After a shockingly brief conversation, William departed so abruptly that Louisa was utterly dumbstruck. He had attempted to tell her about himself and his family, and she’d watched him contort over nearly every word he’d uttered. Oh, he assuredly thought he’d been keeping his emotions intact, but this time—this time—he hadn’t succeeded. Louisa had witnessed a whole host of emotions being pitched about within him. His entire being had vibrated with it, his face rigid from the effort to contain it all.
She remained in the music room for several minutes, unsure what to do next.
In less than a week, the third and final banns would be read, and the marriage would proceed in the days following. Tonight, he had tried to keep his promise to her, had struggled to overcome whatever stranglehold there was inside him about speaking of his family and his past. Louisa’s heart had gone out to him. But she still resented the constraint the vowel put her under, and she was running out of time. It could take weeks, months, even years for him to ever open up to her—if ever. She didn’t have the luxury of time.
She eventually went back to the drawing room, not knowing where else to go. Mama was still there, reading, having set her needlework aside.
The sight of her in such a tranquil setting was eerily reminiscent of what William had told her of his own mother, a genteel young woman with no money and few prospects who’d happened to catch the eye of a viscount. She’d borne a son and seen him sent away when he was only ten. William had alluded to the fact that there had been troubles in his parents’ marriage, even early on.
How lonely Lady Farleigh must have been to have her only child sent away so young and to have been married to a man who left her in the country while he himself spent the majority of his time in London. It had been difficult for Louisa to see her brothers go off to Eton, but they’d come home for school holidays, and the family had visited them at school on regular occasions.
Mama closed her book and set it aside. “Lord Farleigh has left, I take it,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Perhaps this is a bit indelicate of me to say, Louisa, but it must be said nonetheless: I chatted briefly with Martha, er, the Duchess of Atherton, and she hasn’t been able to learn much of anything about Lord Farleigh—and if anyone should be able, it’s Martha, you know. Perhaps there is nothing to learn, but I find the lack of information about him disconcerting. Are you absolutely certain you want to marry this man?”
“No, Mama, of course I’m not certain. Is anyone certain when they’re facing a sacrifice born of honor?”
“Well, something must be done. Your father will be at the House of Lords tomorrow, and I think I shall suggest that he discreetly ask about Lord Farleigh—the son, that is, not the father—while he’s there. I, on the other hand, have promised to deliver food baskets to some of the more needy within the parish, which will take up a good share of my day, so I doubt I shall learn anything helpful, but I will certainly try. You must set aside time in the evening after dinner for us to discuss things. Time is of the essence. Perhaps I shall ask Halford and Anthony to assist as well.”
Louisa went over and kissed Mama on the cheek. She didn’t mention that Alex and Anthony were already seeing what they could find out. “I believe I’ll retire now,” she said. “I’m tired.”
Mama drew her in for a hug, and, oh, how Louisa needed it, how it made her feel like a little girl again, safe and loved within her mother’s arms. “Good night, my darling girl. Rest well.”
“Good night, Mama.”
Louisa wasn’t sure how well she would rest. The image of William agonizing while trying to express what should have been the simplest things about himself kept running through her mind over and over again. She had a lot to think about.
She had barely entered her bedroom when there was a soft knock at the door, and then Alex opened it a few inches and poked his head inside. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he whispered. “May I come in?” He shut the door silently behind himself without waiting for her to answer and then stood where he was, looking at her, his brows wrinkled, his mouth in a deep frown.
She’d noticed earlier that, besides Anthony, Alex, who was usually so lighthearted, had been in an atypically sober mood throughout the day. She’d assumed it was because she’d asked Anthony and him to help her and he’d decided to actually take his role seriously while William was here today. Apparently, she’d been wrong, for something was truly troubling Alex—and few things troubled him. She wrapped her arms around her middle. “You know something,” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Is it very bad, then?” she asked, regardless of the fact that the look on Alex’s face had already answered that particular question.
“Come; let’s sit,” he replied. He led her to the small sofa in front of the fireplace and sat next to her, draping his arm around her shoulders.
There was another soft tap at the door, and then Anthony poked his head into the room.
“What a surprise,” Alex muttered.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come upstairs ever since I heard Farleigh leave,” Anthony said. He glared at his older brother. “What are you doing here?”
“I asked you first,” Alex drawled.
