Page 24 of The Gentlewoman Companion (The Gentlewoman #4)

Cinnamon maintained a steady gallop, gaining inch by inch. They were only one length behind. James tapped the donkey’s flank as they rolled around the corner, coming head-to-head. Miss Thorpe faced him and showed her teeth. A smile and a threat.

Her expression triggered a longing that made him want to take her in his arms and spin, to feel her laughter resonate and blossom against his chest.

Where had that come from? He shook free of the stray image and prodded Cinnamon, who pulled a fraction ahead. With one straight remaining, the race was nearing an end, victory close at hand.

His mother stood at the finish, clapping and…bouncing? It was not his imagination. She bobbed on her toes. But Cinnamon was slowing.

“Come it!” he yelled. He nudged the donkey’s haunches. Still, the animal slowed. “An apple, remember?” Nothing worked, and Miss Thorpe was gaining, already beside him, but he refused to look at her, would not be distracted by her devious expression.

Cinnamon’s pace deteriorated to a half-hearted trot. To a walk. Cinnamon stopped to nibble the grass. Despite James’s efforts not to glance at the face that he could so easily fancy inches from his own, he looked.

Miss Thorpe’s maniacal grin flashed as she cantered past, and she handily won the race.

James shook his head, though he did not feel the sting of losing.

“Come it, old boy. We must finish.” Cinnamon ambled, picking up speed as they passed Miss Thorpe, who leapt from her carriage, waving.

James leaned back, pulling the reins. Cinnamon kept on.

What was the cue again? He pulled harder. “The word for stop?”

“Ho!” his mother shouted.

“Ho!” Cinnamon halted. James jumped from the carriage and led the donkey back to Jones.

Miss Thorpe was performing a jig, shuffling her feet and kicking her leg behind her, bending back to tap her heel with her fingers. She hopped in a circle, then bowed. “You may call me Nike,” she said seriously.

“More like Hermes,” he said.

She placed her hands on her hips. “Lady Halverton, I believe your son is insinuating I tricked him.”

“He was referencing your cleverness, I am sure,” his mother said.

“You planned this together?” He found the hoax hilarious, especially considering his mother’s involvement. Louisa had worked her magic on him as well, washing his mind of his father, whose disloyalty did not carry the weightiness it had an hour ago.

“You do realize what I’ve won, my lord?” Miss Thorpe asked.

“You want to drive me around the village in the cart?” He could think of nothing he wanted more.

“You must teach me to drive horses, for in London, I will take you around Hyde Park.”

He could not keep from grinning. “You are merciless.”

“Isn’t she?” His mother looked at Miss Thorpe like she was a divine treasure. Maybe she was, but she would not convince him to teach her to manage a pair.

His mother shaded her eyes and squinted into the distance. A carriage approached. “It’s Mrs. Waxpole. Is it really calling hour already?” She dropped her arm. “Hurry away before the two of you become trapped.”

“I shall stay with you, my lady,” Miss Thorpe said, though she glanced longingly toward the trees.

His mother shooed them away. “You have earned a respite, Louisa. Take him to the gardens for a walk, and bring me some cut hydrangeas. Return in an hour or two.”

Miss Thorpe darted around the house in a rapid tiptoe, leaving him behind.

“Make haste, James, unless you want the recipe for Mrs. Waxpole’s latest ointment.”

Lazing the day in the garden was not his custom, though admittedly he’d done nothing more productive lately.

Miss Thorpe peeked around the corner, grinned, and slipped away. He found her sitting on a bench in the middle of the flower garden.

“No use cutting flowers until just before we go inside. The park is enormous. The many gardens, that Greek-looking temple, multiple ponds, a waterfall, the folly, the maze, the rock garden. I’ve spent hours exploring and still find new places.”

“Have you discovered Idyllwild?”

“Perhaps.”

“It’s an overlook atop a knoll, cultivated to look natural. It provides a view of the maze and the hills beyond.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Show me.”

He wanted nothing more. When Miss Thorpe slipped her hand beneath the elbow of his offered arm, his heart slowed.

His breath eased. James chose the most beautiful and obscure of the half-dozen paths, passing the Rose Garden and the Cascade toward Halo Pond.

Accustomed to Miss Thorpe’s prattle, her silence felt awkward.

“Have you finished The Canterbury Tales ?” he asked.

“Is it decent to discuss so bawdy a fiction?” She giggled but not in a way that betrayed discomfort. “I am surprised but not displeased to have read an uncensored edition. In the end, it is, like many works of that time, a moral tale.”

“True, but far more worldly than others of its time.”

“But don’t you think that very characteristic makes a compelling story? It’s more complex than, say, The Book of the Knight of the Tower .”

“An interesting comparison.” The book to which she referred was little more than a conduct manual designed to warn young women against vice, using shame and the threat of social ruin to underscore the dangers of worldliness. “Mr. Chaucer was far more entertaining as well.”

Her free hand found a ribbon at her waist which she twisted around her finger.

Nerves? She opened her mouth. Pinched her lips.

“It was kind of you to bring me into the group at the card party and to partner with me at the ball. You’ve been thoughtful, though I am only your mother’s companion. Thank you.”

“Only a companion? Before you came, I’d find my mother in the parlor, candles out, fire gone, windows covered, staring at the wall.”

“Much like you’ve been doing?”

She cut to the point.

“Did something happen?” she asked.

