The following morning, William had met briefly with Heslop and then had made his way to Doctors’ Commons in pursuit of a special license, which was now tucked safely in his breast pocket. The vowel had been in existence for thirty-odd years, but now that it had been brought to light and acknowledged and the special license obtained, William was anxious. He would rest more easily after the marriage had been performed and duly written into the parish register, he thought as he scraped soap and stubble from his chin for the second time today, paying special attention to an unruly spot under his jaw, careful not to nick himself.
He had washed and shaved this morning, but an invitation to dine at Ashworth House this evening had arrived during his absence from home, and as he intended to look his best when he presented himself at Ashworth House again, he was repeating the process.
This was one of the few times in his life he wished he had a valet. He hadn’t bothered with one in university and hadn’t seen the need since, which was probably just as well, considering just how empty the family coffers he’d inherited were. He’d done well enough over the years to make himself presentable, occasionally relying on the help of a maid or laundress wherever he’d been staying at any given time.
He attempted a slightly more elegant knot than usual in his neckcloth without success, then tossed it aside and tried again with a fresh one. He must do his best to look the impeccable gentleman when he arrived to dine with Lady Louisa and her parents. He wouldn’t be surprised if her brothers would be there as well, scrutinizing him closely.
William didn’t usually concern himself with others’ perceptions of him, but tonight was crucial. Family honor aside, if William presented himself in any way that implied their daughter and sister was headed toward disaster by marrying him, the brothers would not hesitate to intervene, he was sure.
He located his stickpin and carefully inserted it into the folds of his neckcloth, praying it would keep the knot he’d achieved in some semblance of order throughout the evening, and evaluated his appearance in the mirror.
He’d managed well enough, he supposed.
He hoped he’d managed well enough.
He sighed. If he were to be honest with himself, he would admit that, first and foremost, what he wanted was to improve Lady Louisa’s opinion of him.
Heslop’s words ran incessantly through his mind: “The legal aspects of the wager are thin and would not be enforceable if challenged. You must win the lady over just to be sure.”
William had his work cut out, especially since she had declared her hatred for him.
* * *
Louisa sat, her back ramrod straight, on the edge of the settee in the drawing room while she and her parents and her brothers awaited the arrival of Lord Farleigh to join them for dinner. They had all dressed much finer than they normally would when dining en famille. The addition of Lord Farleigh called for more formality.
Alex and Anthony had been apprised of the abrupt change in her betrothal. The discussion had included a great deal of disbelief and resistance on their part, including a few unseemly remarks Papa had put a stop to before they’d gotten out of hand. However, Louisa knew her brothers well enough to know they were not about to ignore the topic as they dined with Lord Farleigh this evening, regardless of Mama’s added appeal to them for discretion. Her brothers were not the type to mince words.
Louisa was not looking forward to any of this, and long before she felt ready, Gibbs announced the arrival of their guest.
“Farleigh, I presume,” Alex said, crossing the room to shake the viscount’s hand. “I had a casual acquaintance with the previous Lord Farleigh. I believe I won several hundred quid off him once.”
“You likely did,” Lord Farleigh answered smoothly but not before Louisa’s father shot Alex a quelling look. “My father rarely turned away from an opportunity to wager.”
“Welcome, Lord Farleigh,” Louisa’s mother said, rising from her chair and offering her hand to him. “We are pleased you are joining us.”
Louisa assumed her mother was only pleased that he was joining them for dinner—and not that he was going to be joining the family. And she might not have even meant the word pleased at all.
“Thank you, my lady,” he replied with a bow.
“Wait a moment; I remember you,” Anthony said, coming forward. “Will Barlow, from Eton. You’re Farleigh now, eh? Alex, you remember Barlow. He was house captain when I was a first-year boy. Gave me a rather hard time too, every once in a while.”
“Only when you deserved it,” Lord Farleigh said. “Which wasn’t frequent, by my recollection.”
“Why, so it is,” Alex said, recognition dawning on his face. “It’s been years. Care for a drink, Farleigh?”
“No, but thank you for the offer.”
Alex poured one for himself and downed it in one swallow, earning a reproving look—this time from Mama.
How they had managed to tell her brothers about the betrothal to Lord Farleigh without mentioning his name, Louisa didn’t know. At least now he didn’t seem a total stranger to her brothers.
“Condolences on the loss of your father,” Anthony said. He had always been the more solicitous of Louisa’s two brothers. Perhaps it was a trait he’d developed as spare to the heir.
“Thank you, Lord Anthony. These have been difficult times,” Lord Farleigh said.