“No, you didn’t,” Anthony countered. “But I’ll tell you anyway. I came to check on my little sister to see how she’s doing. Farleigh left rather early for someone intent on wooing Louisa—and who has been gone the better part of a week. What’s your reason, Alex?”
Alex looked at Louisa for direction.
“You may as well say whatever it is you have to say in front of Tony too,” she answered.
He glared at Anthony. “I suppose he’ll find out sooner or later anyway. Very well. Kerridge was at the Marwoods’ last night—at least for part of the evening,” he said. “You didn’t mention that he’d offered for you again, Weezy.”
“What?” Anthony asked, except, really, it was more of an exclamation than a question.
“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what to think!” Louisa said. “He showed up in the Meltons’ box Wednesday night, told me he forgave me, of all things, and then proposed again. It seems I am of sufficient status that London Society will quickly forget what happened and move on. Kerridge suggested that I am simply to end the betrothal to William and marry him—just like that.” She snapped her finger to make her point. “But it also became patently obvious that he doesn’t care about me, not really, no matter what he said. I’m supremely suitable, you see, so it’s worth his time to give me another chance. That’s what he was really saying, and the more I’ve thought about it since, the angrier I’ve gotten.” She didn’t tell them about her fiery conversation at Vauxhall with William; what she’d said was sufficient.
Imagine that, she thought with irony. She’d been judicious in her use of words and hadn’t babbled, despite how turbulent her emotions and her stomach were at the moment.
“The devil you say,” Anthony said. “I wish I’d known about it before now.”
“At any rate,” Alex interrupted, “Kerridge asked to speak with me privately, which is when I learned of his second proposal, by the way. Perhaps you aren’t giving him enough credit, Weezy. Perhaps he cares about you more than you think. He told me he was worried about you, so I agreed to go with him briefly and hear what he had to say.” He took a deep breath and then cleared his throat. “Weezy . . .” He trailed off and then slid closer to her and pulled her to him in a gentle hug.
“Is it really that bad?” she asked.
He didn’t immediately respond; he simply held her close and stared somberly at Tony, who pulled up a chair to sit across from them, their knees nearly touching. Finally, Alex heaved a big sigh. “Louisa, Kerridge said he saw Farleigh assist a woman into a carriage, follow her inside, and drive off together. A fairly young, unusually attractive woman, she was, according to Kerridge.”
“The devil you say!” Tony hissed.
Louisa’s stomach convulsed, nearly doubling her over. Of all the things Alex could have said, she would never once have suspected anything like that.
Alex began rubbing her back. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“No, of course I’m not,” she managed to grind out. The world swirled around her in a haze of black and red. She fought for breath and squeezed her eyes shut. A young, attractive woman surely meant only one thing . . .
“Does she have any smelling salts?” she heard Tony ask frantically.
“I don’t know! Maybe at her dressing table?”
Louisa heard rather than saw Anthony jump up and begin rummaging through her things. “I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t need smelling salts.”
“No, you’re not.” Alex’s ministrations to her back became even more vigorous. “I’m not fine, so you can’t be fine.”
“I promise you I’m not going to faint.” She opened her eyes and immediately closed them again, surprised by how dizzy she was. She could still hear Anthony opening drawers and cabinet doors and muttering some fairly harsh language he would never say in mixed company in other circumstances. She concentrated on getting her breathing under control. “Tony, sit down. You’re only making things worse.”
He walked over and dropped heavily into his chair.
Louisa tried opening her eyes again. The world around her had ceased to spin, so she sat up, which forced Alex to stop rubbing her back—frankly, it had been getting on her nerves too. “What more do you know that you haven’t said yet, Alex?” she asked, bracing herself. For there had to be more, else he wouldn’t have been so grave all day long or as upset as he was now.
“There was luggage on the carriage, Weezy. Her luggage, according to Kerridge, and quite a bit of it. Kerridge owns a house nearby and was in the process of leaving that morning when he saw Farleigh with the woman, although they didn’t see him.”
“And this happened . . . ?” It was a pointless question; she knew when it had happened. But she still had to hear Alex say the words aloud.
“Thursday morning, when you received his note informing you that he was again leaving town,” he answered quietly.
“I see.” She doubled over again, clutching her middle to hold the pain at bay. Alex pulled her even closer to him, and she turned and buried her face in the folds of his shirt. She could feel Tony patting her knees.
She felt cold and hot and empty and small.
