A deep sorrow had welled up inside Louisa over the past two days and deepened further while they conversed with Jane Purnell—Louisa loathed referring to her as “miss” since the poor woman hadn’t known her marriage was bigamous.
It was midafternoon by the time she and Alex bade Jane Purnell farewell after their visit. They had learned about William’s father’s courtship of Jane and the little house in London that she had thought was where they would always live. They had spent time with the children, Peter and Daisy. Peter was a handsome little boy but had seemed overly cautious for one so young and had stayed close to his mother, assuming a protective stance. Little Daisy had presented flowers to Louisa and shown her her doll and had told her the doll’s name was Charlotte, like the princess. They were sweet, well-mannered children. They were William’s half brother and half sister.
When Alex and Louisa and Matthew eventually returned to the manor, Alex announced that he was going to continue on with Matthew to view more of the estate. “Lord Halford here has given me some fine suggestions about the farms already, milady,” Matthew said, “and I should like to hear more of what he has to say.”
Louisa looked at Alex in surprise, and he smirked. “You see, I was paying attention all those years when Father was droning on about such matters.”
Their decision was completely fine with her; at the moment, what she wanted was time alone to reflect upon everything she’d learned upon arriving at Farleigh Manor. Besides, there was one thing at Farleigh Manor she still wished to see—but she wanted to be alone when she saw it.
Matthew helped her dismount, and the two men left to return Louisa’s horse to the stable and continue on their way. Louisa went inside and sought out Mrs. Holly, eventually finding her in her little office tucked behind the dayroom, reviewing the household accounts.
The woman set her papers aside and stood.
“We met Jane Purnell,” Louisa said.
The woman sagged. “It was bound to happen sooner or later, I suppose,” she said, folding her hands in front of her.
“I imagine her arrival came as quite a shock.”
“When Master William arrived back here so soon with her and her two little chicks in tow, it was a bit of a shock. We never heard a peep about her over the years, you see, even though the viscount was briefly here at Farleigh Manor a few times each year. It wasn’t a shock, however, to learn that he had married the poor woman under such circumstances, I’m sorry to admit.”
“She’s a very nice person,” Louisa said. “Her children are sweet.”
“The viscount at least recognized quality in a woman when he saw it,” Mrs. Holly said. “Not that he knew how to respect and honor that quality. Selfish man—if you’ll pardon me for saying so.”
“No apology necessary, Mrs. Holly. I think I have figured out at least that much about him myself. And yet you all stayed.”
“For Master William, you see. We had to stay for Master William. His high and mighty lordship wasn’t here often. He could be especially cruel to Mary, poor duck, but Mary knew how to stay away from him; don’t you worry. She hated the man. We all did, and that’s the truth. But we stayed for her ladyship and, afterward, for Master William.”
Louisa’s heart was already sore, and she thought she could bear no more. “I understand there is a particularly fine oak tree on the estate,” she said. “I received a painting of it from Lord Farleigh—the current Lord Farleigh. I should dearly like to see it in person.”
“We’ve several oak trees on the property. But if you’re looking for a particular oak . . . hmm.” Mrs. Holly tapped her chin in thought. “There is one that comes to mind. It stands alone beside a pond just over the small hill on the east side of the house. It’s a lovely spot once you get there.”
“That sounds like the tree I’m interested in.” Mrs. Holly’s description matched the tree in the painting perfectly.
“It’s not difficult to find. Mary can give you the best directions to get there; she’s been there too many times to count, especially when she and Master—Lord Farleigh—were children.”
Louisa went with Mrs. Holly to the kitchen in search of Mary. It had been a thoroughly illuminating two days; her discoveries today, in particular, had been shocking and sad. She hoped time alone would help her sort through her thoughts before she and Alex returned to London tomorrow morning.
A wonderful aroma met them the closer they got to the kitchen, and Louisa’s stomach growled, reminding her it was well past time for luncheon.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Mrs. Holly said. “Have a nice afternoon at the oak tree, milady.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Holly.”
The housekeeper nodded and went on her way.
Louisa poked her head through the kitchen door and saw both Mrs. Brill and Mary busily preparing a variety of dishes. “Something smells heavenly in here, Mrs. Brill.”
“Thank you, m’lady. What with you and the earl here and all, I couldn’t resist cooking up some of Master Will’s favorite dishes to celebrate. Mary, slice them potatoes thinner, luv.”
