“Are you sure she’s a cousin? I thought she was Papa’s sister?”
Martha shook her head. “No, I’m quite certain Wendy was a cousin.”
Finally, the two women turned back to Louisa as if coming to a decision, small smiles playing across their identically small mouths.
“Well, child, whichever it is, we’re so happy to see you. It’s been so long you know,” Martha said.
“We already said it’s been a long time,” Maude whispered. “We haven’t seen her since, well, since—”
The poor little woman stopped abruptly, her eyes going wide as she took in Louisa, and Louisa suddenly knew what the woman had been about to say.
They hadn’t seen her since her mother’s funeral.
Louisa had never before seen these women, but funerals had a way of drawing together those who would otherwise remain absent from a person’s life. The only other time in history Louisa could have seen these women would have been then, at her mother’s funeral.
The realization rocked Louisa like a sudden storm sweeping across the moors. She swallowed and straightened her shoulders when she realized she’d inadvertently taken a step back and away from these women.
“How very kind of you to come today,” Louisa found herself saying even as a flood of memories hit her.
Not now. She already carried too much. She couldn’t think of her mother.
But the memories came anyway.
Those last few days of her mother’s life. Everyone kept whispering. Doors kept shutting her out. The doctor kept coming at all hours. The housekeeper, or perhaps it was some kind of nurse, shooed the children away. Louisa had been too young to know who it was. Father, oh God, poor Father hiding in his study, too scared to see his wife dying.
Louisa had been scared, too, scared of her mother dying alone, so she’d done something terrible. The memories wouldn’t stop now. The closed and dusty smell of the sickroom, something pungent and strong burning her nostrils as she got closer to her mother’s bed. All of the bottles and rags that littered the bedside table. She still couldn’t see her mother. She had to get closer.
After that, there was nothing but noise. First the doctor yelling for that other horrible woman, and then Father rushing in to scoop her up, his voice loud because he was trying to speak above the others, trying to tell her it was going to be all right.
But it wasn’t going to be all right. It never would be. Because Louisa had killed her mother. Louisa had brought the influenza into the house.
This was her fault.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, staring, concentrating on simply breathing, but these women must have said something because suddenly Sebastian touched her elbow.
She started at his touch, so soft and yet so sure and warm, and she swung her gaze up to his.
His eyebrows had gone flat, and he studied her carefully, and for one absurd moment, she thought he might care.
“Are you all right, dear one?”
Louisa turned her attention back to the women, but she didn’t know who had spoken, her mind still in a place long ago and far away, and she didn’t really care.
“I’m quite all right,” she said, her face slipping into the practiced smile that came so easily now. “If you would excuse me, I must see to our other guests.”
“Oh, of course, dears.”
Louisa didn’t hear the rest of it. She was already plunging back into the deafening cacophony created by her wedding guests.
* * *
Sebastian watched her carefully on the short ride back to his townhouse.
Their townhouse now, he supposed.
He would be the first to admit their wedding had not exactly been the stuff of a young girl’s dreams. He could also admit his own role in that. Perhaps he should have not squabbled with the vicar at the altar, but really, the man was being unreasonable. What did it matter what words he spoke as long as they conveyed the same meaning?
What had occurred at the wedding breakfast, however, he knew was the final nail in whatever coffin Louisa viewed the wedding to have been. He didn’t know who those women were, but he knew their effect on Louisa had not been pleasant.
In all the time he had known his wife, she was always effervescent, ebullient, charming, and warm. But when those women mentioned the last time they had seen Louisa, it was as if his wife had been replaced with another person entirely. Her dewy skin had gone cold and flat, her eyes swimmingly vacant as if she were seeing another time and place.
As the carriage bounced toward home, he studied her profile now, realizing for the first time just how much he didn’t know about his bride.
He knew the father of the family had died in the last few years of simple and blessed old age, but he vaguely remembered mention of a mother who had died terribly young. He didn’t know any more on the matter as it was none of his concern. But he was fairly certain those eccentric old women had meant they hadn’t seen Louisa since her mother’s funeral. Surely it was that which had made Louisa close in on herself.
And horribly, it now made him want to know about her mother’s death.
He hadn’t cared about another person besides Dax in a very long time, and the tug of concern he now felt toward Louisa frightened him. This was the very thing he had meant to avoid. Emotional entanglements always led to these kinds of distractions, and before one knew it, he could be sucked into a turmoil he could have easily evaded had he not cared in the first place.
Sebastian released a breath.
It was too late for that. He knew it only too well. He already cared for Louisa, and he couldn’t stand to sit there and watch her hold herself together so carefully.
He cleared his throat. “I trust the ceremony was to your liking.”
She started as if he’d pulled her from the depth of her thoughts. “Yes,” she said, but the word had an edge to it that suggested she spoke the answer she thought was warranted.
Her gaze remained focused out the window, but her irises did not move as though she weren’t really paying attention. She just wished to look at nothing perhaps.
