by Karen Tuft
“My father, as you already know, hailed from Buckinghamshire. He met and married my mother; I was born into that union a few months later. I was sent off to school at the age of ten, my mother died when I was sixteen, and I never went home again. Rather Gothic, wouldn’t you say?”
He ceased speaking, his stomach in knots, the scars on his back aflame with memories.
Louisa left the piano bench and came to sit by him.
“Thank you, William,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. “That wasn’t so difficult, now was it?”
She had no idea how difficult and utterly dreadful it had been for him to speak those words. But then, she’d been protected her whole life and, therefore, had the luxury of innocence.
What an enviable life for a child to have experienced. If he were so fortunate as to have children of his own, he would want them to be brought up with that type of innocence and tranquility. Louisa would be the kind of mother who would insist on her children learning and growing with the assurance that their parents loved them.
He wanted Louisa to be the mother of his children. He wanted it fiercely.
He sprang to his feet and crossed the room, gripping the windowsill and staring out at the garden beyond. He needed to be as far away from her as possible, unsure if he would pull her into a desperate hug or shake her for the pain she was making him feel.
“William?” she asked softly.
“I have done what I can for today, Louisa. I can do no more,” he choked out.
She was silent. He waited to hear her footsteps, terrified that she might come near him. Thankfully, she stayed where she was.
He breathed deeply a few times, willing himself into some semblance of control, as he had on more occasions than he could count. When he thought he’d contained his emotions, he turned. “I must leave you now,” he said. “But I shall call again tomorrow, and we shall resume our conversation.”
“William,” she said softly. He could barely stand to hear her say his name. It caressed him and offered solace—solace he didn’t deserve, didn’t want. Not now.
He gritted his teeth until he thought they would crack. Dash it all, he had a vowel. He would have its terms fulfilled. His people deserved it, and he would do it for them. It didn’t matter that he didn’t deserve it. He would woo Louisa, he would convince her father of her willingness, and he would marry her. He would make sure that the people of Farleigh Manor had nothing to worry about, that their lives and livelihoods were taken care of.
He could see Peter’s worried, defiant face, so much like his own had looked at that age. He could see little Daisy, aware that something was not right in her world but too young to understand it yet. He could see their mother’s face too—the betrayal and resignation so clearly like his own mother’s. He would not let his father ruin their chances of survival and happiness too. He would not allow history to repeat itself. He would not allow his half brother to live as he had done; he wanted Daisy to grow up as Louisa had—feeling loved and secure.
He would do everything in his power to make it happen. He would dedicate his life to Louisa’s happiness over the years to come, even if it was a futile endeavor. Even if she ultimately hated him. But he would do it. He saw no other choice.
Louisa sat in the chair as if frozen, her eyes stricken. He couldn’t bear to see her that way. He had to choose between the people he loved, and heaven help him, he loved Louisa. She was everything he desired in a wife and in life, everything he longed for.
She had a family who would be there for her always, without question. Parents and brothers who would do anything to protect her and who would always love her, who could bear her up should William ever fall short in his devotion to her.
The people of Farleigh Manor had only him.
He forced himself to walk toward her, take her shaking hand in his, and kiss it. Never show what you’re feeling. “I can say nothing else tonight, Louisa; I’m sorry. I will call on you tomorrow afternoon, if I may,” he said, grateful his voice sounded normal to his ears. “And we will talk some more. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll show myself out.”
He turned and left and didn’t look back.
Chapter 12
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 the
re 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?”