Louisa wandered over to Mary, who was standing next to the table, slicing potatoes with admirable skill. “Excellent work, Mary. I can hardly wait for supper so I can taste what you and your mama have created for us.”
Mary grinned at her, then looked confused, unsure how to curtsy with a knife, then gave up. “Will loves potatoes,” she said. “And I love Will.”
“I’m sure he does, and I’m sure you do,” Louisa said, shooting an understanding glance at an embarrassed Mrs. Brill. “Mrs. Holly told me Mary here could give me the best directions to an oak tree Lord Farleigh was particularly fond of,” Louisa said.
“Lord Farleigh?” Mrs. Brill exclaimed, looking shocked. “Oh, right, our young Master Will.” She dabbed at her cheeks with her apron. “Goodness, what a start you gave me! I’m still gettin’ used to him bein’ the viscount now after so many years of t’other one. Them potatoes look much better, Mary.”
“I know the tree,” Mary said, continuing to slice the potatoes while she spoke. Her mother had trained her well; Louisa was impressed. “It’s Will’s tree. Mine and Will’s.”
“Aye, the one what you and Will was always sneakin’ off to when you shouldn’t ha’ been. Oh—now, don’t you worry, milady. Master Will was always a good one to our Mary,” Mrs. Brill added by way of clarification. “They went there hidin’ from the viscount a time or two. And teachin’ my girl her letters when his tutor were done with him.” She chuckled. “At least tryin’ to teach her, poor lass. Never could quite figure them out.”
The cook’s words conjured images of a lonely boy looking for friends, a boy who’d been willing to share what he knew with the cook’s slow-witted daughter.
“I can show you, milady. Here you go, Mama.” Mary set down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron, then took the bowl of potatoes over to her mother.
“There’s a good lass. Now, you go point out the way to that tree for Lady Louisa here and then come right back, mind.”
“Thank you so much, Mary,” Louisa said with a smile. “And then I’ll be on my way, so you both can get back to your work.” She really was hungry, however, and the aromas in the kitchen were unrelenting. “Perhaps I can beg a roll from you to take with me?”
Mrs. Brill looked chagrined. “Oh, what have I been thinkin’? O’ course you can, m’lady.” She set about putting together a basket with a generous supply of rolls, cheese, butter, jam, and a jar of lemonade. Louisa could get lost on the estate for days and not starve to death, she was certain.
After an elaborate and detailed description from Mary of every rock and plant Louisa would encounter along the way to the tree, and being sent off with a basket of food, Louisa started out through the herb garden, carefully maintained by Mrs. Brill and flourishing as a result, and then on past William’s mother’s rose garden. This garden hadn’t fared quite as well as the herbs had. The roses needed pruning, their beds choked with weeds.
Louisa also noticed that the grounds at the back of the manor weren’t as well maintained as those at the front, those in public view. Matthew had more than one man could do on an estate the size of Farleigh Manor; it made sense that he would put his efforts into the areas that mattered most. A small ornamental garden, regardless of how sentimental it might be, couldn’t afford to be a priority to him.
Her destination was not the garden, however, so she continued on across the lawns to the small hill at the east end of the property. She set the basket down so she could remove her bonnet and fan her face with it as she walked—it was quite a trek from the manor house, and she was hot. Hopefully her skin wouldn’t burn too severely in the afternoon sun.
She recognized the oak tree the moment it came into view. It looked nearly the same as the painting William had given her but from a slightly different viewpoint. It was a magical place, a world all its own, green and shady, and would be an idyllic refuge for any child. She set the basket and bonnet down next to the tree and then placed her hands on a massive trunk that attested to its longevity. She gazed up at sturdy, leafy branches perfect for climbing and even for sitting on that would offer a wonderful, woodsy view of the pond.
Rather than climb those branches today, however, Louisa retrieved the basket and bonnet and settled comfortably in the shade on the far side of the tree, away from the manor house and facing the water. She spread butter and jam on one of the rolls and ate, soaking up the serenity of the place while she did so.
A picture formed in her mind of a quiet boy who had tried to make sense of a mercurial and bewildering father and a mother who had eventually given up and withdrawn. Of faithful servants who had remained steadfast through the years, waiting for the boy they loved to become a man and take his rightful place, and doing everything they could in the meantime to guard his inheritance for him.
