Four days had passed since Louisa’s entire life had turned upside down.
Lord Farleigh had not called upon her yesterday, which showed a great deal of prudence on his part, as Louisa had needed time to herself to adjust to her new future. Instead, he had sent her a gift—not flowers, thank heavens, as she was still receiving bouquets from hopeful gentlemen, including Baron Moseby. Those gentlemen’s ambitions would be dashed soon enough.
No, Lord Farleigh had sent her a small oil painting of an oak tree, of all things.
He was escorting her to Lady Melton’s assembly this evening, their first public appearance together, and Lord and Lady Melton had given permission to use the occasion of their assembly to announce the betrothal. The first of the banns was to be read in church on Sunday, two days hence. Marriage to Viscount Farleigh was becoming all too real.
Louisa’s parents had already left for Lady Melton’s, and Anthony and Alex had gone out with friends and would be joining them later in the evening.
Mama had stopped by Louisa’s room before leaving. “You’re sure you don’t want us to wait for Lord Farleigh to arrive?” she’d asked.
“No, Mama, I’ll be fine,” she’d assured her. “If he’d wanted to kidnap me and drag me off to Gretna Green, he could have done it already rather than face you and Papa with the vowel.”
“That is not particularly funny, Louisa,” Mama had responded. “But I take your point. Very well, we shall see you there, then.”
Louisa spent extra time dressing and seeing to her appearance, as it was critical to look her best. She’d chosen a gown of purple velvet with a high waist and short puffed sleeves.
There was bound to be gossip; she had been seen with Lord Kerridge often enough for marriage speculation to have arisen. Therefore, by arriving tonight at Lady Melton’s assembly on the arm of Lord Farleigh, Louisa must present herself as a mature woman who knew her mind and had made her choice.
She fastened her pearls around her neck, which she’d deliberately chosen because they were not ostentatious, then pulled on her evening gloves and took up her reticule and lace shawl. She was dreading the evening ahead, but it had to be faced.
The knock at her bedroom door that heralded Lord Farleigh’s arrival came at last.
He was waiting for her as she descended the stairway to the entry hall. “Lady Louisa,” he said. “You look radiant.”
He looked surprisingly elegant—and as unfathomable as usual. He wore black formal attire and had chosen a waistcoat of beige silk embroidered with gold thread, which complemented the black and the snowy white of his linens. His neckcloth was in a fashionable knot that wasn’t overly fussy and was held in place by a simple gold stickpin. The gold in his attire managed to bring out similarly colored strands in his brown hair, while the black of his coat made his dark-brown eyes seem even darker. Right now, they were directed at her, and she realized she had not replied to his compliment. “Thank you,” she said rather more breathlessly than she’d intended. How mortifying that he had this effect on her.
Lord Farleigh handed Louisa into the carriage and then climbed in and sat next to her rather than across from her. She should have anticipated it, all things considered, but she hadn’t, and his proximity to her set her insides fluttering.
“Are you ready for this evening?” he asked once the carriage was on its way. “It will be public knowledge after that.”
“What are we to tell people about our nonexistent courtship?” Louisa asked him. “There are bound to be questions along with the obligatory congratulations, and I refuse to tell people you won me in a wager.”
“What do you suggest?”
“It might help if I knew a little more about you than your name and title, for starters,” she replied, unable to hide the edge in her voice.
“Very well. I am an only child. My mother died when I was sixteen. I attended Eton, as you know, and Oxford and the University of Edinburgh thereafter, where, unlike many of my peers, I happened to prefer studying to drinking, wenching, and wagering.”
“That’s good to know. It’s also the longest string of words you have ever shared with me.”
“Hardly.”
“Oh, yes,” Louisa said. “I’m certain of it. I am so conscious of my own tendency to chatter that I’m highly attuned to others’ speech as well.” Despite her best intentions, she’d been affected by his words, especially his reference to his mother. She impulsively set her hand on his, causing his gaze to fix there. “I am sorry about the loss of your parents, you know. I would be heartbroken to lose either of my parents.”
