Page 16 of The Gentlewoman Companion (The Gentlewoman #4)

Chapter Seven

T he boat thudded against the wall, jarring Louisa from the pleasure of cool water streaming over her face, dripping down her back, soaking her clothes.

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold.

From the covered dock, a barrier of rain splashed into the pond like a wavering door separating two worlds.

Enclosed, she felt safe. She glanced at Lord Halverton, who wiped his brow with his wet sleeve.

It was jolly of him to have indulged her fancy for a few minutes, though he had not enjoyed it.

“My poor darlings.” Lady Halverton held one blanket open, and another lay across her arm.

Lord Halverton and Graham helped Louisa from the boat.

Lady Halverton wrapped her up and commanded her to sit by the fire.

As she slipped into the next room, Louisa heard her say in a loud whisper, “James! What were you thinking, staying out there so long?”

“Believe me, it was not my idea.”

Louisa tensed. She had not thought much of Lord Halverton seeing her recklessness as she had no reason to impress him, but suddenly she was reminded of how much sway he held in household matters.

If he began to think her an unfit companion, he could persuade his mother to dismiss her.

Once again, she had forgotten to consider how her mistress might react to her antics. She must be more careful.

She sat on the floor in front of the fire, thought better of sitting so casually, and fetched a chair.

Lady Halverton and her son entered. Louisa dragged another chair toward the fire and shot an apologetic smile to Lord Halverton.

His face remained neutral as he sat beside her and stretched his soggy arms in front of the blaze.

“I believe we are quite stuck here until the rain lets up.” Lady Halverton reclined on a settee and opened a book. “Perhaps it’s just as well. Both of you are soaked through already.”

“I am sorry,” Louisa said. “It was unkind of me to insist we stay in the rain. It shall not happen again.”

“Do not concern yourself on my account.” Lord Halverton’s voice was a low rumble.

“You could fall ill, and I would blame myself.”

“I rarely get sick.”

“In that case,” Lady Halverton said, “let’s return home directly.”

“Very funny, Mother,” Halverton said.

Louisa relaxed. It did not seem Lady Halverton was upset with her. “Did Miss Fischer and Mrs. Beecham depart before the rain hit?” Louisa asked.

“They may have caught the end of it.” Lady Halverton adjusted the book on her lap.

Louisa asked, “What are you reading, my lady?”

“Miss Fischer brought The Canterbury Tales , as promised. I’ll be interested to discuss it with you.”

Louisa nodded and let her read.

An hour later, the storm showed no sign of relenting.

It pelted against the roof and windows, a rumbling hum punctuated by rhythmic pings, loud enough to fill the cottage until there was no room for anything else.

Restless and bored, Louisa sat near the fire, bouncing her knee, wishing to leave or at least for conversation.

Graham had put away the food with Louisa’s help and was now sitting on the floor sharpening a knife. Lady Halverton was asleep with the booklet open on her chest. Halverton paced the floor in shirtsleeves and stockinged feet, muttering to himself.

He ticked off his fingers as if numbering points.

Dark brows shadowed his eyes, which she knew were solemn and amber brown.

He dropped his hand, then ran it through his hair, stopped walking, extended a finger, then another.

With his lips pressed into a hard line, he stared at his third finger.

She had never met anyone who took himself so seriously.

“What worries you?” she asked. “A lord must have very little to distress him.” She glanced at Lady Halverton, whom she did not wish to waken. The lady’s face remained placid.

His hands fell to his sides. “You’re an expert in my affairs?”

“You have tenants to work your land and servants to run your household. You are free to do whatever you like. Very few enjoy your level of independence.”

“Perhaps, but the House of Lords will be disappointed if I cannot defend my position.”

“Will they remove you from your seat?”

“No.”

“Well, then.”

He seemed disgruntled, as if he could not accept her point but could not form a proper counterargument either.

But he returned to his pacing, and she could not help studying him.

Had they met a year ago, his insightful eye and air of importance might have captivated her.

But she’d learned her lesson and would not fall victim to another man she hardly knew.

Might they be friends? It struck her suddenly that she had led a rather lonely life thus far, and it did not suit her.

Louisa watched him glare at his fingers, so earnest, so grave. If he was not wholly repulsed by her recklessness, and so long as he did not press her about her past, she would like him for a friend.