A mistress. The woman was surely William’s mistress. Kerridge and Alex both thought she was. Undoubtedly, Anthony did too. They knew more about such matters than she did, and from what Kerridge had seen and told Alex, it seemed likely. Was William so desperate for her money and connections that he would hide something like this from her? Would he manipulate her in this way? He’d seemed truly sincere in his care for her at Vauxhall, and this evening, his emotions had been raw as he’d tried to open up to her. And he had tried; she knew he had.
And yet, he held things so deeply inside that she didn’t know him well enough to be confident either.
Gradually, the black and red began to clear from her vision, and she released herself from her brother’s arms and stood. She walked over to the window. She needed space. She needed to think.
“Whatever you want me to do, Weezy, I’ll do,” Alex said. “I’ll go to Farleigh’s place and pummel him into the ground, if you like. Tony will too; won’t you, Tony?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Anthony replied.
“I know I’ve brought you bad news, and I’m truly sorry about that,” Alex said. “But in the long run, it’s better to learn about it now, while you still have time to change your mind about marrying the chap.”
She continued looking out the window, out at the garden lit by a large, bright moon, and mulled over what she’d learned so far. “This is what I have concluded about Lord Kerridge,” she said. “He has been arrogant and condescending and, quite honestly, Alex, I doubt he can look at anything William does with the least amount of objectivity.”
“Are you saying you don’t believe him?” Anthony asked. “Do you think he made it up to cause trouble?”
“No,” Louisa replied. “I don’t think he would outright lie to create an advantage for himself. Kerridge saw what he saw and felt he needed to share it.” She turned to face her brothers. “Do you have a mistress, Alex? Do you, Anthony?” she asked.
Both brothers went as red as a beetroot. “I cannot believe you just asked us that,” Anthony exclaimed, a look of utter horror on his face. “Nor is it a question I will answer. Good heavens, Louisa, whatever has gotten into you?”
“You know very well what has gotten into me,” she answered indignantly.
Alex remained silent, his face gradually returning to its usual color. “In answer to your question, Weezy, I do not have a mistress, no,” he said. “Nor have I ever. That is not to say I am a saint, however. That being said, our father taught both Anthony and me that fidelity in marriage is honorable and preferable to the selfishness of taking a mistress. One has made vows before God when one marries, you see, and therefore, marriage is not to be taken lightly. But this is not a discussion about Tony and me or our personal behavior; this is about you and Farleigh and what Kerridge claims he saw.”
“You’re right. And since I have questions about William I intend to have answered before the final banns are read, I have decided I will find those answers for myself,” Louisa said. She stalked over to the door of her dressing room. “Tibbetts,” she called softly.
The door opened, and Tibbetts, yawning, her hair tucked in a nightcap, appeared. “Yes, milady?”
“I wish to pack for a two day’s journey. Nothing too elaborate; clothing suitable for the countryside.”
Tibbetts curtsied and left.
“Our little sister is hatching something devious, it would seem,” Alex whispered loudly behind his hand to Anthony.
“There is a definite glint in her eye,” Anthony replied. “It has me quaking in my boots.”
“Enough, both of you,” she said. “If I am to consign my fate to him, I will do so with both eyes open. I am determined in this.”
“If that is so, Weezy,” Anthony said, “then, assuredly, Alex and I will help you.”
“Thank you. For I wish to go to Buckinghamshire, to Farleigh Manor. Tomorrow morning, at first light. I want to speak to the people there, the people who actually know William and know him best.”
“You have our undivided attention,” Alex said.
* * *
Louisa awoke early the next morning, clear-headed and with a sense of resolve.
Buckinghamshire was a mere half day’s journey from London, and since she intended to be there for only a day or two, packing was easily completed and the carriage readied by ten o’clock. It was fortuitous that she had known Mama and Papa had both planned to leave the house early, Papa to the House of Lords and Mama to deliver charity boxes.
It had been agreed amongst the siblings that Anthony would remain in London to explain Louisa and Alex’s sudden absence and deal with any unforeseen trouble that might arise. Trouble meaning Lord Farleigh. Anthony had assured Louisa he could ward Farleigh off for a day or two with excuses that she had been shaken by their encounter—which was true enough—and wasn’t ready to see him yet as a result.