A muscle in his cheek twitched before he spoke. “My mother has been at peace for many years now, and as for my father, I do not particularly grieve his passing—a sentiment that must horrify someone like yourself.” He raised her hand and kissed it before letting it go. “But let’s not dwell upon death tonight. What are we to tell others when they ask about our betrothal, then?”
“I hate to lie,” Louisa said. “But I cannot tell the precise truth either.”
“I shall say it was love at first sight and I did everything in my power to convince you to marry me. And that in the end, you were unable to resist my offer of marriage.”
“Hm. Except for the first part, it’s all true enough, I suppose.”
He said nothing to correct her. It was gallant of him to say he’d fallen in love with her as part of their plan for this evening, but it left her feeling deflated too, knowing it wasn’t true.
“I can tell everyone about the gift you gave me,” she said. “It’s a very lovely painting of a tree.”
“Not just any tree,” he said.
She smiled. “I thought not. More precisely, I hoped not.”
“It’s my favorite oak at Farleigh Manor,” he said. “It stands alone near a pond at the edge of the property, with a small wood not far from it. I spent many hours in that tree as a lad.”
“You’re a tree climber? I scrambled up more trees than I dare remember now, especially with Anthony—Alexander was there with us too when he was home from Eton.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in that way of his that was nearly a smile but not quite. “Just to clarify: I was a tree climber,” he said. “I can’t claim to have climbed any trees recently.”
His words sent a small ray of light into Louisa’s heart—knowing he had climbed trees gave the two of them their first real connection—which was undoubtedly foolish since most young boys climbed trees, after all. “Was and is are only a matter of attitude,” she said.
“I expect it shall remain a was, however,” he replied.
“One can never know for certain.” The painting meant more to her, though, now that she knew the history and sentiment behind it.
“We are nearly there,” he said, glancing out the carriage window. “And there is one more thing we must settle before we arrive.” Without any further warning, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers, placing his hand on her cheek while he did, and catching her completely unawares.
It was not like the polite, gentle kisses she’d shared with the Earl of Kerridge. Not at all.
This kiss flared with a heat Louisa hadn’t experienced before. Her senses collided—the leather of his glove on her cheek, his lips pressed to hers, the scent of his shaving soap, the steady swaying of the carriage all coalesced into a sweet yearning she didn’t understand.
Long before she was ready, he ended the kiss and brushed his thumb across her chin. “Now you look like a woman who is newly betrothed.”
She pushed his hand away, feeling crushed and embarrassed. “Are you saying this was part of some strategy? How dare—”
His lips returned to hers, more insistent this time, his hand at the back of her head, taking his fill and yet giving too. And her senses responded once again, betraying her when she should be angry and indignant instead.
“No strategy,” he murmured a hair’s breadth from her lips.
“I don’t believe you,” she said. For why else would he have said such a thing to her after such a kiss? She closed her eyes, struggling to regain her composure and her dignity.
“It’s true, nonetheless.” His hand dropped to his lap.
They sat silently side by side during the all-too-brief carriage ride that remained before arriving at Lord and Lady Melton’s residence. Through the window, Louisa could see footmen in pristine livery assisting other guests from their carriages; nevertheless, when they themselves made it through the queue of arriving carriages, Lord Farleigh quickly descended and handed Louisa down himself, placing her hand securely in the crook of his arm.
“Courage, my lady,” he whispered to her as they entered the front doors to join other guests waiting to be received by Lord and Lady Melton.
Courage, indeed, she thought shakily.
* * *
William led Lady Louisa through the main doors, all the while wishing he could be anywhere else. His gut churned. He could almost smell the stench that clung to him from his father’s misdeeds and unsavory reputation. Beyond the Meltons’ gracious willingness to allow Lord Ashworth to announce the betrothal, William was uncertain what sort of welcome he would receive. He’d taken Lady Louisa’s hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, as it had seemed the gentlemanly and most confident approach to take. In reality, it undoubtedly gave him more support than it did her.
Lord and Lady Melton’s residence was an impressive dwelling, which only heightened William’s anxiety. The front doors opened to a spacious entry hall whose high ceiling echoed with the sounds of newly arrived guests greeting one another as they removed their wraps and handed them over to the footmen on duty. To the left of the entry hall, beyond a pair of open double doors, was an equally spacious sitting room, where William could see Lord and Lady Melton receiving their guests.