Farleigh Manor may have been sorely mistreated by its former viscount, but it had a small, loyal staff that had not abandoned it or its heir. It said much about William that this was the case. He had been loved as a boy, and he was loved still.
Such love and loyalty could only exist if they were reciprocated.
And then just mere days ago, William had learned of another woman—a genteel woman—who had trusted William’s father as William’s own mother had trusted him. Another woman who had borne the man children and been treated shabbily by him, and William, despite the added strain it would put on his meager resources—not to mention the public scandal it would potentially cause—had invited her and her children to live at Farleigh Manor.
Louisa rested against the tree trunk. Ducks flapped their wings and skidded across the pond, scolding each other and setting the water rippling. What a blessed life Louisa had lived. She knew nothing at all of hardship, absolutely nothing. The vowel William had presented to her father had created the first ripple of adversity she’d ever experienced.
Her eyes closed as the rigors of the past two days caught up with her, and soon the rustling of the leaves and gentle sound of water became too much to resist, and she slept.
* * *
William arrived at Farleigh Manor after a blistering ride, taking only enough time along the way to rest and water his horse. The poor beast was blown, its sides heaving from the strain of exertion. William dismounted and patted the horse’s neck in apology. “Sorry, my friend, but desperate times call for desperate measures, as the old saying goes. I’ll make it up to you.”
“I’ll make it up to him,” Samuel said as he walked over from the stable and took the reins from William. “S’pected ye’d show up sooner rather than later, son.”
“Tell me what’s been going on,” William said.
“His high and mighty lordship has been busy askin’ questions of all and sundry as if he owned the place, though he’s pleasant enough about it. Knows his business too, that’s for certain.”
The Marquess of Ashworth would have made sure his heir was fully educated in the management of an estate, as William’s own father had not. “And?” William asked.
Samuel shrugged his shoulders and spat. “And nothin’, really, other than him being a lord and so the rest of us is bowin’ and scrapin’ and tuggin’ our forelocks and answerin’ all his questions about everything like a bunch o’ lackeys.”
“I was afraid of that once I realized he and Lady Louisa had come here. Unplanned, as it were.”
“Unplanned, eh? I wondered about that, what with ye not being here with ’em, but what was we to do?”
“You did precisely what I would have wanted you to do. They are guests, and Lady Louisa, God willing, is to be my wife. Their questions were valid ones, anyway.” He could only hope the answers they’d gotten so far didn’t amount to William’s undoing.
Samuel cleared his throat. “About the young lady . . .” he began.
“Yes?” William said.
“I wouldn’t wish to be speakin’ out of turn, melord—”
“Samuel, you used to call me ‘that cursed boy’ on occasion, including a time when you threatened to tan my backside.”
Samuel chuckled. “Mebbe I did, at that. But if I did, ’twas only ’cause ye deserved it. Only then, mind. Ye was always a good lad, in truth.”
And there it was again, the pang in William’s heart that inevitably came with the desire to save the people dearest to him, like Samuel. The people of Farleigh Manor didn’t know how dire its finances truly were and were in for a cruel shock when they learned of the debt that existed from his father’s mortgages. William’s mortgages now.
He realized he’d fallen silent and that Samuel was watching him with a keen eye, so he shook off the bleakness that had encroached upon him with his thoughts. “You mentioned something about Lady Louisa.”
“Aye.” Samuel was still studying him too closely. “She’s been doin’ the same as her lofty brother inside the house but with a lighter touch. And she met yer new guests . . .”
William moaned and covered his eyes with his hand.
“Just this mornin’, she and his lordship had that distinct honor. Matthew did his best to steer ’em away from the cottage, but they insisted on goin’ up that way.” He paused. “Almost like they knew what they was searchin’ for,” he said.
William looked up in alarm. He’d only just met Miss Purnell himself before scuttling her and the children here to Farleigh Manor. Louisa couldn’t have known about her.
“I figured it were because of Mary’s blatherin’,” Samuel said. “She were going on about Lady Louisa bein’ the real wife and children and the like, was our Mary. But I think yer lady would have found it out sooner or later anyway. She’s a clever one, her ladyship is, and there’s no mistakin’.”
“Yes, she is,” William said.
“And,” Samuel continued. “If ye’re interested, I seen her out walkin’ alone not long past in the direction of a certain oak tree a lad I once knew were fond of. She has yer heart, don’t she, son?”
“I believe so, Samuel,” William replied. “Heaven help me.”
“Go find her, then,” Samuel said.
