Page 101 of The Gentlewoman Companion

Chapter Twenty-Four

James and his mother walked a repeated path from one end of the room to the other. The rug would wear thin if Louisa did not return soon. They’d received news from Miss Fischer that Louisa had left hours earlier after being told she could not find refuge at Havenwood.

Delicately worded notes had been dispatched to everyone who might possibly have word of her. James had taken his horse through London, combing the streets with his eyes in search of a donkey cart or a young lady with Louisa’s pert stride. Where could she have gone? Not even Nellie could guess.

The winter sun disappeared, filling the parlor with feeble, depressing light. The endless possibilities of Louisa’s whereabouts and circumstances haunted James, and he pictured her alone, probably terrified. After hours of tense debate, James and his mother exhausted their conversation. What else was there to say? They each blamed themselves, James for speaking harshly, his mother for not accompanying her to the ball.

“Come, let’s sit.” His mother led him to a settee. “I’ve been thinking about the Foundling Hospital.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

She smiled wanly. “As if that were possible. Louisa told me how you watched women pull their infants from their breasts and push them through a tiny door. They couldn’t even see the faces of the people who took their children.”

“It was horrible. I cannot imagine the desperate circumstances that led them to it.”

“Indeed. Louisa also described how little Tom dropped his sister at your feet and ran away, frantic for his sister to live, knowing she would die without help. And Margaret sells gin from her house to keep a roof over her head.”

“You know that?”

“We are friendly. I saw her leaving the house and inquired after her destination. Don’t panic. I believe she will stop once out of London.”

Yet another reason to take his half-siblings to Stroud. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I have a point. Your father proclaimed fidelity and loyalty while practicing something else. But Louisa may present a different case. Have you ever considered what desperate situation led Louisa to attempt an elopement?”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Don’t say it. I hate to think of it!”

“It must be said. A young lady cannot refuse when her father promises her to a man. She might cry and complain, but she belongs to her father and then to her husband.”

In his heart, he longed to take Louisa in his arms, to comfort and love her, but his mind could not reconcile the story. His chest tightened. “She betrayed me.”

“She did not know you. Don’t compare her to your father.”

Is that what he was doing? His emotions were too diverse and shifting to capture. He was hurt and angry while desperately afraid he may never see Louisa again. She could be lost, hurt, or on her way back to Cornwall.

“We should eat,” his mother said.

“Maybe just tea.”

She rang for it, but the pot lay untouched as the minutes ticked by.

“I should have fetched Mr. Fielding from Bow Street.” He cursed himself for not thinking of it before. “Do you think it’s too late?”

Voices erupted from the direction of the kitchen. James raced down the hall and descended the stairs. Inside the kitchen, a red-faced, bedraggled Louisa was embracing Nellie.

Tension seeped from James’s limbs, leaving him heavy. He rested against the arched doorway.

His mother entered. “Louisa, darling. Are you hurt?”

Nellie released her, and Louisa shook her head.

His mother addressed Cook. “Bring more tea to the parlor—and something fortifying.” She took Louisa’s wilted hand and led her upstairs. “James, find a blanket.”

When James returned, he placed the blanket over a weeping Louisa, who reclined across a settee with her head in his mother’s lap.

“I have done the unforgivable,” Louisa moaned.

“Tosh! I’ll not hear you speak like that.” His mother tucked the blanket around Louisa.