“I enjoyed the pudding. Ravenwood must employ an accomplished cook.”
“Yes, of course.”
The carriage rattled on for a few more beats.
“My favorite, though, was the parade of monkeys dressed in top hats.”
“Em, yes.”
He didn’t know why he did it, but he could not stand the idea of carrying on such a one-sided conversation. So carefully, he reached out and slipped his hand under the one lying softly in her lap. She jerked, as he had anticipated, but he laced his fingers through hers and held on, capturing her in his grip.
Finally, her eyes moved, first flying to their entwined hands and then to his face. He smiled, hoping the unusual expression coming from him would hold her attention.
“I think it would be helpful if you were to tell me what you’re thinking. I’m not sure I have the fortitude to withstand such an inane conversation. Should you carry on like that, your answers will grow so short as to be nothing at all.”
“I’m sorry?” Her tone was confused, and he knew she didn’t realize he had been talking the last few minutes or if she did, it only vaguely registered.
“Those women upset you. Not that you were particularly pleased before we encountered them, but you were at least pretending to be so.”
She snatched her hand out of his grasp. “I was not pretending. It was lovely to see friends and family I do not always get to spend time with.”
“Liar.”
A line appeared between her brows as she frowned. “I am not lying. You just wouldn’t know because you don’t have family or friends.”
Her words met their mark, and he felt the stab of them in his gut. But the shock that registered on her face quickly assuaged any lingering pain. He tried to assure her with a self-deprecating smile that it needn’t matter how true her words were or that she’d spoken them, but there was no assuring Louisa Darby.
“Why? It’s true, isn’t it?”
Her hand slid from his arm as her eyes searched his face. “Just because they’re true doesn’t make them any less cruel.”
“I’m glad you were happy to see your family and friends.” He kept his tone even in hopes she would forget what she’d said, but there was no distracting Louisa either.
“You do have friends, you know. You have Dax and Eliza. And even little George. You have your mother. Well, I can see where there would be more of a trial, but you do have her.”
His heart slowed to an almost imperceptible beat as words he hadn’t meant to say slipped from his lips.
“What about you, Louisa?”
The shock was better hidden this time, traced along the rounded curves as her eyes grew wide, but it was still there. Her gaze did that back-and-forth dance again, but he knew she was looking inside herself this time instead of at him.
Too late and too rushed, she said, “Yes, of course.”
Her answer left a hollowness inside of him. He wanted to scratch at his chest as if to ease the pain, but instead he moved his gaze out the window.
It shouldn’t matter. Louisa didn’t marry him for love, after all, and he didn’t want love in the first place. He had already learned to live with the loneliness. The loneliness was far simpler than anything else.
She didn’t speak any more, and he didn’t bother with any further questions. It was better this way. He had wanted a separation between them, and now he would have it. Everything could go back to what it was before.
The carriage dipped into a rather large hole in the pavement, sending him jostling against the side of the conveyance. His arm pressed into the box he had tucked inside his jacket earlier that day. In all that had occurred, he’d nearly forgotten about it.
He reached inside his jacket and slipped the slim box from the pocket where he’d placed it that morning and handed it to Louisa.
“I understand it’s custom for the groom to give the bride a small token at the wedding.”
She held her hands pressed to her stomach, her eyes riveted to the box.
“You got me…a present?”
“Yes.” He gestured with the box for her to take it.
Gingerly, she held the box by the tips of her fingers.
When she continued to simply hold it, he said, “I believe at this point it’s customary for you to open it.”
Her eyes had been studying the box, so he was surprised to find them damp when she lifted her gaze to him. “But I didn’t get you anything.”
Once more he felt the stab of disappointment, and he pushed it aside. It didn’t matter what she thought of him. He need only remind himself that theirs was a match of necessity, nothing more.
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
He wanted it to be the truth but ever since that night in the moonlight when he’d held her in his arms, when he discovered just how powerful his attraction to her was, he had wanted something more. He knew it, he admitted it, and he toed the edge of the water where danger lurked.
He’d purchased the gift the very next day out of a compulsion that should have worried him. It was as though he needed to find something into which he could pour all of the feelings too dangerous to show Louisa. But the gift allowed him to express those emotions without uttering a single word to her that could one day haunt him.
She considered him for several moments before finally lifting the lid of the small jeweler’s box in her hand.
His chest tightened as he waited for her response.
It seemed an eternity before she lifted her gaze to his.
“It’s a hatpin.” Her tone was neutral, if not slightly…disappointed? Confused?
“Yes. It’s made of the finest gold, so you needn’t worry that it not be strong enough.”
She used two fingers to pick up the hatpin, the last of the light from outside the windows glinting off the yellow gold.
“Strong enough for what?”
“To defend yourself, of course. You don’t want it to bend should you have need to stab an attacker with it.”
Her lips parted as she absorbed his words.