* * *
The oak tree looked much the same as it had when William had last seen it on the day after his mother’s funeral. Perhaps a bit taller, its trunk a tad thicker, but it was still the same tree that had been his refuge from the tension that had been a constant undercurrent in the house. Only Samuel and Matthew had been aware of how much time he’d spent there during his holiday visits home.
He spotted Louisa sitting beneath its canopy just before he reached it; she’d been hidden from his view by the trunk before then. When he came near enough, he discovered she was sound asleep, so he used the opportunity to simply gaze at her.
He wished he had his oils and brushes with him.
She had a picnic basket with her; bless Mrs. Brill’s good heart for seeing to her needs. She wore a simple day dress of light-blue muslin and had removed her bonnet, which sat on the lawn next to her. A dark curl had escaped its pins and occasionally flitted about her cheek, depending on the whims of the breeze. That was what he would paint, if he could. It would make a beautiful, serene portrait. But Louisa was more than that—she was clever and kind and honorable and honest in her emotions—a specific quality he himself had not learned from his own childhood and still struggled with mightily but held in high esteem now.
William’s heart ached as he gazed at her. It hadn’t felt like this since his mother’s death.
Oh, how he loved Louisa.
And in that moment, looking at her, he realized he could not shackle her by force to the same fate he had endured. He must destroy the vowel.
Ironic that for a man who loathed gambling as much as he did, he was about to make the biggest wager of his life. Freeing Louisa from the vowel meant he would lose the woman he loved and make the lives of everyone else he loved more difficult.
Unless she loved him and chose to marry him anyway . . .
He smiled humorlessly. He’d been nothing but a plague to her, forcing her to end a betrothal to Lord Kerridge and commit to marrying him. He’d been unable to get past the wall he’d built around himself and allow her to know him. He’d kissed her, and she’d accused him of manipulation. Except for that one time . . .
A single kiss, passionate though it may have been, could not be construed as love.
He sat next to her, drew up one knee, and rested his arm on top, still gazing at her, praying for the strength to do what he knew he had to do. He sensed more than saw her stir, and then her hand fluttered up to her eyes as she gradually awakened. He waited until he thought her fully awake before alerting her to his presence. “Hello, Louisa,” he said softly.
She sat up abruptly, blinking to clear away the fog of sleep. “William? What are you doing here?”
“Watching you sleep.” And grieving that the moment of truth had arrived.
She fumbled for her bonnet, which he gently took from her hands before she could put it on and cover her beautiful dark hair. “I didn’t realize I was so tired, but it seemed the minute I sat down . . .”
“This place has that effect.”
“It’s your oak tree, isn’t it? The one in the painting. I knew when I saw it.”
“Yes.”
“The painting is lovely; you did a wonderful job.” She yawned. “It was quite a hike to get here, which must account for my sleepiness—although Alex and I have been rather busy the past few days too, not to mention the long ride in the carriage that brought us here. Mary showed me the way—to the tree, naturally, not the manor.” She was being her typical, Louisa-like self upon awakening, overflowing with words as usual, but her eyes betrayed her worry about his arrival at Farleigh Manor.
The time had come.
“Louisa, there is something I must say to you,” he said.
She took a deep breath. “Before you do, William, there is something I must say first. Please don’t be angry with Alex for bringing me here uninvited. It was my idea—”
William placed his fingers on her lips to silence her words. “Shh,” he said gently. “I am not angry. I am ashamed.”
Before he could continue, she took hold of his hand and removed it from her lips, clasping it in both of her hands. “But there is no need to be ashamed,” she said earnestly. “Farleigh Manor is special. Oh, it’s definitely in need of repair, but that can be remedied once we hire more servants, and I don’t entirely know what Alex has learned from his inquiries into the home farms—he and Matthew are working together right now on that very thing—but I’m sure—”
“Louisa,” William said, interrupting her, loving her even more for her hopeful outlook. “My dear.”
“I’m talking too much again, aren’t I?”
“Not at all. But I’m afraid what I have to say cannot wait.” He must speak before he lost the will to do so.
He rose to his feet and walked a few paces away, bracing himself before turning to face her. “My shame isn’t because of the condition of Farleigh Manor. It is because in blaming my father for it, valid as it may have been to do so, I took my own actions too far by using the vowel to force you into marriage. I convinced myself it was necessary––a connection that would provide a means of rectifying the situation here as well as the debts my father accumulated. It was unforgivable of me. But my sins are worse than even that. You asked me to be honest and forthcoming with you, and I failed. And when Miss Purnell—”
“William,” she said, but he held up his hand to stop her from speaking. He had to finish what he’d come to say.
