As Louisa’s pregnancy progressed the discomfort that had plagued her during the early months subsided. The gauntness left her face and her cheeks bloomed with health. The haunted look in her eyes was replaced by an attractive energy and also defiance, which often silently challenged her husband when they were together. Pride, and the feeling that everything would come right between them when the baby was born, made her continue to keep some semblance of normality between them. Dr Charlesworth from Wyndham called every week and at every visit reassured her that all was well, and that he had no doubt she would be delivered of a healthy baby.
Louisa missed Bierlow Hall sorely and wrote often to James, receiving the odd letter with news which was encouraging from him. She was amazed by the change in him and by the way he had taken over the running of things, without any mention of returning to his pleasurable pursuits in London.
His life had been taken over by work as he set about finding ways to increase the income of the estate, contracting better rents, which had been set some years back, without being excessive, and renting out more grazing land to the neighbouring farms to allow them to increase their herds and flocks. However, until things were seen to improve, economy had to remain a rule. Louisa was also overjoyed to learn that Amelia Hacket had accepted his proposal of marriage, and he told her he would write and let her know when the happy event was to take place.
It was Alistair who, knowing of her love of reading, proudly gave Louisa her first glimpse of the library at Huntswood. It was vast, a treasure trove of books, of precious tomes of history, religion and theology, and gems of poetry and fiction. It was a room which, to Louisa, encapsulated every culture and civilisation in the world, a room she constantly found herself in. Its bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, broken only by a huge marble fireplace and long windows opening onto the gardens, which had been lovingly and painstakingly created over the years by Alistair’s ancestors.
When her attention was not being absorbed by the library Louisa occupied herself with household affairs, and with Sophie’s and Mrs Mullings’s help she began to learn everything there was to know about the running of the house. True to her word, she spent a great deal of time with Mark, which was no great chore for he was a delightful child, with an open and friendly nature, and she derived immense pleasure from his company, and was always ready to join in his games. Full of enthusiasm, he never tired of showing her some new aspect of the house and gardens.
It was inevitable that she and Sophie, who was a precocious young lady, lively and restless and full of energy, would become close. They passed many a happy hour together, walking and visiting neighbours, often taking the carriage into Wyndham to shop, and happily sewing a layette for the baby. Sophie herself had a large number of friends, who called frequently at Huntswood, and whose homes she visited in return and accompanied on outings.
But whenever Louisa was with Sophie Sir Charles Meredith was never far from her thoughts. Sophie never mentioned him—or any other young man for that matter—and much as Louisa wanted to ask her about him she thought it best to leave well alone. If Sir Charles had made Sophie’s acquaintance at some function or other when he had last visited his home in Wyndham—and Louisa had every reason to believe he had, following her last conversation with him when she had been shopping with Julia—hopefully Sophie had not been favourably impressed by him to think the matter worth mentioning.
Yet, when Louisa recollected the time she had been strolling in St James’s Park with Sir Charles, and the mesmeric look of complete adoration that Sophie had been too young and inexperienced to conceal when she had come face to face with her handsome neighbour for the first time, she very much doubted it, suspecting that Sir Charles Meredith was a secret Sophie kept locked in her heart.
Her suspicions about Sophie’s association with Sir Charles were confirmed one cold, overcast day in March when they took the carriage into Wyndham to purchase some white ribbons and lace, to sew onto some dresses for the baby, from the haberdashers in the high street.
They had just stepped out of the shop into the street when Louisa caught sight of Sir Charles riding slowly in their direction on a beautiful bay horse. She observed him with a sickening jolt, although she was not really surprised to see him. Unfortunately, Sophie had seen him also, causing her eyes to fill with rapture and a gasp of pleasure to escape from between her softly parted lips. She stared at him, transfixed, and it was then that Louisa realised the reason for her high spirits—somehow she had suspected he might be in Wyndham today.