William expected to know very few of the people at the assembly this evening. There might be one or two classmates from Eton in attendance and some acquaintances from his Oxford days, but William had made few close friends during those years. He was not gregarious by nature, like Lord Halford, or even as amiable as Lord Anthony, the more reserved of Lady Louisa’s brothers. He’d simply gone about his schooling, happy to have something that occupied his mind and kept his days filled. And he’d continued that rather aloof behavior upon completing his studies at Oxford by heading north to Scotland and attending the University of Edinburgh, which was where Heslop had finally caught up with him and sent him word of his father’s death. He doubted any old acquaintances he’d had would even remember him.
It might have been his imagination, but it seemed to him that the echoing sounds in the entry hall increased in volume as the other guests began to notice that Lady Louisa Hargreaves was with a gentleman who was not Lord Kerridge. William was relieved to see that she was smiling, at least, even if there were signs of strain around her eyes. He doubted anyone else would notice, but William had an awareness of such subtleties of expression that his father had drilled into him. He pressed forward, his eyes firmly set on the door to the sitting room, hoping to get his introduction to his host and hostess out of the way. Meeting them would give him his first real clue about how the evening would play out.
Eventually, it was their turn. Lord Melton was a slightly built but distinguished-looking gentleman with hair the color of granite and a face creased with wrinkles that William suspected he’d gotten from smiling too much. Lady Melton was slightly taller than her husband and had similar wrinkles. They looked like a matched set.
“Lady Louisa, welcome,” Lord Melton said in a cheery voice. “Look who has finally arrived, Lady Melton.”
Lady Louisa slid her hand from the crook of William’s elbow and extended it to Lord Melton, who bowed over it. “Thank you, Lord Melton.”
William wanted to snatch her hand back.
“We are so honored to play a small part in this happiest of occasions,” Lady Melton said, taking both of Louisa’s hands in her own and sounding for all the world as though she meant what she said. “And you must introduce us to your young gentleman here.”
“Lord Melton, Lady Melton, this is William Barlow, Viscount Farleigh,” Lady Louisa said, her smile still firmly in place.
“How do you do, Lord Farleigh?” Lord Melton said, offering William a less-than-enthusiastic nod of his head. Lord Melton must have been acquainted with his father, then, William surmised. “Your parents are here already, my dear, but, assuredly, you must know that,” Lord Melton added. “I believe they expressed an interest in viewing some of my recent art acquisitions in the gallery.”
“Lord Farleigh,” Lady Melton said, tapping her chin in thought. “I remember a young lady who made her come-out with me—I believe she married a Lord Farleigh. Sweet girl, as I recall. I didn’t know her well and never saw her again after her wedding. Her name was Margaret Strickland, if I’m recalling it correctly. She was an heiress; her father had made his money in coal, I believe. Any relation of yours?”
“She was my mother. She passed away several years ago,” William said. He detested speaking about her with virtual strangers. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep the flood of emotions he felt at hearing his mother’s name from pouring out.
Lady Louisa was watching him too closely.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Lady Melton said kindly.
“Thank you,” William replied, ready to be done with the conversation.
Fortunately, there were more guests for Lord and Lady Melton to receive, so he and Lady Louisa excused themselves and moved through the crowd into an adjoining room, where refreshments were being served. They continued on through that room, however, and finally spotted the marquess and marchioness in the music room down the hall, where a nondescript young lady was attempting—rather badly, it seemed to William—to play the pianoforte. He and Lady Louisa stood quietly inside the door and waited for the piece to end before moving farther into the room.
William used the time to study the marquess and marchioness more closely.
Lord Ashworth was a tall man, like his sons, with dark hair that had gone silver at the temples. This evening, along with his typical aristocratic bearing, there was an air of grim resoluteness about him as he sat and listened. Lady Ashworth was fanning herself, and her lovely face—so much like her daughter’s—had a drawn look about it. They weren’t looking forward to the announcement to come, but then, no one was; they all merely wished the deed done.
The young lady eventually finished her performance and stood to receive the weak but polite smattering of applause that followed.