Alex snorted.
Lord Farleigh ignored him. He turned instead to Louisa and bowed over the hand she extended to him. “Lady Louisa, you are a vision of loveliness.”
At some point during the introductions, she had risen to her feet, although she couldn’t remember doing so, anxious as she’d been about how her brothers would behave.
“Much better than the other night when she had looked a portent of foul weather,” Alex murmured.
Louisa watched Lord Farleigh’s eyebrows come together in confusion, and Anthony and Alex shared a look that said they thought they’d been fairly prophetic in their comments about her dress.
“One would think we’d reared our sons to have no decorum at all, Ashworth,” Mama said in a tone intended to be taken seriously.
“Thank you for the compliment, Lord Farleigh,” Louisa added quickly, shooting a warning glance at Alex, unsure exactly how to move the conversation along to a topic that her brothers wouldn’t take down an undesirable path.
Gibbs entered the room—none too soon, in Louisa’s estimation. “Dinner is served,” he announced.
Louisa let out a breath. Perhaps chewing food would keep her brothers’ mouths too busy to speak. One could always hope.
Lord Farleigh offered her his arm. “May I have the honor?”
She laid her hand on his arm as lightly as she could, and they proceeded to the dining room. Her father took his normal place at the head of the table, but because they were eating informally, Louisa’s mother sat to his right, with Alex next to her. Lord Farleigh sat to her father’s left, and Louisa was next, with Anthony seated on her other side. At least if Alex offered veiled insults to their guest, she could kick him under the table.
“Ah, Eton,” Alex said as he draped his lap with his napkin while the soup was being served. “Jolly times they were, eh, Farleigh?”
“Yes,” Lord Farleigh answered in a noncommittal tone.
“Hmm.” Alex drummed his fingers on the table, which earned another look of consternation from Mama. “I’m trying to recollect who your mates were at the time. I must confess I avoided the older boys as much as possible—it was safer for my physical well-being that way.”
“I’m sure your mother and sister don’t wish to hear about the antics young men get into while at school, Halford,” Papa said.
“I doubt anything I say will be a surprise to either of them, but I take your point, Father.”
As Louisa had observed or been included in plenty of boyhood antics during her lifetime, she had to agree with Alex on this one, but she said nothing and concentrated on her soup.
“Alex and I went to Cambridge when our Eton years concluded, but I don’t recall seeing you there,” Anthony said, changing the subject. “Excellent soup, by the way, Mama.”
Anthony, Louisa’s more subtle brother, was fishing for information from Lord Farleigh about how he’d spent the past few years, without coming right out and asking. Louisa hoped Lord Farleigh would take the bait. She wanted to learn as much as she could about him before she was married to him. It would be dreadful to learn he was of low character after they were married, when it was too late to do anything about it.
“Thank you, Anthony,” Mama said. “I shall pass that along to Cook.”
“I was at Oxford,” Lord Farleigh said. “The soup is indeed excellent, Lady Ashworth.”
Mama smiled politely.
“I’m an Oxford man, myself,” Papa said. “Couldn’t convince my sons to follow suit, however.”
“Too close to home, Father,” Alex said with a wink. “A young man needs to learn, ah . . . independence . . . in a way that is best accomplished by distance from his parents.”
“Agreed,” Anthony said with a smile before taking a spoonful of soup.
Lord Farleigh said nothing.
Throughout the remainder of supper, Louisa was more silent than was her usual tendency. She was too busy observing her parents observing Lord Farleigh, and she was too busy observing Lord Farleigh as well. Louisa’s brothers continued to attempt to engage the viscount in conversation about their years at Eton and mutual friends and acquaintances from that time. Her parents allowed them to take the lead, only offering the occasional comment during the ebb and flow of conversation.
Lord Farleigh was similar to her brothers in many ways, Louisa noted. He was congenial enough and was intelligent and well-spoken, albeit his responses were brief and seemed intended to give the least amount of information possible. Was he simply a quiet man, or did he have something to hide?
As the dessert dishes were cleared away, Lord Farleigh set his napkin down. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Ashworth, Lady Ashworth. Would you mind if I invited Lady Louisa for a walk in your gardens? Lady Louisa, would you care for a stroll?”
Since they were dining informally, Louisa had fully expected she and Mama would retire to the sitting room, allowing her father and brothers the freedom to enjoy a glass of port and interrogate Lord Farleigh to their hearts’ content, as they would no longer be in mixed company. She looked at him in surprise, unsure quite how to respond.