On recollection, Sophie had been acting rather strangely lately, and today she had spent too much time dressing and having her maid arrange her hair in a slightly different, more sophisticated, adult style. She should have been suspicious then that Sophie had hoped—or, worse, had arranged—to meet Sir Charles Meredith.
“Sophie! Please do not stare so at Sir Charles Meredith. It is most unbecoming,” Louisa reproached her with unusual harshness, but Sophie had become so carried away that she appeared not to notice.
“Why?” she breathed dreamily. “There’s nothing wrong with letting my eyes dwell on him, is there?”
“Dwell? Feast, more like! You’re looking at him as if you’ve never seen a gentleman in your life before.”
“I haven’t. At least—not one who looks like Sir Charles. Do you know Sir Charles, Louisa?”
“Yes. We have met,” she replied drily.
Wanting to avoid quarrelling with her, Louisa tried to keep calm, for, to her dismay, Sir Charles had spotted them and was riding purposefully in their direction, looking impeccable and extremely dashing in purple, an infuriating smile curling his handsome lips.
Louisa acknowledged him with a faint nod and the merest flicker of a smile, drawing her cloak around her in an attempt to conceal her heavily pregnant, cumbersome figure. But not quick enough, for Sir Charles’s sharp eyes had already studied her attentively and observed her condition, and his smile became a knowing sneer. Louisa felt her skin crawl just to be near him, and, in that first moment of meeting, everything that had been said on their previous encounter, almost six months ago, was uppermost in both their minds.
“Why, Lady Dunstan,” he drawled with slight emphasis on her name, “how wonderful it is to see you again. And how do you like living at Huntswood?”
“I like it very well, thank you, Sir Charles,” she replied coolly, with all the composure she could muster.
“I’m happy to see Dunstan is of an understanding nature and leaves you to your own devices—allowing you to wander about Wyndham at will.”
“And why wouldn’t he? I am hardly likely to come to harm now, am I?”
“I hope not.” He cast his eyes in a superior way over her but it was on Sophie that they settled as he dismounted. He executed a courtly bow, and the lascivious look he gave Sophie as he took her hand and placed it to his mouth, his lips lingering too long on her slender fingers, going way beyond that of ordinary interest, aggravated Louisa’s anger.
“And Miss Dunstan,” he said with a soft seductiveness, exaggerated, Louisa suspected, for her benefit.
When she had told him she was to marry Alistair he had become another person from the charming philanderer she had first known. It was clear that he hadn’t forgiven her.
“I am always delighted to find myself in your company,” Sir Charles continued, which brought a jolt to Louisa’s senses, confirming her suspicions that the two of them were already acquainted. “There isn’t a woman in Wyndham who can match your loveliness, my dear—with the exception of your sister-in-law, of course,” he said, almost by way of an afterthought.
“I am surprised to see you in Wyndham,” said Louisa. “It is a long way from London and there can be very little in the way of entertainment to suit a gentleman of your exuberant tastes. I remember you once saying that you found the country monotonous and confining, Sir Charles.”
His eyes again switched to Sophie, who was blushing prettily with pleasure, and he re
sembled for all the world, Louisa thought angrily, a wolf about to pounce on a defenceless lamb. Sir Charles was too devious and too clever by far—and Sophie too young and easily beguiled.
“Oh, it has its compensations and diversions to make it more pleasurable.”
The attention he was paying Sophie, who was lapping it up as a kitten lapped up cream, made Louisa’s cheeks flame with anger, and the meaning behind his words was all too clear. Sophie and Sir Charles exchanged a glance—almost conspiratorial, Louisa thought, noticing how Sir Charles responded quickly to Sophie’s over-bright smile, how his eyes flashed back at her, all the familiar charm and vitality he had used on herself not so very long ago back in full force. She also noticed that, however hard she tried to hide it, Sophie waited breathlessly for his attention.
Louisa was deeply worried and could feel dread settling all around her, cold and threatening. She had not forgotten the savagery of the words she had exchanged with Sir Charles when they had parted in London, which had left her feeling afraid that he might use Sophie to avenge himself on Alistair for marrying Marianne. She tried to still the wild beating of her heart, knowing nothing would be achieved by showing her anger.
