Page 22 of The Gentlewoman Companion (The Gentlewoman #4)

Louisa traced her mother’s brooch. Nellie was right: she was placing boundaries around herself based on what others expected.

She always had. That night, she would celebrate her escape from marriage and the freedom Lady Halverton had given her by enjoying her dress and the ball without reservation.

She would not think herself unworthy because she had fled her father’s maneuverings or worry that she was not equal to anyone else because she was an employed companion.

“Where is that little ring your Aunt Mary gave you?” Nellie asked.

“I sent it to Charles. He threatened to spread my story if I did not send him money.”

“The little brute. Do you think you did right?”

“I only know that if the world discovers the truth of my…” she paused, then whispered, “Great Misjudgment, I will not be able to claim a place in society. Not even Lady Halverton will see that as heroic.” Charles would probably write her again, demanding more and more until she could no longer deter him from revealing her secret.

She took a long breath to push away her anxieties.

Nothing would keep her from enjoying this evening—not even Lord Halverton’s low spirits.

One glance in the mirror assured her that Nellie had indeed done her best work.

She pinched her cheeks, smiled at herself, and bid farewell to her friend.

M r. Alexander Lewis pressed his palm into Louisa’s raised hand as they turned together with the other dancing couples.

He skipped around her, elevating his knees to an impressive height.

Louisa giggled and was rewarded by a jovial flash of Mr. Alexander’s teeth followed by a little flourish of his hand.

“I must congratulate you,” he said. “Your accent is nearly imperceptible.”

“Thank you, me ’ansome. You canno’ tell tha’ I grew up with pirates?” They laughed and chaséed down the line.

Louisa’s gaze snagged on Lord Halverton, who stood at the edge of the ballroom watching her beneath storm-cloud brows.

His foul mood poisoned the peace she’d begun to feel at Lundbrooke.

Since that evening’s conversation with Nellie, Louisa had silently enumerated her triumphs.

Chief among them was that as Lady Halverton’s companion, Louisa was doing, for the first time in her life, something of her own choosing.

A great deal of elation accompanied that success, sending her into temporary flights of ecstasy that Lord Halverton spoiled with his long face and sad eyes.

He spent his time listless and idle in the library but was eager to ruin her walks and rides with his reserved and gloomy company.

Louisa had noticed Lady Halverton watching him with drawn eyes, motivating Louisa to draw Halverton out.

But when she invited him to play unconventional pall mall, he refused.

In the evenings, she read aloud the most humorous excerpts of Chaucer—skipping the crude bits—but he barely smiled.

She could not even engage him in a political topic.

Well, his glare would not interfere with the agreeable dance she was sharing with Mr. Lewis, who was spinning her with a little too much enthusiasm.

She bumped into another gentleman and turned to apologize.

Before she could utter a word, Mr. Lewis took her hands and pulled her down the line.

At one time, she would have worried what that gentleman thought of her running into him without a “pardon me,” but tonight she did not care.

Nellie was right. How pleasant not to be encumbered with the pressure of finding a husband or wondering what every individual thought of her.

Every man she met felt like a friend, and she was enjoying this ball more than any she’d attended.

She laughed and smiled with anyone who engaged her attention, forgoing any motive to impress or morph into a particular sort of lady.

When they had arrived at the local assembly where the ball was held, Lady Halverton had introduced Louisa as her “dear young friend.” The frosty way Lady Halverton intercepted any slights directed at Louisa and pushed her forward in conversation sent a clear message.

Everyone received Louisa affably. Even Mrs. Trelawney and Miss Trelawney greeted her with a friendly smile, though Miss Trelawney was surrounded by a circle of whispering young women and did not invite Louisa into the discussion.

No matter. Thus far, Louisa had had a partner for every set and had even declined a few gentlemen.

The dance ended, and Mr. Alexander escorted her to Lady Halverton, who patted her arm but remained deep in conversation with a friend.

Lord Halverton appeared at her side. “I believe the next set is mine.” His voice was almost a growl.

“I will not hold it against you if you wish to abstain.”

His glower deepened. “I do not dance with you out of a sense of duty.”

“Then stop looking at me as though I caused eternal darkness. Perhaps I can fetch a sherry to cheer you?”

He sighed but softened his expression. “You are not the cause of my foul mood, Miss Thorpe. The truth is…” He looked as if he were going to say more to explain himself and then suddenly changed his mind.

“The truth is, I am vexed because you have not had many suitable partners this evening. Mr. Lewis is a fop.”

An unsatisfying explanation, as it was obviously not the truth, or at least not the full truth, but she would play along.

“My lord, are you jealous? Now I need a sherry.” She waved her fan with exaggeration and batted her lashes.

“There. Now that your brows are not threatening rain, I will dance with you.”

When her arm rested on his, she was conscious that his nearness gave her pleasure.

If he’d chosen to forego their dance, she would have been disappointed.

However diverting Mr. Lewis was, she and Lord Halverton shared a comfortable camaraderie, even when he was irritable.

There was no one in the room with whom she would rather spend time, Lady Halverton included. If she could but lighten his mood.

She performed a dramatic curtsy to begin the dance, hoping to put a smile on his face.

His lips turned up then quivered into a frown.

Perhaps he was trying. The orchestra’s bright notes enticed her forward, and she reached to clasp his hands.

