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“Yes?” William said.
“I wouldn’t wish to be speakin’ out of turn, melord—”
“Samuel, you used to call me ‘that cursed boy’ on occasion, including a time when you threatened to tan my backside.”
Samuel chuckled. “Mebbe I did, at that. But if I did, ’twas only ’cause ye deserved it. Only then, mind. Ye was always a good lad, in truth.”
And there it was again, the pang in William’s heart that inevitably came with the desire to save the people dearest to him, like Samuel. The people of Farleigh Manor didn’t know how dire its finances truly were and were in for a cruel shock when they learned of the debt that existed from his father’s mortgages. William’s mortgages now.
He realized he’d fallen silent and that Samuel was watching him with a keen eye, so he shook off the bleakness that had encroached upon him with his thoughts. “You mentioned something about Lady Louisa.”
“Aye.” Samuel was still studying him too closely. “She’s been doin’ the same as her lofty brother inside the house but with a lighter touch. And she met yer new guests . . .”
William moaned and covered his eyes with his hand.
“Just this mornin’, she and his lordship had that distinct honor. Matthew did his best to steer ’em away from the cottage, but they insisted on goin’ up that way.” He paused. “Almost like they knew what they was searchin’ for,” he said.
William looked up in alarm. He’d only just met Miss Purnell himself before scuttling her and the children here to Farleigh Manor. Louisa couldn’t have known about her.
“I figured it were because of Mary’s blatherin’,” Samuel said. “She were going on about Lady Louisa bein’ the real wife and children and the like, was our Mary. But I think yer lady would have found it out sooner or later anyway. She’s a clever one, her ladyship is, and there’s no mistakin’.”
“Yes, she is,” William said.
“And,” Samuel continued. “If ye’re interested, I seen her out walkin’ alone not long past in the direction of a certain oak tree a lad I once knew were fond of. She has yer heart, don’t she, son?”
“I believe so, Samuel,” William replied. “Heaven help me.”
“Go find her, then,” Samuel said.
* * *
The oak tree looked much the same as it had when William had last seen it on the day after his mother’s funeral. Perhaps a bit taller, its trunk a tad thicker, but it was still the same tree that had been his refuge from the tension that had been a constant undercurrent in the house. Only Samuel and Matthew had been aware of how much time he’d spent there during his holiday visits home.
He spotted Louisa sitting beneath its canopy just before he reached it; she’d been hidden from his view by the trunk before then. When he came near enough, he discovered she was sound asleep, so he used the opportunity to simply gaze at her.
He wished he had his oils and brushes with him.
She had a picnic basket with her; bless Mrs. Brill’s good heart for seeing to her needs. She wore a simple day dress of light-blue muslin and had removed her bonnet, which sat on the lawn next to her. A dark curl had escaped its pins and occasionally flitted about her cheek, depending on the whims of the breeze. That was what he would paint, if he could. It would make a beautiful, serene portrait. But Louisa was more than that—she was clever and kind and honorable and honest in her emotions—a specific quality he himself had not learned from his own childhood and still struggled with mightily but held in high esteem now.
William’s heart ached as he gazed at her. It hadn’t felt like this since his mother’s death.
Oh, how he loved Louisa.
And in that moment, looking at her, he realized he could not shackle her by force to the same fate he had endured. He must destroy the vowel.
Ironic that for a man who loathed gambling as much as he did, he was about to make the biggest wager of his life. Freeing Louisa from the vowel meant he would lose the woman he loved and make the lives of everyone else he loved more difficult.
Unless she loved him and chose to marry him anyway . . .
He smiled humorlessly. He’d been nothing but a plague to her, forcing her to end a betrothal to Lord Kerridge and commit to marrying him. He’d been unable to get past the wall he’d built around himself and allow her to know him. He’d kissed her, and she’d accused him of manipulation. Except for that one time . . .
A single kiss, passionate though it may have been, could not be construed as love.
He sat next to her, drew up one knee, and rested his arm on top, still gazing at her, praying for the strength to do what he knew he had to do. He sensed more than saw her stir, and then her hand fluttered up to her eyes as she gradually awakened. He waited until he thought her fully awake before alerting her to his presence. “Hello, Louisa,” he said softly.
She sat up abruptly, blinking to clear away the fog of sleep. “William? What are you doing here?”
“Watching you sleep.” And grieving that the moment of truth had arrived.
