Page 22 of The Gentlewoman Companion

Servants had lit fires countless times in her presence, but the box was useless in her own hand. If she called one now, they would think she was mad, asking for a fire in such heat. Perhaps Nellie could help, but urgency demanded no delay. She struck again.

A hand squeezed her shoulders, and the flint clattered to the floor.

“Oh, Nellie. You frightened me.”

“What are you doing?”

“I want to burn that dress. You know the one.” Louisa blinked away the sting in her eyes.

Nellie had the fire going in seconds.

“Thank you.”

“Wasson? Are you alright?”

“Yes. You may go.”

“I can stay.”

“Thank you, but I want to do this alone.”

Nellie gave a half nod before closing the door behind her.

Louisa opened her wardrobe and retrieved the blue silk. It was the first gown she had purchased in Bath for her grand venture into society, the most fashionable thing she had ever worn and the most expensive. Her skin crawled, but she fingered the fine lace cuff. She’d embroidered the stomacher herself, some of her best work. But that man’s hands had caressed it. They lingered still.

With a pair of scissors, she cut into the hem before ripping into the fabric, her arms spreading as wide as bird’s wings. She cut and tore, releasing her burden in wailing surges that frayed her throat even as she shredded her dress. She wiped her eyes and rolled the voluminous tatters into a ball. On her knees she dropped the ragged mess into the blazing fire, hoping its mass would not extinguish the flame.

An orange finger reached up and began devouring a wisp of fabric, shriveling it to black. She’d loved that gown for the way it matched her eyes, but now it reminded her of the lustful eyes of that man.

The silk withered and twisted in the flames, which surrounded it like witches performing a purification ritual. It burned slowly, and Louisa watched the fire, her face damp with heat, the stench of fiery silk stinging her nose. If only the past could dissolve as easily. At times it did. It was an unfair reality that the memories she most wished to hold eluded her while those she wanted to forget rose unbidden with lifelike clarity.

It suddenly seemed important that the entire dress should not disappear. She needed a reminder to keep her from repeating so horrific a blunder. She plunged her hand into the fireplace, avoiding the greater swell of flame, and snatched at the dress. It rolled onto the flagstone, glowing red in places while she cut away a bit of smoke-greyed fabric. She opened the clasp of her brooch and tucked the fabric beside the coiled braid of her mother’s hair. The brooch was the only thing with her that had belonged to her mother. She pressed it against her heart.

With a kick, the charred gown landed back in the fire, leaving behind a haze of charcoaled wisps and livid sparks. In thick gathering smoke, she fell to her knees to view the obliteration of her mistake.

Someone cleared his throat, and Louisa froze before turning toward the door. Lord Halverton gazed down at her. Her eyes locked on his, rage at his importune appearance cutting through her middle. How dare he burst in on her? This was her private room! But she was the one who did not belong. As master of the house, he could do whatever he wished. Ice gripped her insides, and she willed him to leave.

“What are you…I thought…” He shifted, appearing boyish and uncomfortable. Pounding footsteps sounded behind him. He blocked whomever it was from seeing into the room. Over his shoulder he said, “Just a smoking chimney. You may go.”

Servants. Come to put out a fire.

Lord Halverton’s gaze returned to her. His jaw sharpened, and his lips shifted downward. With pity or contempt?

Get out! The words wanted to split from her, but she would not allow him to see more of her passion. Maintaining eye contact with a determined lift of her chin, she brought herself to her feet. Her hands remained clenched and her back rigid. As gently as possible, she closed the door on him.