“Joyce…” Louisa said, as she continued to relax against the chair with her eyes closed.
“Um?”
“Do you know the Marquess of Harwood?”
“I know of him.”
“Does he have a reputation?” Louisa asked.
Joyce opened her eyes and turned to her friend. “How do you mean?”
“Is he a ladies’ man? Does he gamble? Is he known to frequent the taverns?”
“Hmm. I have not heard anything against him. His family is very stand-offish. They entertain only those of their own class and rarely engage with us common folks. Why ever do you ask?”
Louisa described her coming upon the stricken Felton at the riverside.
“And you said nothing to me about this before now?” Joyce asked, sounding piqued.
“Well, there was nothing to tell, really. I have no expectation that he will ever call on me again. I think he was somewhat delirious after his broken leg. And I doubt that he even remembers me.”
“Well, you never know. Was he nice?”
Louisa blushed slightly. “He was very handsome. He smiled a great deal and he appeared to be very jolly even though he had had an accident. But I do expect that was due to the accident, as well.”
“But he is the eldest son and heir of a Duke, Louisa. And knowing that family, there is not a chance that he will ever have any serious interest in you.”
Louisa leaned back against the chair, closed her eyes again, and said lazily, “Yes, I expect you are right.” She swatted at a fly that had landed on her cheek without giving any further thought to Felton.
* * *
Evan and Arabella always met in secret. Evan was Felton’s best friend—Arabella had been selected by her family to marry Felton. It would have been grossly improper for Evan and Arabella to be seeing each other frequently, let alone to be courting. However, Arabella’s chaperone was sympathetic to Arabella’s plight and would allow the two to meet secretly—as long as she sat nearby.
When either of them wished to meet—which was often—one would smuggle a private note to the other, setting a time and place. They usually met by the old flour mill where they could sit by the bank or walk along the river in private, sheltered by the overhanging trees.
Today, however, it appeared that a storm might be brewing, so one of their alternative locations had been selected. The village bakery had a tea shop attached to it and no one of their acquaintance ever took tea there, so they could count on being unobserved. They always arrived separately and made certain there was no one they knew nearby before they entered.
“Dearest,” Evan said breathlessly, taking hold of Arabella’s gloved hands as she sat opposite him.
She looked at him with her seductive green eyes. Arabella was a beautiful red haired young woman. She dressed in the latest London fashions, as she visited there frequently.
She was breathless from her anticipation to see Evan and her smile was generously welcoming.
“My beloved, Evan, we meet again.”
Evan had arrived before her and had already ordered the tea service.
They continued to gaze at one another without speaking until the servers came with the tea.
“I suppose there has been no movement on your parents’ position,” Evan asked. Arabella teared slightly and shook her head—too overcome with emotion to be able to speak. “And I can report that Felton remains steadfast in his opposition to his parent’s wishes for him to marry you.
"So there is still hope for us, Precious One, but I fear it is a battle that cannot be won.”
“Please say that is not true. We must not give up hope, but what if Felton wavers? What if his parents are so insistent he cannot budge them? Then he must marry you and we shall be lost to each other forever. I could not bear that.”
The cups of tea the waitress had poured remained untouched before them. However, it was impossible for them to remain at such a heightened state of agitation, so Evan changed the subject and took a sip of his tea.
“I expect you have heard about Felton’s accident.”
“What? I have heard no such thing. Pray, tell me.”
Evan explained in heroic detail how he rescued Felton after his fall from his horse.
“And he will recover?” she asked, finally taking a sip of her own tea.
“He has a broken leg. But they have given him a monstrous thing around his leg to heal the break and he hobbles around like a drunken peg-legged pirate. I think he is secretly enjoying the whole show.”
Arabella laughed. “Yes, I can just imagine he might. I do like Felton, but not as a husband.”
“And he is my very best friend. We have always been inseparable.”
Arabella wandered off into her own thoughts. “I imagine as soon as he is recovered enough his parents will insist he visit me.”
“He did tell me he was to go to London with his Uncle Silas—although he has not informed his parents of that just yet. They will not be happy with him about that. His father loathes the uncle, you know.”
“Felton has told me how much he adores the man and says he is his only refuge from the storm of his family.”
“Yes, I can believe he said that.” Evan suddenly remembered something and pulled a small book out of his coat pocket. “My dear, as promised, I brought you this book to read. You remember, I told you about it when last we met.”
She took the book and looked at the title. “Oh, yes… The Perils of Lady Cavanaugh. How thoughtful of you. You are my very dearest man.” And she placed her hand on his.
He took her hand and held on to it tightly as he hung his head. “I do not know if I can bear this torture much longer, Arabella.”
“I know, my darling. But we must. We have no choice. And even if we were to marry, how would we live? You work with your father on the estate but he gives you no income.”
“But you have some.”
“Yes, but only if the marriage is sanctioned by my parents. Yet they have decided I must marry Felton. You know that.”