Additionally, Anthony was to tell their parents that Louisa and Alex were visiting Farleigh Manor so she could become acquainted with her future home—also essentially true, albeit not the entire truth since they had not been invited to do so by William, but Mama and Papa would assume so. If either parent raised questions regarding the suddenness of the trip, Anthony was to weave a colorful fabric of explanations that would reassure them, especially when they knew Alex would be at Louisa’s side the entire time, along with Louisa’s personal maid, Tibbetts.
Louisa and Alex made good time and arrived in the village of Farsham, the seat of Viscount Farleigh, by midafternoon. Louisa wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find and was pleasantly surprised by what she discovered. The village was small but boasted, among other things, a bakery and a grocer, a millinery shop, a lovely ancient church, and a pub called the George and Dragon, which seemed to be doing a thriving business at the moment.
They learned from a friendly and curious villager that if they followed the high street, they would come to a road on the right that wound around a nearby hill, and on the other side of the hill, they would find Farleigh Manor.
They found the road described, and Louisa stared out the carriage window as they rounded the hill, taking in every rock and tree and flower and trying to imagine William here as a boy. They eventually spotted a tree-lined lane that marked the entrance to the manor and turned onto it. And then the house came into view.
Farleigh Manor did not compare by half to the grandeur of Ashworth Park, the country estate of her father, but had a modest, rustic charm. It was constructed of red brick, covered in ivy, and had two stories and an attic. It was laid out symmetrically with a generous use of windows.
As the carriage rolled up to the front entrance, the doors of the manor house opened, and an elderly, white-haired man with stooped shoulders stepped outside.
Alex exited the carriage first and then assisted Louisa from the carriage. He handed his calling card to the man. “The Earl of Halford,” he said, using his most bored, aristocratic tone. “And my sister, Lady Louisa Hargreaves, daughter of the Marquess of Ashworth.”
“Welcome to Farleigh Manor, your lordship, your ladyship,” the man said with a deep, formal bow. “Grimshaw, the butler, at your service. We’ve been expecting you.” He looked about. “But where is Lord Farleigh? Has he been detained?”
“Still in London, I’m afraid,” Alex drawled. “But we chose to come anyway. Hope that isn’t a problem.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Grimshaw said. He gestured for them to enter. “As I say, we’ve been expecting you.”
A woman wearing a neat gray dress stepped outside to join them. “Indeed, we have,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Welcome to Farleigh Manor.”
“May I present Mrs. Holly, the housekeeper,” Grimshaw said. “Mrs. Holly, this is the Earl of Halford and his sister, Lady Louisa Hargreaves.”
“Oh, and just look at you!” Mrs. Holly exclaimed. “You’re as pretty as I hoped you’d be. Prettier! But where have my manners gone? Gracious me!” She quickly curtsied to them both before clutching her hands to her breast. “Goodness, but you are a dream come true after all these years! When our dear boy—”
Grimshaw cleared his throat.
“There I go again,” she said. “What I mean to say is, when Lord Farleigh sent word for us to prepare for the arrival of a new viscountess, we were beside ourselves with joy. But now that you’re here, seeing you . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she searched in her apron pocket, retrieving a handkerchief that she used to dab at her eyes.
“Please forgive Mrs. Holly,” Grimshaw said. “She was that fond of his lordship as a lad. We all were, come to that.” He gestured for them to enter Farleigh Manor ahead of himself and the housekeeper.
The Ashworth butlers, Gibbs and Buxton, would never have spoken in such an informal manner, especially to utter strangers, nor would the housekeepers. It simply wasn’t done. But Louisa thought their candid comments surprisingly sweet, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep a serene look on her face.
Alex couldn’t hide his amusement, however, and chuckled as they preceded the others into the house. “What a place,” he whispered in Louisa’s ear.
Indeed, she thought but not quite for the same reasons as Alex.
* * *
Notwithstanding the best of intentions, William had a difficult time leaving his house Monday morning. He’d planned on seeing Louisa first thing—well, as soon as it was socially appropriate to call upon her. Ladies had particular hours for such things, he knew, not that he knew precisely what hours were considered appropriate.
He’d decided, therefore, to call at one o’clock. It was early enough to be considered a morning call, and late enough not to be seen as gauche. He thought.
He really had no idea.
It hadn’t helped that he’d barely slept a wink. He must have repeated the utterly mortifying conversation he’d had with Louisa in his head hundreds of times during the night. He’d viewed his words from every conceivable angle, and his conclusion had always been the same: they had been gut-wrenching, ludicrous, and wholly inadequate.
