Love Engineered

by Jenna Dawlish

  “My husband tells me you met at Glazebrook,” Lucy said, after an awkward silence.

  “Yes.”

  “Did he tell you that Miss Thomas is a particular friend of mine? I went to Paris with her for three months last year,” she announced proudly.

  “So I hear. Did you enjoy your time there?”

  “Immensely. I would love to return one day. We stayed in the most luxurious apartment. It belongs to her cousin Lord Philip. Have you been to Paris, Mr Lucas?”

  Upon hearing that name, Charles cringed inwardly, but managed to say, “No. I haven't had the pleasure of visiting Paris.”

  “There is much talk of Miss Thomas marrying Lord Philip Eldon,” Mr Francis remarked.

  “Why, that will never happen, my dear!” Lucy exclaimed.

  “How so, dearest? You cannot know who Miss Thomas shall or shan't marry.”

  “But I do. Miss Thomas told me so herself not two weeks ago when we visited Devon. She told me that she could only ever marry one man, and that he, alas, does not love her. And I know it's not Lord Philip.”

  Charles stared at Lucy, unable to think of which question to ask her first.

  Luckily her husband continued. “Did she mention who the gentleman was?” he asked.

  “No. But it was a little strange what she said. It was the day before we were to leave for London and I said to her, “Louise, if only you could find someone to love as much as I love Mr Francis,” and she said, “Oh but I have, I love a man as you love your husband, but alas he does not love me in return.” Of course, I enquired who this man was, and how she knew that he does not love her. But she wouldn't say much. All she said was that he told her once that she was furthest in his mind from what constitutes a wife and that he had told her once he considered her conduct more male than female.”

  Charles instantly recognised his own words, spoken such a long time ago. His heart leapt.

  “What a terrible thing to say to poor Miss Thomas,” Mr Francis commented.

  “Isn't it?” Lucy said. They both looked at Charles, so he could give his opinion.

  “Er, yes, a terrible thing to say. Unforgivable in fact.”

  Charles felt a surge of hope rising within him.

  Mrs Francis continued. “Of course, I cannot begin to comprehend what sort of man could say such a thing to Miss Thomas, or how she could still love him after saying that to her! But she was adamant that she still loved him and that she lived in fear of him marrying someone much more worthy than her.”

  “That is a tragic tale indeed!” cried Mr Francis. “Poor Miss Thomas. She has been so uncommonly kind to us; her wedding gift was most generous. I would hate to think that she wouldn't find her partner in life. I do wonder who this man could be. I would like to give him a piece of my mind!”

  “I too,” Lucy stated.

  After a moment, Mr Francis asked, “Are you sure she wasn't talking about Lord Philip?”

  “Oh yes,” Lucy said, “She told me that I had never met the gentleman and I have met Lord Philip. Besides, they are good friends. He wouldn't say such a dreadful thing to her.”

  Mr Lucas could hardly find words as he sat and comprehended what he heard, but he managed to ask, “She said all this two weeks ago?”

  “Yes. Well, actually it was probably about two and half weeks ago.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. She still loved him.

  Looking back, Charles couldn't recall much more of the conversation he shared that evening with Mr and Mrs Francis, which was rather unfortunate because he stayed a further forty-five minutes. He seemed to remember them talking about his work, but his replies were vexing and vague, according to his hosts. Though they commented to each other after he left that he was a pleasant man. He shook both Mr Francis's hands in such a grateful way that they were sure he had enjoyed his time with them and that they would see him again soon.

  He walked home at double speed, his heart swelling with passionate love as he thought of Louise. He didn't notice the slight drizzle of rain, or the other people on the street. She still loved him! That was all that mattered.

  He had to go to her. He would have gone that night if there had been a train to take him.

  When he arrived home he sent word to Ashton that he had urgent business that would take him away for a few days. The servants were given instructions to pack clothes for a short trip and he was ready to travel on the first train to leave London for Axminster the next morning.

  The journey to Devon the next day was as frustrating as it was slow. There were several delays, though the train departed London on time. All the way, Charles was filled with nervous anticipation. For although he knew his proposal would be accepted (surely he could now be certain of that), he knew she deserved a proper and worthy explanation of his change of heart. When the train pulled in at Axminster, there was the added frustration of a heavy shower of rain, as well as an hour's wait for a hired carriage. At least, he reflected ruefully, he had plenty of time to compose a suitable address to her.

  Finally, at three in the afternoon, he found himself at Glazebrook, his heart pounding as loudly as his knock on the front door.

  Chapter 22

  The servant showed Charles straight to a room at the back of the house, a room he recognised as the library. He felt strange being back in her house again, almost at home, but he had no right to be there. Not yet.

  “Miss Thomas is expecting you,” the servant said, ushering him in.

  Expecting him? But how could she know he was coming to see her? He had told no one.

  He stood uncertainly inside the elegantly furnished room and wondered where she was. He could see no sign of her. The servant withdrew, closing the door with a loud click. This must have roused her, because he heard movement behind one of the many bookshelves. He followed the noise and there she was, standing on a small stool, reaching up for a book. Her red patterned dress of chiffon made her look like a butterfly. In an instant all his fears magnified.