Evan smiled sadly, “I do but my mind keeps going in circles looking for an exception, an escape, or a way out of this dilemma.”
Arabella withdrew her hand from his and placed it on the book Evan had given her. “We might as well be living in the pages of this book for all the good it does us. I am afraid we will need to become fictional characters for us to have the life we yearn for.”
* * *
Louisa’s family lived in one of the finer houses in the village of Petworth. As one of the most prominent of the village merchants, Arthur Turner had turned a local enterprise into a thriving countywide business. Arthur owned a prime property at the edge of the village and, while the children were still young, had built a very handsome dwelling with four bedrooms, a large family sitting room, a study, a library, and an excellently outfitted kitchen area. Martha, the children’s mother, had worked diligently to create handsome front and back gardens and the property had become one of the most admired residences in not only Petworth, but throughout the entire county.
Louisa had been reading late. The rest of her family were already in bed when she left the sitting room with her single candle. As she passed by the small table in the entranceway she glanced to see if there had been any afternoon post. There was a single letter—addressed to her.
“Oh,” she said, picking up the envelope and turned it over to discover the embossed seal of the Duke of Stapleton.
Chapter 4
Louisa sat on the edge of the bed, and even though it was well after midnight, she opened the letter.
Burlington Abbey
Dearest Miss Turner,
I expect you have forgotten all about me by now. Or you thought you might never hear from me again, no doubt, accounting me to be a feckless and unreliable young man who does not follow through on his promises. But, as you can see, I am neither. For I am inviting you for our ride and picnic—just as I promised.
I was thinking I might send a carriage
for you on this Saturday next at ten o’clock in the morning. Unless you have your own horse and wish me to meet you at your house. Then we can ride together from there.
I will have our butler, Hodge, arrange with Cook to prepare a splendid luncheon and will have him serve it in a charming grove by our lake. Or we could graze like sheep if that is more to your liking.
In any case, please reply and let me know what suits you best. Or, if you prefer, you may tell me to fly to the moon and leave you alone. In that case, I shall obey your wishes and never impose myself upon you ever again.
Your Ever Devoted,
Felton Windham
Marquess of Harwood
Louisa could not help but laugh at the tone of his letter. But she was also delighted and a little embarrassed to have the Marquess paying her this attention. Certainly, he must have many more appropriate young ladies of stature to whom he could address his suit.
However, it was well past one o’clock and she was tired. She could reply to his letter by first post tomorrow morning—if she did not sleep in too late.
She found she was too tired to undress, so she blew out her candle and stretched out on top of her bed, not even bothering to throw back the covers and climb inside, and in less than a minute she was asleep.
* * *
Having slept soundly, Louisa awoke at an early hour—but not as early as she was accustomed to. There was a flock of birds squabbling outside her window and she got out of bed, went to the window, and saw five birds darting and pecking at one another.
Not very nice. I thought that in the harmony of nature birds were perfect ladies and gentlemen. But apparently that is not so, she thought, as she closed the window to prevent them from flying inside her bedroom.
Louisa stuffed Felton’s letter in her pocket before putting on her cap and heading down to the breakfast room. It was still early enough to enjoy a quiet meal before Janet had the table cleared.
Everyone else had breakfasted by the time she reached the dining room and she sat with the book she had been reading and the letter.
She reread the letter and was composing her reply in her mind when there was a knock at the front door and someone was admitted. But she could not make out who was visiting.
A moment later, Joyce appeared with little It in her arms.
“Good morning dear, Joyce. You are making early calls.”
“Not as early as all that. I have been up since five o’clock. Even with Nanny caring for the young one, I still hear the crying and fret.”
“Come sit. A cup of tea?”
“Not for me. No. I just wanted to tell you we have chosen a name.”
“Ah, and that would be…?”
“Alice—Donald’s grandmother. A charming lady.”
“And a charming name. It reeks of practicality,” Louisa said with a laugh.
Joyce frowned. “Do not be rude. It is a lovely name and we are quite happy with it.”
“And so you should be. I like it, too.”
“Do you? Really?” Louisa nodded. “Oh, I am so happy. I think I wanted your approval most of all.”
“You will never guess,” Louisa said conspiratorially.
“Oh, what?”
Louisa shuffled the letter over to Joyce who was now sitting next to her at the breakfast table.
Joyce picked up the letter and read it. “Uh huh. Most interesting. Are you going to go?”
“I do not know. What do you think? I am afraid he sees me as some diversion and is not truly serious about getting to know me. Or have any consideration for me beyond an afternoon’s romp.”
“But he followed through on his promise to have you ride with him. That certainly is in his favor.”
“Yes, but what could possibly come of us meeting? He would never be seriously interested in me.”
“How will you know unless you meet? He might surprise you.”
“I guess it is harmless enough. We will have a ride and then luncheon by the lake with his butler in attendance. That should be innocent enough. But as you know, I do not have a horse.”