“Poor Harriet does try,” Lady Louisa whispered to William as they clapped. “I will credit her that. I think her mother puts her up to it.”
Now that the performance had ended, they made their way across the room to where Lady Louisa’s parents were sitting. Luckily, and not surprisingly, considering what they’d just listened to, there were vacant chairs nearby. “We were on our way to view Lord Melton’s latest additions to his art collection when Lady Putnam invited us to hear Miss Putnam perform,” Lady Ashworth said, glancing beyond William’s shoulder. “How could we possibly refuse such a kind offer?”
William turned his head and quickly concluded that Lady Putnam must be the woman who looked rather like a man-o’-war under full sail and who was heading in their direction with Miss Harriet Putnam in tow.
“Lady Ashworth, Lord Ashworth, so thoughtful of you to deign to listen to our dear Harriet,” Lady Putnam gushed. “She has worked diligently at perfecting her finesse at the keyboard. I am quite delighted at her progress. And here is our dear Lady Louisa too . . . with a young gentleman, no less.” She smiled at William, who presumed the man-o’-war was wrangling for an introduction, if her hungry look—and her daughter’s—meant anything.
“I must say, your performance of the Haydn was very energetic, Miss Putnam,” Lady Ashworth said tactfully. Lord Ashworth stood by, looking aloof, and said nothing.
“Thank you, my lady,” Miss Putnam said to Lady Ashworth, albeit her eyes never left William, which, honestly, was beginning to make his skin crawl. “It is kind of you to say so.”
“And are your two sons intending to join us here this evening?” Lady Putnam asked. “Such elegant young gentlemen, they are.”
Lord Ashworth rolled his eyes skyward.
“Thank you, Lady Putnam. Yes, they should be here shortly,” Lady Ashworth said.
With Lady Ashworth’s assurances that her sons were planning to attend, the feral glint that had been directed at William turned immediately to focus instead on the marchioness and her words, thank goodness. He needed no complications tonight other than to get the betrothal formally announced.
There was much he had been spared by haring off to Scotland: marriage-mad mamas and their daughters, for one, besides having to watch his father’s dissipation and ultimate ruin.
“Lord Farleigh, allow me to present Lady Putnam and Miss Putnam,” Lady Louisa said, pulling William back from his gloomy thoughts. “Lady Putnam, Harriet, this is Viscount Farleigh.”
“How do you do?” Harriet said with a deep curtsy and a flirtatious smile. “So very nice to meet you.”
“Viscount Farleigh,” Lady Putnam said, her eyes narrowing. “Hmm.”
“A pleasure, Lady Putnam, Miss Putnam.” Ah, yes, William thought. He’d also forgotten that he’d been spared the gossips that abounded in Town and was certain he had just met one of the most accomplished, if Lady Putnam’s eyes were anything to go by. No doubt his name and title would make their way through the rooms of Melton House like wildfire.
William would not have Louisa suffer the ill effects of his father’s foul reputation. Notwithstanding the cordial welcome he’d received from Lord and Lady Melton, he could not guarantee the reactions of any other guests, especially with the likes of Lady Putnam and her loose tongue in attendance. It was time to prepare for the battle that loomed ahead.
He had a great deal of work to do.
* * *
“If you would excuse us,” Lady Putnam said to Louisa and her parents. “Harriet, come with me quickly. I believe the Earl of Cantwell and his brother have arrived—such charming young men. And you are looking so fetching in your yellow gown this evening. Too bad they didn’t arrive earlier so they could hear you at the pianoforte.” She grabbed her daughter by the hand and forged her way through the crowd.
“Formidable woman,” Lord Farleigh murmured.
Louisa bit her lip.
“Very,” Mama agreed. “I almost wish I had encouraged Anthony to stay at Cambridge rather than join us here for the Season. It would have kept him safe from her scheming.”
“What about Alex, Mama?” Louisa said. “Are you not equally concerned about his marital well-being?”
“Lady Putnam is formidable, I’ll grant you,” Papa said, “but she is no match for Halford. Miss Putnam and her younger sisters will have to look elsewhere for husbands. Now then, shall we make our way to the gallery and view Lord Melton’s art before it is time to make the announcement?”