“And are you here for long?” she asked, her voice sounding surprisingly calm.
“Several weeks—at least until the roads are no longer axle-deep in mud and I can return to London. No doubt we will find ourselves bumping into each other now and then.”
“No doubt,” said Louisa coolly, placing her parcel of ribbons and lace on the seat inside the carriage just as it began to rain. “Please excuse us, Sir Charles. As you can see, it is beginning to rain. We must be getting back to Huntswood. We have already been gone longer than we intended.”
“Of course. Do not let me detain you. Good day.”
His gaze swept over Sophie once more, but his bow included them both and then he was gone, riding jauntily down the high street.
Chapter Eleven
On the journey back to Huntswood, as the rain fell heavily out of a sky the colour of slate, Louisa forced herself to speak calmly to Sophie, who was staring silently out of the window, the play of tender expressions on her face perfectly easy for Louisa to read.
“Sophie—forgive me. I do not wish to pry, but how well do you know Sir Charles Meredith?” She saw Sophie go tense and flush softly, turning her head away.
“I don’t—not really.”
“Did you know he was to be in Wyndham today?”
“No. My maid—who is friendly with one of Lady Meredith’s maids—told me Sir Charles was home from London for a few weeks, but that is all.”
Louisa sighed. “And you naturally thought you might see him in town?”
Sophie turned back and looked at her steadily. “Yes. Is that so very wrong of me, Louisa?”
“No, not really,” she smiled. “But when did you become acquainted with him? Have you met recently?”
“Oh, no. We did meet on one occasion last September—at a friend’s house. He just so happened to call on her parents that day. We were introduced, but I have not seen him since.”
Louisa believed her. “I’m glad to hear it, Sophie, because Alistair does not like Sir Charles at all, and would not take kindly to you forming a friendship with him. You do know there is enmity between them, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” she admitted, “but I have no idea as to the reason. I cannot understand what he has against him. Sir Charles is so charming—his manners impeccable. When I first saw him it was in London—in St James’s Park one day. Alistair refused to acknowledge him—in fact, he and Julia seemed to go out of their way to avoid speaking to him, and, much as I pleaded with them to tell me what it was they disliked about him, all they would tell me was his name and that he was a gentleman of ill repute.”
Louisa blanched, remembering the day only too well, and thankful that Sophie had been too taken with Sir Charles to notice that she had been his companion. “Then you must heed their words, Sophie, and have nothing to do with him.”
“I will try, Louisa, but I simply cannot get him out of my mind,” she said, her expression one of animated rapture. She did not tell Louisa that in that first moment of seeing him in St James’s Park she had fallen hopelessly in love with him. Her innocent young heart had found a new way of beating, and he had filled her head with such new and exciting dreams that she could not sleep at night. She was completely bewitched.
“Never have I seen a man so handsome,” she went on breathlessly, her eyes aflame, “and imagine my delight on finding out that he was Sir Charles Meredith and lived in Wyndham. Don’t you think it astonishing that we have never met him before—or any of his family?” Suddenly she looked at Louisa, alarm springing to her eyes. “Oh, Louisa, you won’t tell Alistair we’ve seen him, will you?” she said, reaching out and grasping her hand. “He’ll be sure to question me about him, and, if he dislikes him so much, he’ll stop me visiting my friends if he thinks there is any chance of our meeting.”
Louisa was reluctant to comply, hating to keep secrets from Alistair, however small, but she had to admit that she had no desire to raise her husband’s ire, and very much doubted that Sophie would become involved with a man her brother so clearly disliked. Also, since so much time had elapsed and Sir Charles had made no move to cause mischief, she could only hope he no longer had any intention of doing so.