Could he answer? Should he? Before finding Sarah’s letter, whenever he had been in a quandary, he had found answers by imagining how his father would have advised him.

A foolish exercise. Had James ever believed he could guess what his father might say or do?

Within the papers his father had left behind and in what the other peers expected him to support, he’d seen evidence that he and his father did not share the same opinions.

He was on his own—and had always been. He needed to discuss his worries with someone.

And, he realized, he wanted to tell her; she had proven herself a friend.

Once again, the surprising image of wrapping her in his arms popped into his head.

He would banish that thought. His mother was right.

Considering her recent experiences, Miss Thorpe was too vulnerable to pursue romantically, and his own affairs were a tangle.

He thrust the idea into the recess of his mind.

“I don’t wish to burden you,” he said.

“If you don’t air it, it will fester.”

“My mother says that.”

“And you’ve been avoiding your mother. Whatever is bothering you, it doesn’t seem like something she can help you with. You have been very kind to me, and I wish to show my gratitude.”

“You needn’t listen out of obligation.”

“Oh! I did not mean that. Only that you are Earl of Halverton. I am Louisa Thorpe, an improbable choice for your confidence. But we share an easy companionship, my lord, so I humbly offer my ear.”

“Where was all this humility when we were racing?” He smiled down at her.

“There is no room for meekness when competition calls. But I am sincere. I do not know why, but I think you have something to say. I shall not betray your confidence.”

He believed her, though he still found it painful to recount his discoveries.

“I…found a letter.” There. He’d begun.

“A letter?”

“From a woman in London who claims to have borne my father’s child.”

“Oh.” Her soft voice portrayed a stunning amount of compassion.

“I am sickened.” His mouth went dry, and he suddenly felt raw, unable to form the words.

She looked up at him, her eyes soft but focused, calm but reassuring.

Her arm, still looped through his, steadied him.

He could confide in her. “The man after whom I always patterned my life may not have been worthy of my adoration. He spoke of fidelity in marriage. I believed he and my mother loved each other, but I’ve learned that over the past many years, they saw little of one another. ”

“Poor, dear Lady Halverton. Does she know?”

“I do not believe so.”

She placed her free hand on his arm. “And you. It must be a terribly painful discovery. What will you do?”

“Therein lies the problem. I’ve struggled to fill my father’s shoes, to take his place in Parliament. Now, I don’t want to. The position is tainted. Even if the letter is a fabrication, it’s drawn my attention to things I previously denied. I do not agree with my father’s politics.”

“Yes, but what of the child? Your half sibling?”

“I considered finding the woman to verify the story. But I fear the truth.”

“Are they cared for?”

“Are who cared for?”

“The child, the woman. You said they are in London?” She was fervent, sincerely concerned.

James struggled to orient himself to what Miss Thorpe was saying.

His thoughts were all for his father, for the man he yearned to know better but who now seemed someone James may not respect.

He’d not paused to wonder about the others involved, though they were the subject of the letter.

Were they real and suffering or an excuse to exact funds?

“I hadn’t thought… How are you so wise?” he asked.

“I have been practicing for seventeen years. You are simply the first person to notice.” Her tone was playful.

They were almost to Idyllwild, approaching Halo Pond where a sculpture of a willow reached outward from the middle of the water. James turned the sluice. In moments, the metal willow began raining water into the pond.

“Beautiful!” After a pause she said, “I understand your hesitancy to find this woman. It may not be wrong to ignore the situation if confirming it will be painful to you and your mother.”

“She must never find out.”

“ I will not tell her. You are her son and surely a better judge of her feelings.”

“Regardless of how painful the matter is for me, you are right. How can I ignore my own flesh and blood? They must be my responsibility now.”

“You would not be the first to dismiss such a connection.”

“Yes, but that does not make it right. What is the best course to care for them without dishonoring my mother?” Was he to hide his illegitimate family away as his father had? The idea made him feel sick.

Miss Thorpe watched him, sympathetic but impartial. “You must answer that, my lord.”

“But you would not leave your relatives to suffer, if you had the means to alleviate it.”

She would not answer, but her opinion was clear to him.

He hadn’t even considered answering their needs, yet that had been almost her first concern.

He resolved to be considerate of his half-siblings, who had not asked to be born into this world in such unfortunate circumstances.

He would provide for them, somehow be better for them than his father had, although he had no idea how.

Miss Thorpe’s compassion had inspired him, strengthened him to acknowledge that he must find a way to do at least this much.

A cold spray of water gusted over his face.

He stepped back, but Miss Thorpe closed her eyes and opened her palms to the water.

He braved a step toward the mist. Droplets of water sparkled off Miss Thorpe’s face.

Her lashes splayed a shadow over her cheek bones.

He might be as enamored with her as his mother was.

He felt better simply standing beside her, water piercing his face like cool pinpricks.

Since his father’s death and the subsequent discovery of the letter, everything in his world had shifted to something more sinister.

Like turning over a piece of wood covered in soft green moss to find it rotten and riddled with maggots.

Miss Thorpe, though, remained fresh and genuine.

Whenever he had mentioned her talents in the past, she had brushed them aside.

Yet she should know what a gift she was to him and his mother, what light and joy she brought to Lundbrooke.

She was a sun, oblivious to how her warmth awakened the world.

He must make her understand—perhaps it would ease whatever burden she carried.