Page 49 of The Gentlewoman Companion (The Gentlewoman #4)

“That would be no test at all.” There was a new sharpness to her, an unshakable focus that showed in the sharp angle of her shoulders and the profound clarity in her eyes.

“I will forever be grateful for your family’s patronage and friendship.

You and your mother protected me from gossip, spoke well of me despite my foolishness.

But I must attempt to do such things for myself.

I must prove I can make something good from misfortune. ”

He swallowed his arguments. “I believe you can.” She did not seem to need his validation, but he wanted to express his trust in her abilities.

Her head bowed. “Thank you.”

“Where will you go?”

“To my mother’s cottage in Wadebridge.”

“Cornwall? Alone?”

“What better way to allow them to know me?”

“Why not begin with me?” He was startled by his own question. “I don’t mean…there is no need for you to confess your…when I was deeply troubled about my father, you were kind to draw me out. It meant everything to converse with someone about my pressing emotions.”

She pressed her fingers to her eyes.

“Please don’t cry. Please, trust me.”

“You don’t understand; I want to tell you everything, but it hurts to speak of it.

How do I find the words?” She pressed her hand into her middle, her face mirroring the wild look of anguish he’d seen when he’d found her burning her dress.

Suddenly, she sat up straighter and her eyes brightened. “I have an idea. I won’t be a moment.”

She whipped out of the room, following whatever fresh inclination she’d conceived. He would miss that spontaneity.

In a few minutes, she was sitting beside him with several sheets of paper. “I wanted to tell my mother about my Great Misjudgment, as I call it, so I wrote her this letter. It explains everything.” She thrust it at him. “I will stay while you read, so we can talk it over.”

“You’re certain?” It was immensely personal to read a letter she’d written to her deceased mother, but it hardly surprised him that she’d thought of such an unconventional solution.

“It would help if you read it, for then I will not have to search for the words or lose my composure as I speak.”

James nodded and read. He smiled at her charming style and the tenderness she felt for her mother.

He frowned as he learned how her father, who ought to have loved her, had failed to defend her, wanted to growl or cry as he read of that man who had deceived and attempted to use her in unspeakable ways.

His heart nearly burst as he read of his mother’s kindness to Louisa in the abyss of her tribulation.

When he finished reading, he sat on his hands to prevent himself from wrapping his arms around the vulnerable being beside him. She was even pluckier than he’d imagined, and her motivations were slowly becoming clearer to him. The new perspective threatened to overwhelm.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It was brave of you to share this with me. I do not take your confidence lightly.”

“Now you see just how foolish I am,” she said. “But I’m not sorry I left Bath. I only wish I hadn’t left with that man.”

“You did your best in unjust circumstances. I believe that.” He paused, considering what she’d written about the important question Mr. Fletcher had asked her. “Louisa, what do you want?”

Her breath hitched, and she gazed at him with burning eyes. “To feel capable, else I will never trust my worth.”

He nodded, wondering how to grant her wish. “And do you still want to spill tea on my neckcloth?”

“I do.”

They shared a smile, but it cooled quickly.

He loved her, yes, but there was much to consider.

She was the same person he had come to know, but he needed time to merge everything he knew into a more complete understanding of her.

Aside from that, he must focus on his young dependents.

And if what Louisa longed for most was independence, he must allow her to tread her own path and return to Cornwall.

He could not allow her to be distracted by an uncertain future or claim her for his own selfish desires, as that man had attempted.

He would not control her as her father had or betray her confidence as her brother had.

His tongue fumbled for the proper words. “I feel obliged to apologize for indicating that we might come to an understanding. I cannot promise?—”

“Oh! No. Do not think I expect such a thing.”

“The other evening when we?—”

“A mistake. It was late. Neither of us were thinking. In the sensibility of daylight, it would never have happened. It meant nothing at all.” A quick, sharp noise drew his eyes to her wrist. She’d ripped the lace from her sleeve.

Never? Nothing. Could she mean that?

Her hand fluttered around the tear, fingers twisting into the limp lace. Her eyes darted like a trapped fly. Was she sparing his feelings, or did she imagine she was helping him?

“You needn’t distress yourself on account of your honor,” she continued. “We would never suit.” She went on about her reputation and his status, her lower birth, and his station, but her words rushed and jumbled.

It was on his tongue to tell her how important she was to him, but it was not fair when he was unsure how to proceed beyond the fact that he must let her go.

T he following morning, James went early to the dockyards and made his request concerning Charles Thorpe to the captain of HMS Frolic . The gracious captain was genial and understanding and promised to write James with updates on Mr. Thorpe’s situation.

Upon receiving the information, Louisa bounced on her toes and kissed his cheek, afterward turning herself out of the room.

Hours later, James, his mother, and Louisa were in the parlor discussing Louisa’s plan to live alone in her Stillwater Cottage.

“Take Nellie,” his mother insisted.

“I can’t,” Louisa said. “What would you do without a lady’s maid? And she is in love with the footman.”

“Take them both.”

“I cannot afford to keep them. If you are willing to spare a servant or two, I will take them with me for safety on the journey but will send them back as soon as I arrive.”

Louisa possessed a striking serenity, a stunning self-containment. Despite the many arguments his mother offered against her plan, she stood firm, without destroying her ribbons. Even in the face of his mother’s tears, Louisa was resolute.

“You cannot live alone.” His mother clutched a damp handkerchief.

“The house has caretakers. An older couple, the Greens. I am a little acquainted with them from the few times my mother and I visited when I was a child,” Louisa said.

“How will you support yourself?” James asked.

“The small farm produces enough to satisfy the needs of the household. Stillwater belongs to me alone and cannot be touched by my father or Charles, though that did not keep my father from trying to use it to barter me away.” She said this without malice, as if her father’s actions no longer hurt her.

“I need only food and shelter. I have what remains from the sale of my mother’s brooch. ”

For a moment, James considered telling her of how he’d procured the brooch and offering it back to her. But what would such a gift mean at this moment when she clearly wanted no attachment to him? He could not behave as a suitor.

“What shall I do without you? I cannot bear it,” his mother cried.

Louisa knelt before Lady Halverton and rested her head on the older lady’s knee. “I shall miss you.”

“I think we must let her go, Mother.”

His mother stroked Louisa’s hair. “If you will not accept the gift of servants, you must remember Nimbus and his carriage was a gift.”

Louisa looked up at her. “You are very generous, my lady.” There were tears in both women’s eyes, and James could no longer bear the sight of them.

He wanted to embrace her, to beg her to stay, but the decision was right for her.

While staying in London would force her to grapple with her mistakes and confront the censure that her actions would bring, there was a maturity in the decision to start somewhere new, to survive on her own resources and combat whatever difficulties she may face on her own.

It was a necessary risk, best for them both.

Louisa stood, her spine straighter, her face more relaxed than ever before. “Excuse me. I must prepare for the journey.”

James pushed himself to his feet. Time slowed as he committed to memory her long fingers brushing her skirts, the almost-smile from lips whose softness he knew, the rhythm of her step and proud strength of her neck.

She slipped from sight, leaving him where he could visit her only in the echoing corridors of his mind.