“But you do ride.”
“Yes. But I shall have to accept his offer of the carriage.”
“Then do so. Really, Louisa, you seem to be putting up all these barriers. Just accept his invitation if you wish to, or refuse him if you do not. It is really quite simple.”
“Then I shall.”
* * *
Louisa had replied to the Marquess by the morning post and eagerly awaited the Saturday morning rendezvous.
On the appointed day, Louisa dressed in her riding costume and was ready early as she did not want to keep Felton waiting. She found herself to be uncommonly nervous.
There was no reason to be, except for the unexpected opportunity to spend time with a Marquess. Would he be a simple, approachable young man, or would she feel he was too formal in his role as Marquess?
Louisa’s mother had been standing by Louisa’s side at the window as they waited for the carriage to arrive. Her mother often accompanied her as her chaperone, but believed, this time, Louisa would be well looked after at the Abbey as there was an abundance of staff. They could hear the horses clomping up the driveway before they saw the coach—which arrived promptly at ten o’clock.
“My dear, I hope you have a lovely time, and if possible, try to be back by teatime.”
“But Mother, he said we were to have tea at Burlington Abbey. I should like to see how a ducal tea is served.”
“I quite understand. Then be back by suppertime.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Her mother gave her a kiss on the cheek and waved her handkerchief from the front door as Louisa went to the carriage. A footman opened the door for her.
“The Marquess is waiting for you at the Abbey. He says he is preparing the horses for your ride, Miss Turner,” the footman said.
“Thank you,” she replied, as she sat comfortably in the carriage.
It was not a long drive to the Abbey and Felton was standing next to two horses by the front door. He smiled broadly as she approached and he opened the door for her himself.
“Ah, you did not give up on me,” he said brightly.
“Why should I? Are you not a man of your word?”
“I think my father’s reputation tends to sour many of the local populace.”
“I like to think I accept a gentleman on his own merits. Not those of his family.”
As Louisa studied the handsome features of this young man she began to relax some. He was every bit as handsome as she remembered—if not more so.
“You are able to ride with your broken leg?” she asked, as he took her hand and led her to the horses.
“I walk almost everywhere already. And you see, I did not use my crutches as I fetched you from the carriage.”
“Most remarkable.”
“But I do still use them for walking more than a few yards at a time.”
“You are very able and very brave.”
A groomsman led one of the horses to a pair of steps. A footman then came forward and offered to assist Louisa onto her horse.
“Thank you,” she said as she settled onto her sidesaddle and took the reins from the groom.
Felton mounted his horse and turned to her. “Are you quite ready to ride?”
“I am. Where are we heading?” she asked.
“We have some quite pleasant scenery on the estate and I thought you might enjoy seeing that.”
“I should.”
Felton flicked his reins and led the way down a road that led through a woods. This opened out onto a ridge overlooking fields of wild flowers that stretched along the valley. At the far end was a lake.
Felton pulled up his horse to let her enjoy the view.
“And that lake is on your land?” she asked.
“It is and it is where we are to be served our lunch.”
Louisa studied the landscape but she was also studying this young man. He dressed well in a smart navy jacket
, breeches, and a gold waistcoat. He looked rather like a midshipman, except there was no braid. His dark hair was blown by the wind, and as he stood astride his mount, he looked quite heroic. She decided he was going to make a very handsome duke when his time came.
“Are you up for a race?” he asked turning to her.
“I think I can keep up.”
“To that road in the distance,” he said pointing ahead. “Huh,” he shouted to his horse as he spurred forward. Louisa took off right after him and leaned into the wind to reduce the resistance. She had a very sprightly mare and she not only caught up with Felton but managed to pass him, reaching the road just before he did.
“What a splendid rider you are, Miss Louisa. Well done.”
“I think I had the advantage because of my lighter weight and smaller stature. But I also suspect you let me win.”
“Perhaps, but excellent… in any case.”
They let the horses carry them forward in a leisurely fashion now. Felton was looking at her as he asked, “Are you of a large family?”
“Just my parents, my younger brother, and myself.”
“I am an only child. However, I am very close to my Uncle Silas. He is the only family member that I can connect with.”
“Not your mother?”
“Unfortunately, not. I believe she has cold, deep ocean water running through her veins.”
“I am blessed with two delightful and jolly parents—and my brother will one day grow into a decent gentleman—but right now, not so much.”
“And you are the perfect young lady?”
Louisa looked at him askance. “Perfect… absolutely not.”
“Ah… what could possibly tarnish your reputation?”
“I am a terrible seamstress, I play the pianoforte in fits and starts—my playing sounds like a lame horse on a cobbled street, and my drawing looks like that of a three-year-old with a temper tantrum. However, I am quite adroit in the kitchen, and when Cook allows me, I can make a delicious cheese soufflé.”
“Then I shall bring the eggs.”
Dangerous Games of a Broken Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 29