  “Come in my dear,” she said in a bright tone and without looking around. “I was trying to find that volume of poetry we spoke about the other day. Ah, here it is. I knew it was here somewhere!” She took a large book off the shelf, stepped off the stool and dusted the cover with her hand, a soft smile on her lips.

  Finally she looked up.

  “Mr Lucas!”

  She moved back in astonishment, unable to comprehend who was before her. Then, after a few seconds, she forcibly composed herself and curtsied. “How do you do?”

  “Very well, thank you,” he returned her greeting with a stiff bow. How formal they were. How he longed to be more familiar.

  “What a surprise! You're the last person I expected to see today.”

  “I'm sorry to intrude on you without prior notice.”

  “That is no matter. Would you like to sit down?” she said, indicating the sofa near them.

  He turned towards it and they sat awkwardly at opposite ends.

  Silence ensued as she waited for him to explain what he wanted from her.

  Then, remembering herself and imagining that he was no doubt waiting for her to dispense with the civilities she asked, “How are your family? They are well?”

  “Yes, thank you, they are all well.” He gave a small nervous laugh.

  “Of course, how stupid of me to ask. I have frequent correspondence with your brother and sister. And you. You're well?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “I'm glad.”

  They descended into silence once again. He looked about the room, packed full of volumes.

  “Is there something in particular I can do for you, Mr Lucas?”

  “Yes!” he said immediately and sat forwards. Yet he didn't speak. His courage, so strong before he was in her presence, now failed him. He stood up and walked about, paused to look at her, then moving to the window, looked out.

  “There was rain earlier, it took some time to get a cab here,” he said.

  “You tra
velled here from London today, then?”

  “Yes.” He paused. “Yesterday I saw Mr Francis and had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Francis.”

  “I'm glad. I only saw them a few weeks ago, but are they well?”

  “Yes. Yes they are.”

  Silence again.

  She shifted in her seat. “Mr Lucas, if you have come to give me bad news on behalf of your brother, then pray, please speak it now. Do not keep me in suspense any longer.”

  He turned around. “I didn't come to give you bad news. Far from it! Is that why you think I'm here?”

  “I do not know why you're here. You haven't said. Perhaps you came to speak to Robert Adams? Is more funding needed in Plymouth?”

  “No, Louise.” He shook his head and walked over to her, surprised but delighted at his own use of her Christian name. He seated himself as near to her as possible. A footstool beside her rudely blocked her from him, but he pushed it aside and knelt in front of her. He gently detached from her hands the book she was still holding and placed it to one side, then took her hands in his.

  “I have been trying to think of the words to say to you all the way here. Yet still I cannot find them.” He gave a small laugh. “I'm no poet. I'm an engineer and my only grasp of words is in the field in which I work. I never thought I would wish to possess the ability to speak words that you deserve. Then I could explain in a fitting manner.”

  “Then speak plainly sir,” she whispered breathlessly.

  “I love you.”

  Her eyes widened. “You love me?”

  “Yes, I love you with all my heart.”

  “But I do not understand. How?”

  “How?” he gave a small laugh. “How could I not? How could any man who knows you fail to love you?”

  “Oh, do not tell me you love me. We both know that nothing could come of it; you couldn't live a life with me. You would waste away here. You're meant for better, higher things. You're a man of the future and I'm stuck in the past, however much I try not to be.”

  She tore her hands away, stood up and placed herself by the window, exactly where he had stood a few moments before, looking out across the lawn.

  “Louise please, do not remember what I said that day. I was the biggest fool in England. I was blind. Blind to the finest woman in the country. If you will not have me, then I will be alone forever, for no woman could ever match you. Did you not know why I went looking for the child? It was for you, not for Marie or her parents or some vain attempt at reparation. I'm selfish to those I care about, I'm loyal only to those I love. And I love you more than I have loved any other person. Hopelessly and desperately.”

  She said nothing and didn't move. This wasn't the response he was expecting. It was all going wrong. He grew more desperate. Then he suddenly remembered her other objection. “Louise,” he pleaded again. “How can you begin to think that marrying you would waste me away? I'm nothing without you. Please –”

  At this, she slowly turned around to face him, her face full of the deepest anguish and hope.

  He walked over to her and said nervously, “I know you still love me. What should hinder two people who love each other as we do?”

  “Is my love for you that obvious?” She spoke in a lowered, ashamed tone.

  “No,” he said smiling into her face. “You hid it well, too well. But I shall tell you how I know you love me still, if you promise to marry me.”

  “I do not care how you know, but I shall accept all the same if you think you could stand to share your life with me.”

  She flew into his arms, and they held each other for some moments, until he pulled her away just enough so that he could gently kiss her. She yielded readily.

  The next few minutes of tender words and kisses were interrupted only by the arrival of Louise's previously expected guest. Mrs Rothers was kindly asked and graciously agreed to postpone their poetry discussion in the light of an unexpected matter of business that had arisen. After dispatching her safely home in one of the Glazebrook carriages, Louise quickly returned to the library to find Charles.