“I suppose we did monopolize the conversation at supper, did we not, Alex?” Anthony said before she could articulate a reply. “But, Farleigh, you must be warned. On most occasions, Louisa is more verbal than we two brothers combined. Once our baby sister begins talking, there are few ways to get her to stop.”
“Should that happen, you might be inclined to change your mind about the wager,” Alex added. “She’s been uncommonly quiet so far this evening. She might explode.”
“Alexander, really,” Louisa’s mother said.
“Halford,” Lord Ashworth warned.
“If he’s going to be family, he deserves to know,” Alex said, then took a sip from his goblet.
“I won’t be changing my mind,” Lord Farleigh said.
Louisa stood abruptly and tossed her napkin on the table. “A stroll would be just the thing,” she said. “Thank you, Lord Farleigh. Please excuse us, Mama, Papa.”
She left the room with her head high, ignoring her brothers and not caring if Lord Farleigh—or anyone else, for that matter—followed her. And she intended to give Alex and Anthony plenty of words later. She was supposed to marry this stranger, and they were making jokes at her expense.
She made her way to the drawing room, with its french doors that led directly to the terrace and the formal garden below. Lord Farleigh caught up with her by the time she reached the doors. “Allow me,” he said and opened them for her.
Once outside, she walked along the terrace, stopping near the end and setting her hands on the balustrade. The moon was half hidden by the clouds and cast the garden in partial shadow. Lord Farleigh had followed her and now stood at her side.
She waited for him to speak, but he said nothing. He stood there quietly, as he always seemed to do. It was impossible to ignore him, however, though she tried for several frustrating minutes.
Finally, infuriated, she turned to face him. “Are you happy, Lord Farleigh?” she asked him.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“It should be obvious what I mean,” she said. “Are you happy—are you experiencing that joyful state of being in which one is full of contentment and blissful satisfaction? Happy.”
The moon bathed his features in milky-white light. He looked serious—definitely not happy, which was fine with her, for she most certainly was not.
“I am happy to be here on the terrace with you, Lady Louisa.”
“That is no answer,” she replied. “Or, more to the point, I don’t believe you. You don’t smile. You give the briefest of replies to every question or statement put to you.” She took a step closer to him and looked him straight in the eyes. “I will come to your assistance, by describing my own state of being. I am not happy. Since you showed up unannounced on our doorstep, I have done nothing but reflect upon the horrible truth that I have been summarily passed from one man to another during the course of a single day, the sacrificial lamb for someone else’s misdeeds, because of honor.
“Where was honor when my grandfather made a wager that impacted someone else’s life in such a way? My life.” She blinked back hot tears she had thought she’d entirely shed already. “What of me? What of my hopes and dreams? What of love?” She turned away from him when her foolish tears began to fall in earnest. She brushed at them furiously with her hand.
Her infernal brothers were right though; now that she’d begun speaking, it seemed she couldn’t stop. “I always aspired to a marriage of love, like that of my parents. Children need to be born into a loving family, with a mother and father who love each other and cherish them and don’t send them off with the nurse or the governess—or off to school, poor dears, simply because they are an inconvenience. Children!” She gasped, throwing her hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear heavens, does that mean you expect that I . . . that we . . . ?”
It was his turn to look her directly in the eyes, wet and puffy though they assuredly were. “I had hoped to have a marriage in fact, my lady, and not one in name only, yes,” he said evenly.
Well! He’d spoken one of his rare complete sentences—one that had succeeded in leaving her speechless for once, and, naturally, it would be on that subject. Men undoubtedly held strong opinions when it came to that. And yet his words and the intensity of his gaze had also left her feeling breathless and tingly, even though it was at odds with her general mood at present. She sniffed.
He retrieved his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “My intention has always been to be faithful to my wife,” he said.
“How comforting,” she said, adding a touch of sarcasm to her words.
“I’d say so, yes,” he replied, leaning his hip against the balustrade. At least he was being polite enough not to stare at her while she dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. Blowing one’s nose was such an indelicate, embarrassing thing to do. “Many gentlemen aren’t, you know. Faithful, that is.”
“My father is not like ‘many gentlemen,’ then. He would never do that to my mother. He adores her, and she adores him.”
“If that is true, you are exceedingly fortunate,” he said.
“It is true.”
“As you say.”
He was silent then, and so was she. She dabbed at her eyes again. As a young girl, whenever she’d cried, Anthony had teased her that she was such a talented watering pot she should work with the gardener. Alex would counter that Anthony’s suggestion was an impossibility, as her resulting splotchy face looked so much like Medusa, she would turn the gardener to stone. Then they would laugh uproariously while she dashed off to the nearest mirror to see if what they had said was true. It hadn’t dawned on her until she was older that if what Alex had said was indeed true, her brothers would have turned to stone long since.
