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“Of course not, Eleanor. I said I was in a mood to call him out, not that I would. But I can assure you that time and distance from him will be necessary if I’m to discuss this with him—which, I assure you, I fully intend to do—and have any objectivity at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to find our sons.”
Twenty minutes later, Louisa stood next to her father’s carriage in the front courtyard of Farleigh Manor. She and Tibbetts were to ride with her parents, while Alex and Anthony had been consigned to Alex’s carriage, the one that had brought Alex and her here. She thought she might sleep the entire way home, so exhausted she felt. The sun seemed overly bright and stung her eyes. She pulled the brim of her bonnet down a bit and waited for the coachman to assist her into the carriage.
“Stop!” a voice shrieked. “Stop, stop!”
Louisa turned at the sound, as did everyone else. Mary was running toward them, her hair loose from its mobcap, apron flying, arms waving frantically. She was out of breath by the time she reached them.
“Where are you going?” she cried, panting. “You can’t go! You’re Mrs. Will, and you’re going to have babies! He told me!”
Oh, Mary.
Louisa glanced at her parents. Mama’s eyes were wide with shock, and Papa’s expression would surely shatter glass, considering he was already in a foul disposition. Mary’s innocent words had apparently put him over the edge.
Louisa went to the poor girl and put her arm around Mary’s shoulder.
“Have you been compromised?” her father asked in a quiet, menacing tone.
“Certainly not!” That was all she needed—for her father to think he must now force William to marry her. It was utterly absurd and so farcical under the circumstances that Louisa felt the urge to laugh hysterically.
Mary started wringing her hands and shaking her head. “You can’t go. You can’t go,” she muttered over and over. “Will said everything was going to be better. Lady Farleigh is gone, and you’re Lady Farleigh. There will be babies. And the bad one’s never coming back. Will said so. He said so.”
Louisa didn’t know what to say to comfort her. She kept her arm around Mary and simply let her speak. You will feel better now that you’ve shared this, Louisa. You are a verbal creature. Words are your friends, as they are not mine. Be at peace.
Oh, William.
Mrs. Brill hurried over, followed by Mrs. Holly and Grimshaw. Out of the corner of Louisa’s eye, she could see Matthew and Samuel coming around the corner of the house toward them too.
“I’m so sorry, milady,” Mrs. Brill said, taking a sobbing Mary by the hand. “Come on, now, luv. It’ll be all right. You’ll see. We’re all in a bit of a state, your lordship, your ladyship, and my poor lamb here meant no harm. Come on, Mary, luv.”
“You can’t go,” Mary said again, turning pleading eyes on Louisa. Mrs. Brill looked like she didn’t know what to do.
Louisa hugged Mary close as she dashed tears from her own eyes with her gloved hand. “I have to go,” Louisa choked out in a whisper. “He changed his mind, you see.” Louisa broke free and quickly climbed into the carriage. She could bear no more.
Tibbetts got into the carriage and sat silently next to her. Mama and Papa followed. Papa gave a rap on the ceiling, letting the coachman know it was time to leave.
Louisa looked out the window—she couldn’t help herself—and saw the people of Farleigh Manor standing there in the front courtyard: Mrs. Holly, Mrs. Brill, and Mary, Grimshaw, and Matthew. Samuel stood to the side, his arms crossed over his chest.
William wasn’t with them, not that Louisa had expected him to be. He had said all he had to say at the oak tree.
There was no reason for an additional farewell.
* * *
The sun was low on the horizon and cast the sky in shades of rose and gold when William began his trek back to the house, picnic basket in tow. A mere glance at the house told him Louisa was gone, as though Farleigh Manor itself was grieving her absence and William could sense it somehow.
He trudged inside, left the basket in the kitchen, and went directly to his study. First order of business was to write Richard Heslop and inform him that there was to be no marriage. After that, he would speak to Matthew. The two of them needed to determine where their best efforts would generate the most yield and income from the estate. But he was not ready to see Matthew yet; he wasn’t in a mood to speak to anybody.
What was he to say to them that would explain this mess? They knew nothing of the original wager or the vowel. They were probably going about their evening tasks right now, wondering what had happened to make Louisa leave so abruptly. Or maybe she’d told them about the vowel before she’d left, and they were appalled by how low William had sunk.
He pulled out a sheet of paper and dipped his quill into the inkwell. “Mr. Heslop,” he wrote. “I am not sure if I came to my senses or lost them, but I have torn up the vowel affecting Lady Louisa Hargreaves. Any suggestions you can offer dealing with the estate’s debt would be greatly appreciated. Yours, William Barlow, Junior, Viscount Farleigh.”
He folded it, sealed it, and set it aside. It was dark outside now. Good. It suited his mood perfectly.
He would speak to Matthew tomorrow.
He went to his room, ignoring the worried looks of Grimshaw and Mrs. Holly and the others.
* * *