He’d hunted down Mrs. Gideon and asked her with extreme politeness if she would put his best suit of clothes into the best order possible. Normally, she had a girl who saw to William’s shirts and linens, considering it beneath her role as housekeeper to do laundry. But after a bit of cajoling and pressing a few quid into her palm, she’d agreed.
It took her an hour or so to brush his clothes and iron a few neckcloths while he polished his boots, and she did it without too much grumbling, for which William’s aching head was truly grateful. He was definitely going to consider the pluses and minuses of hiring a valet in the future—it might be worth the expense after all.
He bathed, took his time shaving so he didn’t miss any stubble lurking in the corners of his jaw or by his ears, dressed, and tied his neckcloth.
He pulled off the neckcloth and tossed it aside, taking another.
He pulled that one off as well.
After the fourth neckcloth, which resulted in an irate Mrs. Gideon stating unequivocally that if he removed this neckcloth, she would not iron another for him for the rest of her days, no matter what, he decided—reluctantly—that it would have to do.
He checked himself one last time in the mirror by the front door and left home . . . only to return when he realized he’d forgotten his hat and gloves and pocket watch.
Blasted fool.
Finally, at two minutes after two o’clock—he checked his pocket watch to be sure of the time—he arrived at Ashworth House, silently hoping no one had seen his approach yet so that he still had the option of changing his mind. Then he mentally kicked himself for wanting to change his mind. He was a coward as well as a fool.
He straightened, walked to the door, and knocked.
The door immediately opened, but it wasn’t the Ashworth butler standing before him. It was Lord Anthony.
“Ah, Farleigh, I thought that was you I saw through the window,” he said in an overly gregarious tone. “Never mind, Gibbs, I got the door,” he called over his shoulder. But instead of inviting William inside, he came outside and pulled the door shut behind him.
“I’m here to call on your sister,” William said, although, really, it needed no explanation. Lord Anthony would deduce the fact by William’s simply being here. If his head didn’t throb like a beast, he would be able to think more clearly.
“She’s not receiving visitors today,” Lord Anthony replied.
“Is she unwell? Is everything all right?” The idea that their conversation last night may have distressed her made William’s head throb even harder.
“She was rather upset last evening . . . after you left.” Lord Anthony let his words linger on the air for the few moments, but even so, William couldn’t come up with a reasonable response before Lord Anthony continued. “Say, Farleigh, I was just on my way to take in a few rounds at Gentleman Jackson’s. Are you a boxer, by any chance?”
One didn’t survive boy’s school without quickly figuring out how to use one’s fists, yet William couldn’t precisely recall the last time he’d actually done any boxing. “Well, I—”
“Excellent! You must join me, then. What finer way for future brothers-in-law to become better acquainted than a few gentlemanly rounds of boxing.” He threw his arm around William’s shoulders and led him rather aggressively back toward the street.
William skidded to a halt. “Wait. What about Louisa? She and I have a conversation to finish. I have a promise to keep with her.”
“And keep it you must. But it shan’t be happening today, old chap; I can tell you that with a high degree of certainty. Where is your carriage?”
“I, uh, hackney,” William said. He hadn’t wanted Walter to be present, in case he’d ultimately chosen the cowardly route.
“Follow me, then.” Lord Anthony took off in the direction of the private lane that led to the mews behind Ashworth House, and William mutely followed.
Lord Anthony located one of the grooms, a boy of about eighteen, and instructed him to get his curricle ready. In no time at all—William was quite sure he’d shut his eyes for only a moment—the groom returned with a fine curricle William couldn’t help but admire and even covet just a bit.
“Thank you, Tom,” Lord Anthony said. “Good man. We’re going to Gentleman Jackson’s. Hop on back.”
Lord Anthony climbed into the curricle and took the reins from Tom, who jumped into his seat at the back of the curricle. “Come on, then, Farleigh. Let’s be off,” Lord Anthony called. “Time is our enemy.”
That statement was true enough, William thought as he climbed into the curricle. Time was definitely his enemy, as he had once again lost an opportunity to speak with Louisa. She had been upset enough to not accept visitors today. William concluded that by “visitors,” she’d meant him. It was also highly likely that at least one of her brothers was fully aware of the situation.