They turned, changing places in the line.

He performed the dance like a music box ticking out its tune, precise but unfeeling, not unlike everything else he did, all duty and no amusement.

But he could be diverting, and she wanted him to join her in the fun.

She sneered at his back when he turned. It was juvenile, but wasn’t he being childish as well? Pouting for no reason. Spoiling her night.

He caught her pulling the face. “Are you ever serious?”

She laughed. “Not at a ball. Do you ever enjoy yourself?”

They joined hands and came together in the center of the line.

The heat of his gloved hands warmed more than just her fingers.

An unwelcome sensation. She focused her attention on cheering him.

After all, she did not want to think of him romantically—or any man.

She stepped back and linked arms with another partner.

When she faced him again, he said, “Excuse me for spoiling your evening.”

“I would appreciate your abandonment of this peevish temper until our set ends.” She meant to tease, but the comment left her cold.

They were friends, and she recognized that he was not merely grumpy or irritable.

He was miserable. Whatever had happened to change him from a driven man, interested in the world, to this despondent, melancholy creature must be serious.

No effort to ignore his gloom kept her stomach from knotting at his distress.

But remaining distant from him and his problems would keep her safe. When he’d shared his feelings about his father’s death, he seemed to expect a return of that confidence, and that was something she could not do. It would open her heart, and she did not know what would come spilling out.

He passed her to the next man in line, but their eyes held until a turn forced a break. When they rejoined, he was more distant than ever. She would woo him from his stormy temper if only to maintain her own good humor; she searched for a topic of conversation that might interest him.

“My Aunt Mary is Lady Mary, an author. Have you heard her spoken of?” He shook his head.

“Oh! Well, you must read her novel. It was all the talk in Bath.” Why was she saying this?

She did not want to think about the book that had inspired her attempted elopement, her greatest—but by no means her only—lapse in judgment.

Her heart grew heavy, and she felt as blue deviled as he looked.

“What do you think of second marriages? My aunt has been widowed for two decades and is only now marrying.”

“I do not see why she should not wed.”

A response! That was something. “She is older than he. What do you make of that?”

“Very little.”

“I am sure there is a widow here who would do for you.” She glanced around the room. “Alas, I do not know these people. You must tell me about them.” When he did not respond, she said, “What about that woman, with the giant red plume.”

“Mrs. Henry.”

“Well? And what about her?” she asked, studying his countenance, which was gradually clearing.

“She has thirteen children, all living.”

“My! But she looks very grave.”

“She has a reputation for sternness.”

“Perhaps her children are afraid to fall ill.” She looked directly at him, grinning. He sniggered, sending a whirling thrill up her back and into her head. His smile was dizzying. “Where is her husband?”

“Most likely in the card room. He has a reputation for gambling.”

“Oh. Poor Mrs. Henry and all those children! I hope they are not neglected.”

A shadow passed over his face.

“My lord, this gossip is unforgivable. I will have you know that I am a Christian woman and will not join you in a critical examination of our fellow men.”

His mouth tilted up just the tiniest bit. “You are quite right, Miss Thorpe. I beg your pardon.”

The set ended, and they parted ways. Louisa did not see him again until the carriage ride home, during which Lady Halverton filled the compartment with her buzzing satisfaction at the party. She seemed as determined as Louisa to draw Halverton from his distress.

“What a grand evening,” Lady Halverton said.

The breeze she created with her fan chilled the entire carriage.

“I have never enjoyed myself better. So many friends. And the ballroom appeared unusually fine, though the refreshments lacked refinement. James, consider donating champagne next time.” He continued staring out the window.

“I suspect my dressmaker is making my French designs for his other patrons. Did you notice Mrs. Blakely, Louisa?”

Lady Halverton required no reply, so Louisa listened to her trilling voice and watched Lord Halverton’s profile, wondering what sorrow deepened the line between his brows.

Something new and exciting would set him to rights. Such things always helped Louisa. Perhaps, with Lady Halverton’s help, she could cheer him.

Louisa suspected Lord Halverton required a confidant.

Though audacious to think herself a friend of an earl, he’d been thoughtful and kind to her.

He had not admonished her for keeping him in the rain, had included her at the card party, danced with her that night, had never belittled or shown himself ashamed of her.

He was trustworthy and had not told Lady Halverton the truth of what Louisa had been doing with a fire in her room, nor had he pressed her to elucidate, despite clearly wanting an explanation.

She did not like seeing sadness in a man so good and sincere.

If a new adventure did not set him to rights, she would speak with him about his troubles. That was the generous course to take, but the idea caused her fingers and toes to numb. She folded and unfolded the top of her glove, pulled it down her arm, then up again.

Should she ask him, what was the worst that could happen?

He could refuse to speak, be offended by her presumption.

She might learn something she did not wish to.

Those circumstances she could endure with equanimity, knowing she did what she felt was right.

A far more dangerous possibility remained.

Her heart, which was prone to misbehave, might open to him.

Across from her, Lord Halverton slumped against the side of the carriage, his brows pulled low over his eyes. His neckcloth, usually meticulously tied, lay floppy and uneven. He ran his hand over his face as he rested his forehead on the window.

She rubbed her burning nose, confused at the way his countenance pulled at her emotions. She could not bear his melancholy. Regardless of the outcome, she must do something to help her friend.