Wager for a Wife

by Karen Tuft

  “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.

  Chapter 15

  Before Louisa arrived at the house, she had successfully forced back her tears, which was a good thing, for Alex was heading in her direction.

  “Ah, there you are,” he said when he reached her side. “I was instructed with some emphasis to—and I quote—‘Go and fetch the two of them, and do not return until you do’—unquote.” He sighed dramatically. “I should be dreadfully lonely out here by myself with only the occasional sheep or goose wandering by for company, not to mention getting rather hungry, if I didn’t find you both. Oh, and by the way, Weezy dear, in case it wasn’t obvious who had given me those instructions, I should tell you that our illustrious and highly anxious parents—both of them—and our wholly incompetent brother have just arrived on the scene and have commandeered the place. Considering how swiftly they got here on the heels of Viscount Farleigh, I wonder if they took the time to pack so much as a comb before leaving London. Brace yourself, little sister. I have already felt their stinging wrath for accompanying you here uninvited.”

  “I think when it comes to expansive speech, you’re more like me than you’d like to admit,” Louisa said, managing for the most part to sound normal.

  “Ha! I doubt that. But where is Farleigh? I was to bring him back as well.”

  “I think Mama and Papa will be content if I am with you,” she said.

  “Very well. They are not upset at him, anyway, but only at us. We are the ones who conspired to come here without his knowledge.”

  Grimshaw met them when they arrived back at the house, doing his best to look the part of the serene butler but appearing flustered nonetheless. Louisa couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “The Marquess and Marchioness of Ashworth are here and are awaiting you in the sitting room, Lady Louisa,” he said with as much dignity as he could, poor man. Louisa knew how austere and intimidating her father could be on occasion. This, without a doubt, was one of those occasions.

  “Unfortunately, they are awaiting me as well,” Alex muttered. “Or I’d conjure up an excuse to disappear.”

  Louisa wished she could disappear as well. When the old butler opened the door, Louisa firmed her resolve and went inside. It was jarring to see her elegantly dressed parents in Farleigh Manor’s sitting room—the counterpoint of their finery against the faded shabbiness of the furnishings brought William’s words back to her. I am a poor man, Louisa. Worse than poor, for I am a man saddled with huge debts and few resources.

  The gulf between them widened at this revelation. William had made it perfectly clear that this was a disparity he wouldn’t overlook.

  In addition to Mama and Papa, Louisa belatedly noticed Anthony lurking near a window, looking as if he’d been subjected to their parents’ censures over the entire length of the journey.

  “Sorry, Weezy,” he said glumly.

  Alex followed her into the room, and Grimshaw closed the door.

  “Your brothers, who I always assumed had more sense than they apparently do, have already given us the particulars,” Papa said in his most imperious voice. “You all owe Lord Farleigh an apology for imposing upon his hospitality without permission and intentionally intruding on his privacy. I am appalled at your behavior. All of you.” He glared at Alex and shook his head as though expecting him, as heir, to know better, which, unquestionably, he did. Her brothers would not be in this mess if it hadn’t been for her. “Rest assured,” Papa continued, “that I will deal with each of you appropriately as soon as we return to London, which journey we will commence immediately, notwithstanding the long travel your mother has already been subjected to by your foolish actions.”

  “Papa . . .” Louisa began, unsure what to say that would not have her weeping again. She refused to shed any more tears over William, especially in front of her parents and brothers. She should be relieved that he’d released her from the vowel. And she was, of course.

  “There, you see, Father; Louisa would like to speak with you,” Alex piped up. “Perhaps it would be best if Anthony and I slip discreetly away and leave the rest of you to talk . . .” He edged toward the door.

  “Don’t go too far,” Papa growled. “I’m not done with the two of you yet.”

  Her brothers hurried from the room as if the devil’s hounds were at thei
r heels.

  “Please don’t be too angry with them, Papa,” Louisa said. “I was the one who convinced them to help me. I needed to discover more about William than I knew, and I decided the only way that was going to happen was if I sought out the people who knew him best. And those people are here.”

  “And what have you discovered?” Mama asked, studying Louisa too carefully.

  Louisa fumbled in her pocket for the small squares of paper that had been the vowel and held them out, her fingers trembling. “That I am free, Mama. This is the vowel, and William”—she choked on his Christian name; she had no right to use it anymore—“has torn it up. I am free.”

  “What?” Papa said, his brows furrowing. He took the papers from her and examined them more closely. “What of the marriage, then?”

  “I am freed from that too, apparently. Oh, Mama!” Louisa ran to her and collapsed in her arms. “I want to go home.” Why was she crying again? She was so tired of crying. “Please take me home.”

  Papa walked to the bell pull and yanked it. Unfortunately, the frayed cord came off in his hand. He stalked to the door and opened it.

  “Yes, your lordship?” Louisa heard Grimshaw say in a wobbly voice.

  “Lord Halford and Lady Louisa’s belongings are to be packed and brought to my carriage immediately. We are leaving.” He handed the bell pull cord to Grimshaw.

  “Yes, your lordship. My apologies, your lordship.”

  Papa shut the door with a thud. “Louisa, you will remain here with your mother while I look for your infernal brothers. And Lord Farleigh had better not cross my path during that time. I am of a mood to call him out.”

  “Ashworth! No!” Mama cried. “Not a duel.”

  “Of course not, Eleanor. I said I was in a mood to call him out, not that I would. But I can assure you that time and distance from him will be necessary if I’m to discuss this with him—which, I assure you, I fully intend to do—and have any objectivity at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to find our sons.”

  Twenty minutes later, Louisa stood next to her father’s carriage in the front courtyard of Farleigh Manor. She and Tibbetts were to ride with her parents, while Alex and Anthony had been consigned to Alex’s carriage, the one that had brought Alex and her here. She thought she might sleep the entire way home, so exhausted she felt. The sun seemed overly bright and stung her eyes. She pulled the brim of her bonnet down a bit and waited for the coachman to assist her into the carriage.