And William had just agreed to a few rounds of boxing with him. He hoped he and his head survived.
* * *
The first thing Louisa noticed when she stepped into the entry hall of Farleigh Manor was its overall emptiness. There were no paintings accenting the walls as there were at Ashworth Park and Ashworth House, except for a single piece of framed needlework. Dark rectangles on the walls showed where paintings had hung—the rest of the wallpaper having faded over the years, leaving the artworks’ drab ghosts behind. At Ashworth Park, a great chandelier with shining crystals illuminated the entry hall, but Farleigh Manor boasted no such extravagance, beyond a telltale mark in the high ceiling where a chandelier of some sort must have hung.
Mrs. Holly excused herself and bustled out of the room, leaving Louisa and Alex with Grimshaw, but in short order, she was back, leading a small group of people into the hall single file—the service staff of Farleigh Manor. A few of them were wiping their dirty hands on aprons or shirtsleeves, and Louisa heard Alex snort.
They were introduced to Matthew, the steward, who’d “recently been promoted from groundskeeper, milady”; the cook, Mrs. Brill, and her daughter, Mary, a sweet girl who appeared to be slow-witted and rather childlike; Samuel, the stable master; as well as a young girl, Sally, and a boy, Jim, who served as maid- and man-of-all-work.
“I’m very pleased to meet you all,” Louisa said, smiling, hoping she came across as kind and approachable. She needed to earn their trust quickly if she was to learn anything of import in the next day and a half.
Mary, the simple girl, broke the line and rushed toward her, her arms outstretched. “You’re the real one, then, what’s marrying our Will and giving ’im babies! Not the one—”
Mrs. Brill darted after her and quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her back into line. “Hush, Mary, dear,” Mrs. Brill murmured. “Apologies, milady.”
“Not to worry,” Louisa said, taken aback. Mary’s innocent words had provided the first real evidence that another woman was involved somehow, but they weren’t at all what Louisa had hoped to hear. “Perhaps, if you would be so kind, you would show my brother and me to our rooms so we can get settled in. Afterward, I should like to tour the house and get to know each of you better.”
“Very good, milady,” Mrs. Holly said, nodding.
Old Grimshaw bowed. “Jim will see that your trunks are taken upstairs.”
“Sally, get some fresh water and towels for Lady Louisa and Lord Halford,” Mrs. Holly added. The housekeeper was beaming. “Such a pleasure to have you here at last, milady! And you too, milord,” she hastily added.
“Hmph,” Alex said, arching his eyebrow and looking down his nose at her, but Louisa knew he was actually laughing inside.
Mrs. Holly led the way up the stairs and showed each of them their guest rooms. The rooms were sparsely furnished, the quality not much better than that of a rustic inn, but Mrs. Holly was gracious and helpful and unapologetic about its appearance, which Louisa appreciated.
After a quick review of his room, Alex excused himself, telling Louisa he wished to go outside and get better acquainted with Samuel, the stable master, and Matthew, the groundskeeper-slash-steward.
“If you would meet me in the entry hall in fifteen minutes, Mrs. Holly, I would be grateful. And then you may show me the house,” Louisa said.
“Very good, milady.” Mrs. Holly curtsied and left.
The tour began in the sitting room. Louisa checked the condition of the few pieces of furniture, then carefully inspected the draperies for holes. Mrs. Holly hovered nearby, ready to answer questions. “We have done our best to keep the house in good repair, I assure you,” she said.
Louisa nodded in acknowledgment. She ran her fingers over the mantelpiece, noting there was another framed piece of needlework hanging above the fireplace. “This is lovely. Who was it done by?” she asked.
“The current Lord Farleigh’s mother,” Mrs. Holly said. “Such a talented lady, she was too. An eye for color such as few people have, I daresay. She had a sketchbook she kept for her ideas, but—well, it’s gone now. But her son got her talent, as I’m sure you already know.”
Louisa did know. William’s painting of the oak tree was ample proof.
So far, she’d found Mrs. Holly’s work exceptional. So exceptional, in fact, that regardless of how threadbare the rugs were or the wear on the upholstery of the single sofa facing the fireplace or the removal of paintings from the walls, one still felt a sense of tidy respectability. The tables—there were but two small ones—were lacking ornamental pieces one would normally find on display in the homes of the upper classes but were dressed with inexpensive crockery overflowing with flowers instead. Louisa didn’t ask, but owing to what she’d learned so far about the former viscount, she assumed anything of value had been sold to cover his debts at various points in time.