“Only if you take that look off your face,” she smiled, observing a pretty flush that had deepened Sophie’s skin to a lovely rose. “One look at you when we return to the house and Alistair will be sure to suspect something amiss and question you anyway. You must promise me faithfully not to see Sir Charles again, Sophie, and that you will go out of your way to avoid him in the future.”
“Yes—yes, I will.”
When the birth of Louisa’s baby was imminent Julia came from London to attend her. Alistair, never straying far from the house as Louisa’s confinement drew near, was surprisingly tense, whereas Louisa felt more at peace and contented than she’d ever thought she could be.
Her baby was born in the last days of May, a beautiful little girl with excellent lungs. She was whole, with the natural healthiness of an infant and a fuzz of dark hair and intense blue eyes. Lying spent and exhausted after her ordeal, yet overwhelmingly happy and calm, Louisa turned her head on the pillow, watching in a dreamy haze as Alistair gazed adoringly down at his daughter—their daughter—in her crib, his expression softer than she had seen it for a long time.
Picking her up with the confidence and expertise of one who had done it before, and holding her possessively in the crook of his arm for a moment while he studied her sleeping face with all the arrogance of a proud father, he brought her to the bed, placing her between them as he perched on the edge. Louisa placed her arm about her daughter, nuzzling her head with her lips.
“Well, Alistair,” she whispered, “are you well pleased with our daughter? Is she not lovely?”
He smiled in assent. “I am well pleased. She is as beautiful as her mother,” he said gently, raising her hand and placing it to his lips, his eyes warm and tender as they met her own. Her brow and hairline were still damp from the birth, for their daughter was no more than half an hour old. He thought that she looked defenceless, and as pale and fragile as a wind-blown flower, lying there, with a thick golden plait draped over one shoulder and her long lashes quivering over her clear and un-troubled eyes.
“You see, Louisa, despite all our misgivings in the early days, it has not turned out to be such a disaster after all.”
“No, indeed,” she whispered, her eyes soft with love for her daughter. “You don’t mind that I did not give you a son?”
“I already have a son. I shall love our child irrespective of its gender,” he said, lowering his eyes to look at the tiny, wrinkled face of the baby, unable to prevent his mind going back to the time when Mark was born. How different the circumstances had been then, and how different Marianne’s reaction and feelings had been towa
rds her child, to whom she had struggled to give birth, only to reject so completely that which God had given her. He watched Louisa—who knew none of this and would be appalled by it—nestle her cheek against the baby’s own. Yes, he thought, everything about Marianne had been in such stark contrast to this gentle, loving person who had given him a daughter, already so very precious to him.
“Is it your intention to nurse her yourself, Louisa?”
“Of course. There will be no wet-nurse for our daughter,” she whispered firmly.
Immersed in a drowsy warmth, Louisa’s lids began to droop in sweeping shadows over her cheeks.
“I’ll leave you now,” Alistair said softly. “I can see that you want to sleep after your ordeal.”
She sighed, forcing her eyelids up once more and focusing her gaze on his. “Yes, thank you. Although do not forget the part you played in bringing the event about,” she murmured with a teasing smile.
“No, indeed. However small the part I played, it was a truly momentous and unforgettable night,” he said with tender amusement, his eyes dancing wickedly.
He rose, lifting her hand and placing his lips on her fingers before leaving her to the ministerings of the nurse and Julia, who had witnessed part of the touching scene with a heart bursting with happiness. And as tiredness defeated Louisa and her eyes finally closed she sighed with contentment, hoping and praying that she had just witnessed a change for the better in her relationship with her husband.
As the weeks passed and the whole household seemed to revolve around the child, whom Louisa and Alistair had agreed should be called Constance, Louisa became helplessly confused. She had thought that the birth of their child would be a turning point, that Alistair would change towards her and their relationship would become more intimate—as it should be between husband and wife—but she was sadly disappointed. They were comfortable together, but he never deviated from the path he had set before her confinement. Always they were in the company of others, the only time they came into contact being at mealtimes and when they spent time with Constance, whom Alistair doted on unashamedly.
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