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“‘Did not suit,’ you say? I’m sorry, Eleanor, but you must do better than that.” The duchess set her cup and saucer down with a clatter. “There is no conceivable reason why the two of them wouldn’t suit; in fact, I heard the marriage contracts were very nearly complete. Try again.” She folded her hands in her lap and waited.
Mama actually began wringing her hands. “I don’t know quite what to say. There was a prior . . .” Mama stopped speaking and stood to pace about the room.
Louisa, by contrast, sat frozen in place, a terrifying bubble forming in her chest.
“There was a prior . . . what? A prior understanding with Farleigh? I was given to believe the viscount was nearly a complete stranger before he arrived in Town so recently. But if there was an understanding, why would marriage contracts have been drawn up, and why would you be here hoping I know anything—” Her brows furrowed with confusion. “I’m at a total loss.”
The bubble inside Louisa was pressing against her heart and lungs now until she could barely breathe. And it grew bigger and bigger still until it continued up her throat to her lips—and then it burst. “Lord Farleigh won me in a wager,” Louisa blurted out, then threw her hands over her mouth as if to force the words back inside.
“What?” The duchess’s eyes doubled in size, and she whirled to look at Mama.
Mama collapsed into the nearest sofa as if Louisa’s words had taken her breath away too. She nodded weakly, laying a hand over her eyes.
“Good heavens!” the duchess exclaimed.
“Yes,” Mama replied.
There was nothing for it now that Louisa had spoken the words aloud. “Lord Farleigh won the daughter of the Marquess of Ashworth in a wager. That is to say, the former Lord Farleigh made a wager with my grandfather in which he bet a future daughter of the marquess. The wording was all rather . . . conveniently vague and . . . surprisingly legitimate . . . and suddenly, there I was, not betrothed and then betrothed again, and, and . . .” And Louisa could tell that, once again, she was beginning to babble.
“Oh, my poor girl!” The duchess rose and moved to the chair closest to Louisa, wrapping her in a hug and patting her back over and over again. “It goes without saying, Eleanor, that Louisa’s words won’t leave this room. Oh dear, oh dear.”
“So you see, Martha, why any knowledge you can provide would be a great help. My only daughter is to marry a total stranger, a stranger who descends from an entirely despicable character. And yet, Louisa feels honor bound to do it.”
“Well, I am quite without words for the moment.”
“You would have done the same, I daresay,” Louisa replied. “There is a reason you are called The General. I daresay women are no less honorable than men.”
“Louisa!” Mama exclaimed, aghast.
The duchess waved off Louisa’s comment. “I know very well what I am called. Eleanor, and I’m quite proud of it, actually, considering what other options there may have been. I hope you are right, Louisa, that if I were in a position to make such a difficult choice, I would choose honor over my personal feelings. We’ll never know though, will we?” she said. “Hypotheticals provide little of value, in my opinion. Very well. I daresay I’ve heard nothing as of yet about the son, but the father, well, that’s a different matter altogether . . . I shall tell you what I know about the man and what little I have heard—”
There was a discreet knock on the door, interrupting the duchess, and then John entered once again, this time bearing a salver with a calling card on it. “Lady Putnam and Miss Harriet Putnam to see you, Lady Ashworth,” he said.
The duchess shook her head. “It needed only this. Well, I daresay you’ll hear everything and then some about Lord Farleigh now,” she said.
“Send them in, John,” Mama said with a sigh. “Send them in.”
* * *
Now that the first of the banns had been read, William needed to travel to Farleigh Manor so preparations could be made for the arrival of its future mistress, albeit he’d been reluctant to leave London as of yet.
It was not an exaggeration to say Louisa had been deeply upset by their chance and unfortunate encounter with Lord Kerridge on Sunday. William doubted the Earl of Kerridge would consider Belinda Hughes, a mere “miss,” an appropriate wife for the heir of the Duke of Aylesham; it had been obvious that Louisa had been too upset to come to the same conclusion during their encounter.
He’d left her alone and in peace on Monday as a result, but he couldn’t afford to be away from her side for too long. He needed to call on her this morning before he left Town.
He purchased a single red rose from a flower girl on his way to Ashworth House, approached the front door, and straightened his neckcloth before knocking.
“Good afternoon, Lord Farleigh,” the butler said as he opened the door and allowed William to enter. “I shall inform Lady Louisa of your presence.” He gestured for William to wait in a small parlor off the front door.
He felt restless. During all of William’s time at Oxford, and even the past few years in Edinburgh, he’d not found himself foolishly wondering how to act around a lady, of all things. It was embarrassing.
He stood by the fireplace and stared out the window, tapping his foot.
“Ahem.”
William whirled around, then silently berated himself for letting his reaction show.
The butler stood in the doorway, a bland expression on his face, as though he hadn’t noticed William’s actions, just as any good butler would. “The ladies will receive you in the dayroom,” he intoned. “Follow me, please.”