Louisa followed Mrs. Holly upstairs to the private family rooms, specifically the viscount’s private suite, located in the wing opposite those of the guest rooms she and Alex were using. The viscount’s rooms, done in dark woods and shades of burgundy, were not in the same shabby state as the rest of Farleigh Manor and had been cleaned and aired recently—no doubt in preparation for the new viscount, yet Louisa could see no evidence that William had stayed here.
The adjoining viscountess’s rooms were decorated in pale greens and pinks, the bed neatly made. A lone bud vase with a single pink rose sat on a table by the window, and another framed needlework William’s mother had made hung on an otherwise bare wall. There was a sad emptiness here, and Louisa ached for a boy who had been separated from his mother too soon and then had lost her.
They proceeded down the hall, and Mrs. Holly pointed out William’s room. “Not that there’s much to see there that you haven’t already seen in the other rooms, milady,” she said.
Mrs. Holly was right—the room, while smaller, wasn’t much different from the master suite, with the same dark woods and deep colors giving it an overtly masculine look. The four-poster bed had a dark-blue counterpane and bed curtains, with matching drapes at the window. A landscape hung on the wall above the fireplace, which had been cleaned and laid with tinder for its next use. Louisa examined the landscape, appreciating the bold strokes the artist had used, the contrast between light and shade. It had the same artist’s signature on it as the oak tree, but she’d already observed the similarities in style of both pieces. William had painted this one too.
She moved to the four-poster bed and ran her hand along the slightly faded counterpane and then wandered over to the writing desk. The inkwell was full, the quills sharpened, the blotter neat and ready for use, but there was nothing here that made the room uniquely William’s beyond the painting. Disappointed, she had said as much to Mrs. Holly.
“He’s been gone from us for so long, now, milady,” Mrs. Holly said. “We always kept the room as it was while Lady Farleigh was alive, God rest her soul, but afterward—well, I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, but we were ordered to box Master William’s personal items up and store them in the attic, along with Lady Farleigh’s. Except—” She stopped abruptly.
“Yes?”
“Nothing. One small item, that’s all. I was going to have one thing for Master William to come home to, should he ever feel inclined, now, wasn’t I? And he did come home, and it does our hearts good to see him, handsome, worthy man that he’s become, and to see what a lovely bride he’s bringing to be mistress here.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Holly. It’s very kind of you to say so.”
Louisa heard a noise outside the room, a scuffling sound, and glanced toward the door, trying to figure out what it might be, hoping it wasn’t vermin. Not an appealing thought, but the house was in need of attention—
“Don’t you worry, milady; that’s just Mary. She’s a sweet but slow girl, is our Mary. She works as a scullery maid so her mother can keep a close eye on her. Not that she gets into trouble, mind,” Mrs. Holly hastily added. “But she’s so trusting, she’s bound to be taken advantage of by those who would be so inclined.”
Which, Louisa took to understand, meant something of the sort had happened before.
“She busies herself about the place when she’s not doing chores,” Mrs. Holly continued. “Likes to roam about and hide in rooms and the attic and such. We’re all fond of the girl, and William was always kind to her. Such a good lad.” She smiled at some long-ago memory.
The scuffling stopped eventually, the afternoon turned to evening, and before Louisa knew it, it was time to dress for supper. She and Alex were to discuss everything they had learned during supper and strategize for tomorrow. Louisa had gleaned quite a bit from Mrs. Holly, but the housekeeper had stayed so close to Louisa all afternoon that she hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to Mrs. Brill or the little maid, Sally. And she’d failed to learn anything about the mysterious woman, other than what Mary had blurted out when they’d first arrived. She wanted to talk further with Mary . . . but the girl had vanished, and Louisa hadn’t seen her since.
She would not share William—or any husband, for that matter—with another woman. If he was the kind of gentleman who saw marriage as a duty with pleasure found elsewhere, he was not for her. But what other reason could there be for William to have been with an attractive, unknown woman? And why else would Mary have called Louisa “the real one” and begun to mention someone else, only to be stopped by the others?
Nothing she had learned so far had allayed her fears about this unknown woman. She hoped tomorrow provided the answers she needed and hoped she was sufficiently prepared for the answers, especially if they were ones she didn’t want to hear.