She’d also learned, however, that while she didn’t look as bad as Medusa, it wasn’t her most flattering look by any stretch either.
How utterly mortifying to be in this situation with a virtual stranger. This stranger.
“Lady Louisa,” he said gently, “I promised you a stroll in the garden, and yet here we are, still on the terrace, when we could be enjoying the moonlight and the fragrance of the flowers.” He offered her his arm. “May we?”
She felt so helpless, so vulnerable. But what was she to do? She’d already given her word regarding marriage to him. “Very well,” she said.
* * *
They descended the stairs into the garden, Lady Louisa’s hand tucked tentatively in the crook of William’s arm, and walked along the path that led to a lush bed of roses. And all the while, William felt an aching constriction at the back of his throat. Her words had struck at him like knives.
“What of me? What of my hopes and dreams? What of love?” she had cried.
He recalled his mother’s words—words flung at his father. William had been but a young lad at the time, standing outside the door of her room, eager to show her his latest drawing. “What of me? And what of your son? Have you no love for us?” Even at William’s tender age, he’d recognized the desperation in her voice.
He pushed the thought away. “Your brothers are devoted to you,” he said to Lady Louisa. He had to say something to break the silence.
“There have been plenty of times over the years when I would have called them pestilential rather than devoted,” she replied in a slightly nasally voice as a result of her tears. “Including today.”
William knew what a truly pestilential person was like, and her brothers didn’t qualify. “They love you.”
She heaved a sighed. “I know they do, and I feel the same about them. If anything were to happen to either of them—well, it doesn’t bear thinking about. I worry about them, you see. I spent my childhood chasing after them; I know the kinds of mischief they got into back then. It actually served me well a time or two, as I was able to blackmail them into including me in some of their less dangerous escapades.” She sniffled and wiped her nose again.
William had the sudden urge to kiss that nose, swollen and red though it was at present—for, truly, her nature was so opposite his own that he found her captivating. His eyes dropped from her nose to her lips . . .
“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” she muttered. “I suppose it’s because they’re right.”
He pulled his attention back to the train of the conversation. “About?” he asked.
“About how once I begin to speak, I can’t seem to stop.”
“I haven’t found that to be the case. Your brothers were only teasing.” William didn’t think he’d ever met anyone so ingenuous, so guileless and open as Lady Louisa Hargreaves. Did she know that every nuance of her emotions was apparent in her expressions and in her words? He doubted it.
He snapped a bloom from a rosebush with his free hand, briefly held it to his nose to breathe in its scent, and then handed it to her. “For you.”
“Thank you,” she said. “But don’t try to make me like you, as I still feel inclined not to at present. Oh, but it does smell lovely, does it not?”
“Indeed.”
They walked along in silence again. William thought carefully about what to say next. He wanted to discuss their wedding plans further, but he didn’t want to broach the subject until he was certain she was of a frame of mind to do so. Considering how upset she’d been on the terrace, now was not the time—at least, not yet.
“I remember you from a visit you and your parents made to Eton,” he said finally.
“Do you?” she said, looking up at him in surprise.
The moon broke through the clouds then and illuminated her face—and her eyes, still slightly swollen from her earlier tears, glowed with curiosity. If he were a true artist and not a plodding amateur, he’d paint her just as she looked right now, he thought to himself, drinking in the sight of her. She was Diana, goddess of the moon—pure and youthful and, oh, so lovely. Unattainable. His studies of Roman and Greek mythology, along with the classics, while at university were infinitely more gratifying to him at this particular moment than they had been before. And then the clouds shielded the moon once again.
“You were wearing a blue dress,” he replied in answer to her query. “I remember because it matched your eyes quite remarkably. Of course, you were only a little girl and, therefore, of no interest to a houseful of sophisticated young gentlemen, including myself.”
“I was always envious of Alex and Anthony,” she said in a thoughtful tone. “Going off to Eton seemed such an adventure. I felt sorry for myself, stuck at home with my governess, Miss Leggett. She was wonderful company—we had a grand time together and became fast friends. We still correspond, and I miss her dreadfully. But Eton seemed vast and exciting and scholarly and . . . oh, I don’t know. Mysterious.”
“Let me assure you, there is nothing mysterious about a school full of boys.”