Their conversation in his study had sparked a small connection between them. He’d been warm and vulnerable and seemed to find comfort in connecting her supposed mourning to the anguish he felt at his father’s passing. He was twice wrong.

Though she mourned her mother, that loss had not driven her to destroy her clothing.

She knew the endless ache of losing a parent, but their experience was not the same.

In losing her mother, Louisa had lost her only advocate, while Halverton retained every advantage and needed no one to speak for him.

Halverton studied the far wall as if searching for a long-erased marking. It suddenly struck Louisa as absurdly amusing, this lord, traipsing the floors in his stockings, so collected and somber. She laughed then covered her mouth.

He turned his scowl on her before dropping his hand.

“What are you saying, my lord?”

“My speech for the House of Lords. This blasted weather…and I can’t remember my third point.”

“What are the first two?”

“I contend that we use taxes to support funding for the Foundling Hospital. Firstly, a significant portion of the funding is already sourced from charitable donations, thereby minimizing the requirements for substantial public funds. Secondly, funding such a project is a just use of public taxes because the institution provides sanctuary for children—innocent souls who are unable to care for themselves. However, I find myself struggling to articulate my third point.”

In Bath, Louisa had seen homeless children huddled together, cold and listless in dark corners, some even dying in the streets. She shivered, knowing if things had turned out differently, she could have been among them.

“Perhaps I can help.” She copied his manner, extending her fingers.

“First, country parishes are not always equipped to give needy children proper care. They often overburden the financial resources of country towns. Second, if wealthy gentry such as yourself, whose means are near limitless, are unwilling to share their bounty with the less fortunate, who can we expect to do it?”

He looked at her, silent and motionless, until heat rushed to her cheeks.

“Well?” She sat up and patted her gown. It was still damp.

“That is a perspective I have not been privy to.”

“My father is a squire and magistrate. I hear enough of county business to know that abandoned and orphaned children can strain a community.”

His brow furrowed. “I hold manorial courts. As the local authority, I should hear of these things, yet I have not.”

“Most disputes are resolved before they arrive at your door.” Lady Halverton sat up and wiped the creases from her gown. “How long did I sleep?”

“Over an hour.” He looked out the window. “It’s not letting up.”

“At least you benefitted from Louisa’s wisdom.” Her gaze fell on Louisa, indulgent and adoring. Louisa’s mother had looked at her that same way.

“She is wise,” Lord Halverton said. “When horses are not involved.” His mouth ticked up, lopsided.

“Oh! You can make a joke.” She could not suppress a smile.

Lady Halverton broke into laughter.

Some part of the knot that weighed on Louisa unraveled.

As Charles’s younger sister, she knew what it was to be mocked, ruthlessly and unfairly, nothing like Lord Halverton’s gentle tease.

These two people, whose status was far above her own, seemed to like her.

She sighed, feeling the warmth of the fire, the support of the chair, a calm enveloping her.

She shook it off, not trusting the sensation, for that man had also made her feel clever, and the idea that had led to the Great Misjudgment had brought promises of peace that would never be fulfilled.

“Perhaps we should brave the rain?” Louisa suggested. Slogging through mud was better than remaining in the close room where emotions tapped at her consciousness.

“If we do not, we may be here through the night,” Lady Halverton said.

“It is not worth the risk of either of you catching a cold.” Lord Halverton sat down and crossed his arms as if the case were settled.

“We are a hearty bunch.” Lady Halverton sprung to her feet as if to show her agility. “It is not so much cold as wet. Graham can ride ahead and have hot chocolate and baths waiting.”

“Thirty minutes in the rain, and a cough is sure to beset you,” her son said. “I will go for a carriage.”

“A carriage won’t make it through the mire. Let’s go, Louisa.” Lady Halverton waited by the door. “James can remain here if he is afraid of falling ill.” She winked at Louisa when Lord Halverton joined them.

The deluge soaked them within the first steps, but Louisa welcomed the cleansing rush of water and the mud that sucked her boots to earth.

“We’ll be crambling along, but I like the sludgy feeling,” Louisa said.

“Crambling?”

“Oh, I mean…we’ll be walking with difficulty.” Yet another word to stuff away.

Lady Halverton turned to her and grinned. “We may as well enjoy the cramble.”