Speaking of looking for husbands, Louisa belatedly remembered that she and Lord Kerridge had originally planned to attend the assembly together. She frantically glanced about her, hoping he’d had the sense and decency to stay home this evening.
The gallery was a long, narrow room that ran parallel to the public rooms the Meltons used for entertaining. Louisa wandered from painting to sculpture to painting with Lord Farleigh at her side, his hands clasped behind his back. Lord Melton was an avid collector of English works of art, she discovered, but he also had an interest in antiquities, which accounted for the occasional Greek statue or broken bit of Egyptian pottery that sat in pride of place amongst the landscape paintings and portraits. Normally, Louisa would have found such artifacts interesting, but she was having great difficulty concentrating on anything but the man next to her—the quiet man who spoke very little and still wore a mask of inscrutability on his face.
“Which is your favorite, Lord Farleigh?” she asked, unable to bear his silence any further.
“Favorite?” he asked.
His one word reply only served to increase her prickling sense of anxiety and irritation. “You know—your favorite piece of art from Lord Melton’s collection. We’ve just spent the last half hour gazing at art and antiquities, Lord Farleigh, so it ought to be obvious what I’m asking about. If I were looking at a roomful of art, which I am, I would certainly have formed an opinion about them and would undoubtedly have chosen a favorite or two.” Oh, dear. Her agitation had loosened her tongue once again. Additionally, she sounded shrewish, which was not an attractive look—not that her intent was to appear attractive to him; they may be planning to wed in the near future, but she wasn’t about to encourage the man whose presence had altered her life forever.
“Very well.” Lord Farleigh’s gaze turned toward a particular landscape of a stream bordered by a copse of trees, with a small stone cottage nestled beneath it. “That one,” he said, gesturing discreetly.
“Why?” she asked.
“I suppose it reminds me of Scotland,” he said. He lowered his head. “Perhaps it might be a good time for you to begin calling me William. May I call you Louisa?” he murmured in her ear.
Hearing her name on his lips, spoken in such quiet tones, was startlingly intimate. Her thoughts immediately flew back to their last few moments in the carriage when he had kissed her. Now you look like a woman who is newly betrothed.
She drew in a breath and let it out. “Certainly . . . William.” It rolled off her tongue smoothly, like rich custard.
“It is time,” Papa said behind her, interrupting them and, thankfully, breaking the spell Louisa had found herself in. Mama and Lord Melton were with him.
“Louisa?” William said, looking intently at her. “Are you ready?” His face was still frustratingly impassive, but his eyes searched hers with an intensity that hadn’t been there before.
She nodded her consent.
* * *
They all returned to the room where Lord and Lady Melton had received their guests. The assembly was a crush, the Melton’s spacious London home full to overflowing with the cream of Society, and if not for Lord Melton, who led the way, parting the crowd like Moses had the Red Sea, they should have had great difficulty making their way through the house.
Both of Louisa’s brothers were there when they arrived, looking more like they’d prefer to escort William into the mews behind the house and thrash him soundly than stand here and listen to the announcement yet to come.
“You don’t have to do this,” Louisa’s eldest brother, Lord Halford, whispered to her just loudly enough for William to overhear. “You do not owe your entire future to our grandfather’s folly.”
“How can you say this to me now?” Louisa whispered back to him, her eyes wide with a hurt William didn’t wish to see or acknowledge.
“Because it is never too late until you say the vows,” he said.
Louisa didn’t immediately respond; William tensed and held his breath.
“What if your name were the one on the vowel?” she asked Halford.
“It’s not the same thing, and you know it; I am a gentleman, and Tony is a gentleman,” he answered her. “You, on the other hand, are not.”
William began breathing again. Halford had miscalculated; he’d said the absolute worst thing possible if he were to convince Louisa not to marry him. William knew Louisa well enough by now to know that she felt the family honor as keenly as her brothers did.
“Oh, Alex, you don’t understand anything at all,” she said, shaking her head—and proving William correct.
“We’re with you, whatever you choose to do,” Lord Anthony said, squeezing her hand. “You know that, Weezy. But Alex is right—do think about it, right now, before it becomes public knowledge.”