She actually laughed for the briefest moment, a soft, musical sound that plucked at William’s heartstrings. “With two brothers to my name, I must agree.” She looked off into the distance, although there wasn’t much to see in the nighttime darkness. “But I was referring to the exclusivity of the school, the subjects boys—not girls—were allowed to study.”
“Most boys would have used the term required rather than allowed,” he said.
“I wouldn’t. My father let me join Alex and Anthony with their tutor for part of each day until they went off to Eton. Quite forward thinking of him. I was better at Latin and Greek than either of my brothers—at least, I was before they left. They’ve surpassed me by quite a bit now, sadly; however, my French is much better than theirs.”
“Had you been allowed to attend Eton, then, you would have continued with your Greek and Latin studies?” he asked, surprised and pleased to find her so interested in academics—something he enjoyed as well.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps I would have studied mathematics—I’m fairly good with numbers too—or astronomy or architecture or philosophy or, oh, I don’t know. There are so many things one can be curious about, you know? Perhaps I would not like any of the subjects once I began, but I would know that for a fact afterward, would I not? At any rate, I have certainly learned it to be true when it comes to ladies’ arts.”
“I take it you are not a fan of needlework,” he said, amused by her admission.
She snorted indelicately, then had to dab at her nose again, and William had to stifle the urge to laugh. Such a faux pas seemed out of character for her—and yet also completely in character. What a delightful creature she was.
“I can do needlework competently enough, and I’m not terrible on the pianoforte—although I’m not a great performer,” she said, responding to his comment. “I can dance, stand, sit, and walk with deportment and even a touch of elegance. I made my curtsy to Her Majesty without tripping on my train.”
“Well done.”
“I thought so too. That entire day was a horrible ordeal and also a truly fascinating study in politics and protocol—and the queen spoke to me, which is quite a coup, you know.”
“I do not doubt it,” he said.
They had reached the end of the rose garden, where an arched trellis covered in climbing roses stood. Underneath it was a bench.
“Would you care to sit?” he asked her.
“I’ve been rattling on again, haven’t I?” She removed her hand from the crook of his arm—William missed her touch the moment it was gone—and sat.
He sat next to her, as closely as he thought she would allow. She was like an open book, and he’d learned a great deal about her in the past few minutes—more than he’d expected to know in such a short amount of time. He actually liked everything he’d learned—even her tendency to “rattle on,” as she’d put it. He hadn’t planned on any of this when he’d first learned of the vowel.
“Lady Louisa,” he said, “I brought you outside where we could have some privacy for a few minutes, but I fully expect one of your brothers to come looking for us shortly. Therefore, if you’ll forgive me, I’ll come right to the point.”
He instantly felt her withdraw into herself.
It was a strange, empty feeling—to have been surrounded by her words and her open expressions and then to have them all suddenly closed off from him. It was like being a starving man who’d tasted a banquet and then had it snatched away before he could be filled. He cleared his throat and began again. “With your permission, I would like for us to discuss the matter of a wedding date. I have procured a special license—”
“No!” she cried, startling him into silence. “No special license. Please! Only yesterday I was expecting to marry someone else. I need time to think and adjust to everything that has happened. Just because I am trying to be polite and agreeable this evening doesn’t mean I am anywhere near ready to marry you. It is too much! Can we not have banns read instead? That would give both of us time . . . to get to know each other, at the very least. The marriage would not appear hurried and give rise to gossip. Wouldn’t that be a good thing? You have not even been in Town for people to get acquainted with you or to see us together before our marriage is announced. There will be talk. Three weeks is all I ask. You cannot deny me that. Please, I beg you.”
Her words stung his conscience. He wondered again about her attachment to Lord Kerridge. She would have been seen on Kerridge’s arm the past couple weeks, and people would have understood that they had been courting. Kerridge may have even told a few acquaintances that a betrothal was in the works. There was logic in her request, he knew it, and yet he didn’t want to give her the three weeks needed for banns to be read. It was too much time, and too many things could go wrong during those three weeks.
But how could he not allow it when he’d taken so much from her? “Very well. You have your three weeks,” he said reluctantly.
She squeezed her eyes shut and clasped her hands together. She was so young—unspoiled by the harshness of the world, a beloved daughter and sister, doted on and protected. He longed to put his arms around her and comfort her, assure her that he would do all in his power to keep her from regretting her decision to marry him, but he couldn’t. How could the person who was causing her such pain now be her source of comfort? He remained unmoving at her side.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She rose to her feet and briefly laid her hand on his shoulder before rushing back to the house, leaving him alone in the garden.