“This is to defend myself?” She held up the hatpin.
“Yes. It’s nearly twenty-three centimeters, so that should give you a strong grip on it. I thought the stone at the end would help with that. Give you something to wrap your fingers around.”
She blinked, her brow knitting. “Why would you do this for me?”
He felt the words he wanted to say clog in his throat. There were so many reasons he wished for her to have the hatpin. Bastards like Devlin were all too common unfortunately.
“I won’t always be there to protect you.” He hadn’t meant to whisper the words, but it was all he could do to get them out.
He studied her face, waiting for her response, but her eyes remained slightly unfocused, her lips parting as if she were blowing a kiss.
When she still didn’t speak, he felt the silence begin to claw at him. “I’m sorry to say, not all men are honorable, as you unfortunately learned. It sickens me to think another man’s actions can take away your choices. That’s not fair, and it’s largely beyond your control.” He nodded to the hatpin. “That is the one thing I can do to give you a better chance at protecting yourself from less than honorable gentlemen.”
She blinked once more and whispered, “Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome.”
Something hung between them then, charged and pulsating. He could feel the tingly nature of it as if he were standing in the middle of a lightning storm. But then she blinked, and it vanished.
Carefully, she put the hatpin back in its case and snapped the lid shut.
“Those women were referring to my mother’s funeral.” Her eyes flew up, her gaze locking onto his, and for the first time that day, he found the fire there he was coming to crave. “That was the last time they saw me. My mother died from influenza when I was five.”
She kneaded her lower lip, and he wondered if she wished to say more. She considered for some moments before turning away, holding the hatpin box clasped in both of her hands.
Once again he studied her profile, but now he knew more. He knew Louisa had a secret that was easier for her to keep than for her to speak. Something shifted inside of him, and he wondered if Louisa and he were not just the same—two creatures making their way through a world that had dealt them an unforgivable blow.
The carriage turned another corner, and although her head never turned away from the window, Louisa slipped her hand into his. It stayed there for the rest of the journey home.
Chapter 6
The hatpin box lay open on her dressing table as she brushed her hair that night.
She couldn’t take her eyes from the delicate gold that twined its way around the amethyst set into the head of the pin. The yellow of the gold and purples of the stone reflected in the candlelight with warmth and allure. It wasn’t only functional: the piece was striking.
And Sebastian had gotten it for her.
The suggestions behind the gift were too great for her to comprehend even now that she’d had hours to digest it. Her husband not only cared enough to give her a gift but one so personal and meaningful. Only Sebastian knew what had happened that night in the Lumberton drawing room, and he’d chosen a gift of such heavy significance. She still couldn’t wrap her brain around what it meant personally. That he was concerned for her safety, that he worried he wouldn’t always be there to protect her.
Her heart squeezed at the memory of his words even as she brushed at her hair furiously.
Why did he do this?
Why was he so cold and rude one moment whilst the next he overset her with affection and care?
Why did he blunder his way through their marriage vo
ws and then bestow upon her a gift of such…such…
Lud, were all men like this?
She wished Jo were here. At this point, she would even take Viv. Men were so vexing. How was a woman to navigate her way in marriage without the help of her sisters?
She stopped her hand, the brush caught in mid-stroke through her hair. The quiet of the house around her intensified as she realized how utterly alone she was. Her sisters weren’t there. Jo was not in the room beside hers, and Viv was not down the hall. Louisa was completely alone now. Now. Now more than ever when she needed her sisters. She had never quite understood how challenging it would be to be married to the Beastly Duke, and she was without reinforcements.
A rustling behind her startled her, and she swung around only to see her maid, Nancy, putting the last of Louisa’s gowns in the armoire. Waverly House had been rather dark when they’d finally arrived, and after greeting the staff, she’d gone directly to her rooms, wanting nothing more than quiet and a chance to lie down. She’d seen very little of the place, but her rooms were well appointed if the wallpaper was rather aged, the furniture worn. It was all fine trappings if perhaps a little old and well…unmatched.
Louisa wondered not for the first time about Sebastian’s home life as a child. Waverly House reflected an existence of neglect, and she wondered if Sebastian were not evidence of the same.
“Nancy.” Nancy was from Surrey and had grown up on a dairy farm. Louisa had never met a woman of such fortitude, and if anyone were to give her advice on how to manage the Beastly Duke, it would be the daughter of a farmer. “How are you finding things below stairs?”
Nancy tucked a stray ribbon into the armoire and closed the doors softly. “Waverly House is well run, Your Grace, if the other servants are rather quiet.”
Louisa set down her hairbrush. “Quiet?”
Nancy folded her hands in front of her. The woman could not have been older than Louisa, but a hard life already showed on the dullness of her face and eyes. Moving households was hard for a servant. There was a new staff and a new housekeeper or butler to acclimate oneself to, not to mention the transportation and sorting of her mistress’s things. The woman was likely as exhausted as Louisa.
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