  “I almost forgot. I have an engagement ring for you.” He took her hand and placed a simple gold band inset with a diamond and two rubies on her finger.

  “It's beautiful.”

  “No,” he shook his head. “It's not nearly fine enough for you. But it was my mother's. She bequeathed it to me in the hope that one day I would turn my mind to marriage. I believe she would be very happy you are the one to own it. According to Jane, she greatly favoured a match between us.” He bent his head and gave the ring a lingering kiss.

  “Yes, I believe she did. I'm now interested to know how you learned I still loved you and how you were so sure of my response to your proposal that you brought a ring with you! Tell me how you knew, if I hid it so well.”

  “But I gave you a clue earlier,” he said.

  She thought for a moment, but nothing was forthcoming. Finally he said, “It was Mrs Francis.”

  “Lucy? What is she to do with it?”

  After he related all the conversation from the day before, she retorted, “Then I owe much to dear Lucy and her imprudence in recounting a private conversation. I shall not trust her in the future.”

  “Don't be angry at her. She was a little thoughtless, but I shall forever be grateful to her for it.”

  “I hate to think how my happiness depends on her thoughtlessness, as well as the luck which placed Mr Francis in that London street at the same time as you.”

  “I believe, given time, we would have come to an understanding eventually. I love you too much, and especially after I watched most attentively for the announcement in The Times of your engagement to Lord Philip.”

  “Most attentively?”

  “Yes. I feared, dreaded reading it. It was torture, but I had every reason to believe you would marry him.”

  “No!” she cried. “Lucy recounted my words well, but how could you possibly think I felt anything other than friendship towards Philip? Besides, he is my cousin!”

  “He was always with you. You always sought his companionship and support. He is your cousin; he is respected and wealthy. There are so many reasons why it would make a good match.”

  “But he is my friend as well as my cousin. I trust him and love him as family, nothing else. There are a hundred men I would marry before Philip. He would make an abominable husband. For me, anyway.”

  “I don't understand, what about the last time I saw you in London? I entered your home and saw you holding hands and later he put his arm around you. I couldn't bear to see it.”

  “You were jealous? Was that why you were so cold and distant that day?”

  “Yes,” he acknowledged.

  “I'm all amazement. I hadn't the smallest idea you were jealous.” She studied his face. “How could I love Philip when you're in the world?”

  “I can hardly believe how well you treated me after how badly I treated you.”

  “Because you didn't love me back, didn't mean I would stop loving you, or wish you ill. In fact, it was the opposite. I knew I wasn't good enough for you.”

  “Don't say that! Never say that again. It's I who am not worthy of you, all goodness that you are.”

  “But how did you start to love me? Though it pains me to remember, you hated me so much before.”

  “It happened gradually. I didn't realise my feelings were love at first. Then when Risinger interfered . . . ” he sighed. “I believe I knew I loved you when I saw your workroom that day in the rain. I knew I had misjudged you in every way, not only in believing the wicked words spoken against you. It grew from there very quickly.”

  “I destroyed the workroom. The day after you all dined here I couldn't bear the shame of my inadequate education. I was embarrassed. I still am, in a way.” She bowed her head.

  “Embarrassed? Why?”

  “I have tried to dismiss Mr Boyd's words, but they were spoken so honestly. He truly believed that it was a child's room. I coul
dn't bear it.”

  She fought back tears.

  “But why be embarrassed about an honest interest, and the wish to further your education? Did you destroy everything?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, I burnt all the journals and broke many other things. I didn't go in there for a long time, but eventually I cleared it up. I still use it now, though I have not read the journal for a long time. That is why I had not read your bridge article.”

  He touched her face and murmured, “Oh Louise,” then recollecting something else, he said, “Did the equipment and books I sent help?”

  “You sent them?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought they were from Mr Boyd. For a fleeting moment I thought they may have been from you, but I believed he sent them as an apology.”

  Many further hours that day were spent in similar discussion. They quickly established that they both wished to marry without delay. Too much time had been wasted already. In the early evening they walked out and she showed him the lake, the fields beyond the gardens and the beautiful scenery she so loved. He showed little interest in anything other than his companion.

  As they walked back to the house, he commented, “You are quiet.”

  “I was trying to remember the last time I was this happy,” she said.

  “When was that?”

  “I have never been this happy,” she replied.

  Charles stayed a week in Devon. His strict sensibilities wouldn't allow him to stay as a guest in her house without a chaperone, so he put up at the local inn.

  As word spread of the engagement, the landlord transferred Mr Lucas to his best room. Custom increased; everyone it seemed wanted to see first hand what sort of man the future master of Glazebrook was and possibly catch a glimpse of him. Many were disappointed, because he spent most of his time at his future home.

  Louise travelled back to London with him, under the excuse that she needed to visit her dressmaker for her wedding gown. Although their courtship in London was short, every day was delightful. She especially enjoyed his attentions at evening engagements, when he would approach her as soon as she arrived and tenderly kiss her hand. He would stay determinedly at her side, except when an unkind friend parted them, and he would always see her safely home afterwards.