AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Alex began tapping his foot. Loudly.
Matthew heaved out a large breath.
“Never mind, Matthew,” the woman said. “I can speak for myself, if they’ll permit me.”
Alex gestured for her to do so.
Miss Purnell crouched down by the children. “Peter, will you please take Daisy out into the garden? Perhaps you can help her pick flowers to give our guests.”
“Yes, Mama.” Peter took little Daisy by the hand and led her from the room.
Louisa heard a door at the back of the cottage open and close.
Miss Purnell stood straight and looked directly at Louisa. “Until recently, I was Mrs. William Barlow. Senior,” she quickly added. “Or at least I thought I was. Only last week, I received word that my marriage was a fraud and that, as a result, my children are illegitimate and we are destitute. When Lord Farleigh—the current Lord Farleigh, that is—learned of our situation, he offered this house to us.”
“I don’t understand,” Louisa said. Perhaps she was still suffering ill effects from the fainting spell, but the woman’s words made no sense.
“Allow me to put some tea on,” Miss Purnell replied. “It is a story that will take some time to tell.”
* * *
William braced himself to call upon Louisa the afternoon following his encounter with Lord Anthony. Perhaps it had been a good thing he hadn’t seen her and that she’d had time to herself—time away from him, to be more precise. He’d reflected at length, once again, upon their conversation Sunday night, specifically his ineptitude at sharing himself with her. How frustrating he must have been, and must be, to her.
And how presumptuous he had been with her. He’d had the temerity to suggest at their initial meeting that she could not have become attached to Lord Kerridge after a mere two weeks’ time. He had been wrong on that score, because he’d known Louisa for an equally short amount of time, and at some point during the past two days, he had realized he was in love with her. Well, most assuredly, he was. He’d been struck speechless by her the moment he’d laid eyes on her and had been enchanted by her ever since. She was bright and candid and vulnerable and strong—how could William not have fallen in love with her?
He’d brought the little family portrait with him to London this time. He’d looked at it several times over the past two days and studied it again now. There he was just older than Peter, standing next to his mother, who was seated. His father stood behind them both. The artist had managed to capture the indiscernible expression his father had always worn.
William’s mother sat gazing serenely on, her back straight, the beautiful viscountess she’d always been readily apparent, albeit William had only ever thought of her as his loving mama. Age and experience did much to expand one’s perspective. Perhaps, when this painting was done, his mother had still had hope for her marriage. Perhaps not. William did not know.
William looked beyond the portrait to the blue sky showing through the window, then shook his head. It was time to call on Louisa again, apologize for his disappointing lack of openness, and proceed with the marriage plans. He washed and dressed sensibly once again, taking care as he shaved so as not to irritate the swelling and bruise that had formed on his jaw after its encounter with Lord Anthony’s fist yesterday at Gentleman Jackson’s. Louisa’s brother had been able to land a few heavy blows in what was supposed to have been a friendly bout of boxing for the sake of exercise. William’s jaw hurt like the very devil today, as did a couple of ribs.
He called for his horse to be readied and rode to Ashworth House, knotted up inside with guilt and shame and desperation—and a love he’d not expected to find.
Too soon, William reached his destination, lifted the knocker, and braced himself. For what? Silence? Silence was what he was used to, and he was comfortable with it. Louisa was not a silent person by nature, however. It was one of the things he loved most about her.
Words, then. He braced himself for more words, potentially with the same volatile delivery he’d received at Vauxhall. He would welcome her words and give her the freedom to share them and not keep her feelings to herself. He would not be responsible for destroying what was uniquely her, as his father had done to his mother.
Gibbs opened the door. “My lord,” the butler said in greeting, giving no indication of what William could expect to face once inside.
“Good afternoon, Gibbs,” William said. “I am here to call on—”
“Farleigh! Is that you again?” Lord Anthony nearly pushed Gibbs aside in his rush to greet William and welcome him into the house. William had to give the butler credit, as the man didn’t even blink an eye at the rough handling; he merely closed the door and faded from sight. Butlers would make good gamblers, he thought. He suddenly hoped Gibbs had a nice wife waiting for him at the end of a long day.
Lord Anthony practically dragged William into one of the smaller drawing rooms. “Good to see you. Ah, it appears I left some damage in my wake yesterday,” he said, eyeing William’s swollen and purple jaw. “Sorry about that, old man. I spotted your poor nag out there—I must take you to Tattersall’s one of these days; we’ll get you set up with a nice piece of horseflesh. Perhaps we should go this afternoon. I was there just the other day, and—”
“He’s not a nag,” William managed to wedge into Lord Anthony’s flood of words. Apparently, the man had more in common with Louisa than William had originally thought. “He’s not of the highest of quality, perhaps, but he’s a decent chap, as horses go. I’m here once again, as you well know, to call upon your sister.”
“Drink, Farleigh?” Lord Anthony asked, picking up a decanter on a side table and pouring a small amount into a glass.
“No, thank you; it’s rather early for that. I’d prefer you simply inform Louisa that I am here.”
“Yes, well.” He took a sip. “As to that, I’m afraid she is still unavailable.”
Something was wrong. A sense of uneasiness began to coil inside William. “Perhaps later this evening would be better?” he asked.
“I don’t think she’s going to be available then, either.”
The unease congealed into a solid gray mass. “I see. Well. Perhaps tomorrow, then.” He turned to leave, having no more reason to stay and not being in a mood for further conversation about horses or, heaven forbid, receiving another invitation to box, when the drawing room door opened. “Lord Farleigh? I thought I heard your voice,” Lady Ashworth said as she entered, looking for all the world as if she was in shock. Lord Anthony, William noticed, downed the rest of his drink in one big gulp. “But how can it be?”
