Page 13 of The Gentlewoman Companion (The Gentlewoman #4)

“I’ve been considering what you said about Miss Astell being an obscure figure,” Miss Fischer said.

“That fact is lamentable. You know, there are even older accounts that delineate the plight of women. Have you read Chaucer? ‘The Wife of Bath’s Tale’ proves the plight against subjugation is an old problem.

” Miss Fischer plunged a biscuit into her tea, which Louisa was not sure was entirely conventional.

“I am not familiar with Chaucer,” Louisa said.

“I shall lend it to you, if you are not opposed, my lady.”

With lively eyes and a faint smile, Mrs. Beecham said, “It is a bawdy story, but seen in the correct light, it proves instructive.”

“You needn’t ask my permission.” Lady Halverton patted Louisa’s knee. “She can decide for herself.”

Both sisters blinked at Louisa. Was this a test? No one had offered her access to a “bawdy story” before. Grasping for time, Louisa dipped her own biscuit into her teacup. “Perhaps Lady Halverton and I can read it together?”

“Very wise, my dear.” Miss Fischer nodded vigorously. “Just the thing.”

She’d answered correctly!

Lady Halverton said, “Tell me, how much honey did your estate produce this year? I must have a few jars for myself as it is the best anywhere.”

The discussion fell to a new method for harvesting honey. Louisa tried to listen but found herself wondering how to impress these women further. If she were to ever need their support, she must gain their friendship and approval.

When the conversation broke, Louisa said, “I am interested in Havenwood. What sort of schedule do you keep?”

“We wake early to meet for song and prayer,” Miss Fischer said. “We rotate through various tasks depending on age and interest. Each day, all are required to read, sew, help with housework, and garden.”

“Some are learning Latin,” Mrs. Beecham said.

“Latin?” Louisa could imagine herself performing the other tasks. But Latin? Her brain was already full, busy chewing and swallowing, sorting and trying to metabolize the events of the past months.

Mrs. Beecham laughed. “Do not be alarmed. Latin is not required.”

Louisa smiled. “Havenwood truly is a marvelous accomplishment,” she told the sisters, trying to add the warmth to her voice that she’d heard Lady Halverton use so sincerely time and again. And indeed, she did find their work admirable and worthy of praise.

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Beecham said with a kind pat on Louisa’s hand. “We could stay here chatting, Lady Halverton, but there is work to be done.” She began pulling on her gloves.

In a flurry of skirts, the women bid farewell for a full ten minutes before the door shut behind them.

“Those sisters are splendid,” Lady Halverton said with a contented sigh.

“But I am sorry some of my neighbors are mean-spirited.” She squinted at Louisa.

“I should not have introduced you as my companion. The word implies a dowdy less-fortunate, which you are not. Mrs. Waxpole expects you to shrink into the shadows, but I do not think you were made for obscurity.”

“Oh! I am sure they are right. I am no one of consequence.” Though Louisa did not like shadows, she could not ascertain how to properly step out of them without embarrassing herself.

“Tosh. You don’t see yourself clearly. That is a problem not so easily solved, but for now”—she tapped her chin and narrowed her eyes on Louisa’s sage colored dress—“new gowns will give you confidence. Tomorrow, we go to Mr. Sloan, a fine tailor. When we are finished with you, I will throw a party.”

She glanced at her dress. Three years old and constructed by a second-rate tailor, it was a little faded. But she had plenty of gowns from Bath. She must garner the strength to put them on and hope wearing them would air the bitter memories. “That is unnecessary?—”

“Do not fear. This is not to be a repeat of your time in Bath. I want you to enjoy a social evening without the pressure to impress a man, or anyone else.” She leaned forward, warming Louisa’s cold hand.

“This is purely to indulge in the love of beautiful things. I have a friend in Paris who sends me patterns, which is why I am the most fashionable lady in town.” She winked.

“As a rule, I permit no one to use my designs, but I will make an exception for you. Stand up.” She asked Louisa to turn, then put her hands around Louisa’s waist, all while remarking on her fine figure.

Louisa began to feel a surprising surge of excitement at the prospect of trying a new cut of dress. A new wardrobe, a symbol of a new beginning, might help her acquire the poise she longed for.

“Now,” said Lady Halverton, “I believe that the consumption of hot chocolate should not be restricted to morning. Though I’ve just had tea, chocolate suits me better. Let’s repair to the garden, where we can enjoy it best.”

Louisa fetched Lady Halverton’s shawl and followed her outside, where they settled on the shady veranda, each with a cup of chocolate and a butter biscuit.

The air smelled of a freedom almost in reach, and the chocolate coated her insides with sweet warmth, tinged with only a hint of bitterness.

To be a lady’s companion was a better situation than anyone could expect for a girl just escaped from a botched elopement.

So long as Louisa concentrated on this success, all was right.

Lady Halverton spoke about the various women who had called that day, while Louisa took in the stately garden in late summer color.

Even rows of lavender surrounded tightly trimmed boxwood.

Red geraniums and yellow marigolds alternated in flower beds that branched in looping rows, forming an impressive pattern when viewed from a distance.

Too vast and rigid for comfort, the green was no place to hide.

Louisa’s eyes lingered on shadows and distant trees, where that blackguard with whom she had tried to elope lurked in her imagination.

Louisa preferred the unruly cutting garden where peonies drooped and daisies spread, where a picket fence held her secure.

“My dear, you have that faraway look. Are you all right?” Lady Halverton asked.

“I am finding it a little hard to breathe. My stays are too tight.”

Lady Halverton tapped her cup with her fingernail and turned a penetrating eye on Louisa. “I suspect you are still wrought over your misadventures. I know your story already, but you may always discuss it with me, if you wish. It will fester if not aired.”

Louisa imagined the tangle of pain inside her middle—red, swollen, and oozing.

It will fester if not aired. She must remember that, though she knew not to what end.

The subject could not be broached. “I…miss my mother. My memories of her are fading.” It was the only true thing Louisa could share.

What she wouldn’t give for her mother’s reaction to the Great Misjudgment.

Whether Mama would reprimand or comfort her, she couldn’t be sure, but surely Mama would know how to stamp out the heat of shame that at times consumed her and help her know whether it was normal to feel like reaching down one’s throat to scratch away the hurt.

Not so long ago, Louisa had been on her way to Gretna Green. She closed her eyes against the lingering sensation of that man’s mouth on hers, his hands wandering over her blue silk gown. She wanted to extricate the memories and leave them in shreds.

“Louisa, I have correspondence that requires my attention.” Lady Halverton’s smile drew Louisa in and wrapped her in warmth. All would be well. She was safe. “Take some time for yourself, and I will see you at supper.”

“I could write for you.” In the short time she’d been at Lundbrooke, Louisa had learned Lady Halverton had a great deal of estate business that required letter-writing, as well as a multitude of correspondence all over London.

“You need rest, dear.”

Louisa considered finding Nellie, but the blue devils had their hooks in her.

Instead, she went to her room, where she pulled draperies around her bed, hoping to rest as Lady Halverton suggested.

But in the close darkness, she did not find sleep; instead, she was in a carriage, wearing her blue silk, the enormity of her mistake dawning with fresh horror.

There must be a way to disentangle that man and all memories associated with him. She needed a fire.

She stepped from the bed. There was wood in the hearth.

Good. Did silk smoke? She opened the window, then took the tinderbox from the mantle and looked inside.

She knew what flint, char cloth, and steel were, but how to make them flame was quite another thing.

She struck flint to steel until sweat dripped down her back. Sparks flew, then abandoned her.

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.