boy; back before his father’s choices had exacted their toll on her.
“I’ll race you to the oak tree, Mama,” five-year-old Will shrieked and then took off running. When he stopped briefly to catch his breath, he saw Mama, her skirts clutched in her hands, running to catch him, smiling and full of sunshine. He waited for her to catch up to him, and then they ran and collapsed at the foot of the tree, laughing and hugging and enjoying the shade in a glorious, free afternoon.
Louisa’s request caused a tumult within his soul. What words could possibly explain everything his mother had been to him? She had been gentle and kind and beautiful, at least to the young boy who’d adored her. She had been his world, his safe place. And then he had been sent to Eton and had been allowed home only on school holidays. And she’d changed during those years while he was at school, withdrawing into herself, intent on her needlework and interested in little else. And then she’d died.
Words were wholly inadequate.
And what words would the specter of his father even allow him to say?
Louisa was watching him closely, waiting for him to speak.
“She was . . .” His mind flailed about. “She was everything to a small boy.”
Pathetic.
Louisa looked at him as if she thought so too.
He heaved a sigh. “What specifically do you wish to know?”
“What did she look like?” Louisa asked. “Who were her people? Where was she from? Do you look like her or your father? Did she play with you when you were a boy? Did she read you stories? What are your favorite memories with her? I want to know her, William. In knowing her—and even your father—I can get to know you better too.”
William had promised her he would be forthcoming, so he tried again. “My coloring is more like my father’s. In fact, I’m afraid I look more like him than I do her. She was fair and blue-eyed.” There. He’d said something about both of his parents.
He loathed dredging up anything that had to do with the past, but he forged onward. “She was Margaret Strickland before marrying my father and becoming Viscountess Farleigh. She was an only child, brought up near the Lake District to genteel but poor people, from what I know. She moved to London when she was offered a governess position, and it was in that capacity that she became acquainted with my father, who was—at the time—a friend of the family with whom she was employed.
“My father, as you already know, hailed from Buckinghamshire. He met and married my mother; I was born into that union a few months later. I was sent off to school at the age of ten, my mother died when I was sixteen, and I never went home again. Rather Gothic, wouldn’t you say?”
He ceased speaking, his stomach in knots, the scars on his back aflame with memories.
Louisa left the piano bench and came to sit by him.
“Thank you, William,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. “That wasn’t so difficult, now was it?”
She had no idea how difficult and utterly dreadful it had been for him to speak those words. But then, she’d been protected her whole life and, therefore, had the luxury of innocence.
What an enviable life for a child to have experienced. If he were so fortunate as to have children of his own, he would want them to be brought up with that type of innocence and tranquility. Louisa would be the kind of mother who would insist on her children learning and growing with the assurance that their parents loved them.
He wanted Louisa to be the mother of his children. He wanted it fiercely.
He sprang to his feet and crossed the room, gripping the windowsill and staring out at the garden beyond. He needed to be as far away from her as possible, unsure if he would pull her into a desperate hug or shake her for the pain she was making him feel.
“William?” she asked softly.
“I have done what I can for today, Louisa. I can do no more,” he choked out.
She was silent. He waited to hear her footsteps, terrified that she might come near him. Thankfully, she stayed where she was.
He breathed deeply a few times, willing himself into some semblance of control, as he had on more occasions than he could count. When he thought he’d contained his emotions, he turned. “I must leave you now,” he said. “But I shall call again tomorrow, and we shall resume our conversation.”
“William,” she said softly. He could barely stand to hear her say his name. It caressed him and offered solace—solace he didn’t deserve, didn’t want. Not now.
He gritted his teeth until he thought they would crack. Dash it all, he had a vowel. He would have its terms fulfilled. His people deserved it, and he would do it for them. It didn’t matter that he didn’t deserve it. He would woo Louisa, he would convince her father of her willingness, and he would marry her. He would make sure that the people of Farleigh Manor had nothing to worry about, that their lives and livelihoods were taken care of.
He could see Peter’s worried, defiant face, so much like his own had looked at that age. He could see little Daisy, aware that something was not right in her world but too young to understand it yet. He could see their mother’s face too—the betrayal and resignation so clearly like his own mother’s. He would not let his father ruin their chances of survival and happiness too. He would not allow history to repeat itself. He would not allow his half brother to live as he had done; he wanted Daisy to grow up as Louisa had—feeling loved and secure.
He would do everything in his power to make it happen. He would dedicate his life to Louisa’s happiness over the years to come, even if it was a futile endeavor. Even if she ultimately hated him. But he would do it. He saw no other choice.
Louisa sat in the chair as if frozen, her eyes stricken. He couldn’t bear to see her that way. He had to choose between the people he loved, and heaven help him, he loved Louisa. She was everything he desired in a wife and in life, everything he longed for.
She had a family who would be there for her always, without question. Parents and brothers who would do anything to protect her and who would always love her, who could bear her up should William ever fall short in his devotion to her.
The people of Farleigh Manor had only him.
He forced himself to walk toward her, take her shaking hand in his, and kiss it. Never show what you’re feeling. “I can say nothing else tonight, Louisa; I’m sorry. I will call on you tomorrow afternoon, if I may,” he said, grateful his voice sounded normal to his ears. “And we will talk some more. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll show myself out.”
He turned and left and didn’t look back.