“Thank you, Anthony,” she said. “But I have thought about it. You cannot know how much I have thought about it. If you were challenged to a duel, would you go, Alex? Even if you knew it meant losing your life? If you were facing battle against Napoleon, Anthony, would you desert? I know you both, and I know you would rather face death than act dishonorably. I am no different from you. I am my father’s daughter.” She straightened her back and nodded to Lord Melton, who was waiting for a cue to begin.
It rankled William a bit at being compared—once again—to imminent death. Apparently, kissing Louisa in the carriage hadn’t quite won the lady’s affection, he thought sardonically.
The guests gradually quieted when word spread through the crowd that Lord Melton wished to speak.
“Dear friends,” he began, “Lady Melton and I are thrilled to welcome you to our home this evening and hope you are enjoying yourselves. It is always an honor and a delight for us to mingle with you and strengthen our connections with one another. I am happy to announce that we have an additional treat for you this evening. Lord Ashworth, I turn the floor over to you.”
The Marquess of Ashworth, looking even more stiffly aristocratic and dignified than he had a mere moment before, took his time looking about the room, and it seemed to William that he was making it clear before he spoke that what he was about to say was not to be questioned.
“Lady Ashworth and I were blessed to have but one daughter, our precious Louisa,” he said. “No father could love a daughter more, nor be as proud of her as I am this evening.” He turned to look at her, and William watched the marquess’s face soften with emotion. William had never seen such a look on his own father’s face, not even toward his mother.
And then the marquess’s eyes turned on him, and William watched as the man’s eyes turned steely with an implicit warning from a protective parent. “And so it is that I announce her betrothal this evening to William Barlow, Junior, Viscount Farleigh,” he said.
An audible gasp could be heard around the room and beyond, followed by a brief moment of dead silence, which was then followed by a groundswell of murmuring.
And then William heard Louisa gasp.
He turned to her in concern and then followed the direction of her eyes. There, at the side of the room, standing just inside the door that connected the room to the entry hall, was a distinguished young gentleman looking directly back at her. He gave her a discreet nod of acknowledgment before turning his gaze on William. And then he left.
William went cold all over. There was only one person it could be: the Earl of Kerridge, to be precise, heir to the Duke of Aylesham, Louisa’s former betrothed.
“Hear, hear,” Lord Halford called out, raising the glass in his hand. “To the betrothed couple.”
“To the betrothed couple,” echoed some of the assembled guests. Others appeared too busy expressing their shock to join in.
Louisa was trying desperately to hide her own shock at seeing Lord Kerridge, if the overbright smile on her face was any indication. Lord Kerridge should have known better than to show his face here tonight. Or . . . perhaps no one had even thought to tell him the announcement would take place.
William should have seen to the task himself. He should have sent a note to Kerridge, informing him of their plans and asking, as a gentleman, that he not attend the assembly out of respect for Louisa and her family. Kerridge’s appearance had poured salt in a raw wound—one William had created, certainly, but one Kerridge hadn’t needed to make worse.
The next few hours were a blur of activity, during which he was sure he and Louisa received the congratulations of every person in attendance. There were a few people, like Halford’s friend Kit Osbourne, who was now the Earl of Cantwell, and his brother Phillip, both of whom William recognized from their school days at Eton, who were, surprisingly and thankfully, genial in their congratulations to the newly betrothed couple. William hoped their affability would help convince Louisa that he was generally well regarded by those who actually knew him.
There were also, thankfully, others who seemed happy for them both. Close friends of Louisa’s parents and several of her brothers’ friends offered their congratulations and good wishes and undoubtedly would do their best to offer support.
Many of the guests had been unable to hide their surprise, however, while others had smoothed their faces into polite masks before offering bland congratulations. William suspected some must have previously witnessed Louisa in the company of Lord Kerridge, while others may have known William’s father but hadn’t wished to offend the Marquess and Marchioness of Ashworth.
All in all, William thought as he called for his carriage while Louisa chatted with friends at the end of the evening, he’d at least gotten over this first hurdle with a modicum of success. But he would not rest easy until the marriage vows had been made.