“I had to do something, don’t you see?” he asked. “My father—”
“William,” she interrupted again. “I thought she was your mistress.”
“My . . . what?” he sputtered.
“Lord Kerridge told Alex he saw you with Miss Purnell. He watched you get into a carriage with her. It seemed the likeliest conclusion; he and Alex both assumed—”
William groaned.
“I had to know for myself, William. I didn’t have the luxury of time to wait for you to tell me, and I wasn’t sure what you would say if I confronted you. It was time for me to get the answers I needed on my own since the last of the banns are to be read this Sunday. You see that, don’t you?”
“You thought I had a mistress,” he said more to himself, really, than to her. He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it, except that it wasn’t funny in the least.
He looked her straight in her eye. “Louisa, my whole life, I watched my mother waste away from my father’s abuses and infidelities. She died well before her time. And then less than a week ago, I learned that my father had treated another woman with the same selfish disregard—and that he had fathered children by her. Peter is almost the age I was when my father sent me off to school, and Daisy is a sweet little thing who deserves to be brought up with family who loves her and treats her with respect—as you yourself were loved and treated by your family. I want Miss Purnell to know that my brother and sister will not suffer from my father’s misdeeds, that they will have the happy childhood I was never allowed. I will never, never do to my family what my father did to both of his.”
“I wanted to believe this of you, William. I think I already knew, but I had to be sure,” Louisa said, her deep-blue eyes dark and earnest.
“When Mr. Heslop first showed me the vowel, it seemed a rational and justifiable plan. But it became less supportable the more I got to know you.” He longed to tell her that he loved her, but it would be unfair to weigh her down with that confession now. “It was utterly wrong of me to assume I could hold you to this. I cannot in good conscience burden you with marriage to me and to life at Farleigh Manor and all the struggles that will entail. They were not of your doing.”
He reached into his breast pocket and retrieved the vowel.
* * *
Louisa watched, stunned, as William held the vowel he’d taken from the breast pocket of his coat, after having just listened to him string more words together at one time than all the other times he’d spoken to her combined. And with a surprising bit of theatrical bravado that was completely out of character for him, he held up the vowel and tore it in half and then in half again and again until there were only small squares of paper left. And then he knelt before her on one knee and held the squares of paper out to her in offering, looking for all the world as if he were about to propose in earnest.
How ironic that his romantic gesture was intended to end their betrothal.
“I shall leave at first light for London to inform your father and mother of the change of plans and to offer my deepest apologies. I am to blame, and I will do everything in my power to make things right for you,” he said. He looked at her with heartbreaking tenderness before dropping his gaze. “I will take my leave of you now, unless you would like my escort back to the house.”
Louisa scrambled to her feet in a rather frantic, unladylike way before he could extend a hand to assist her. “William, you cannot simply give a speech like that and then walk away,” she exclaimed. “It is my turn to speak now.”
“What have you to tell me that I do not already know?” he said. “I am a poor man, Louisa. Worse than poor, for I am a man saddled with huge debts and few resources. It will likely take my entire life to pay off what is owed, and perhaps not even then. I have discovered family who is dependent on me, for they have even less than I. I have nothing to offer you, my dear. Quite the contrary—I have cost you a great deal.”
“You are so certain of all this, are you, without hearing what I have to say?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“And that’s it? Suddenly you have come to your senses and torn up the vowel, and you tell me I am free to go home—after ending my betrothal to another man, making a formal, public announcement with you, and reading banns in church.”
He looked out across the pond, his eyes squinting as if focused on some faraway object, and said nothing.
“William?” she said.
Silence. Stillness.
“Speak to me! You promised me you would speak to me; you said you would. You gave me your word.” Her breaths were coming in tiny gasps.
“I have said all I have to say,” he said stoically. “Except, perhaps, to tell you that I rejoice in your freedom and wish you well in your marriage to Lord Kerridge.”
Louisa felt as though she had been slapped.
He continued staring out at the pond.
“I see,” she whispered.
She stooped to retrieve her bonnet and then walked away, her back straight. She was determined that she would not look any less than the daughter of a marquess when she left him.
He would not see the tears running down her face. Not this time.