Page 5 of The Gentlewoman Companion (The Gentlewoman #4)

He lifted a shoulder. In truth all he wanted was to collapse in his bed, but he hadn’t time for self-indulgence. Besides, he had come home as soon as his work in London had permitted so he could spend time with his mother.

Lady Halverton seemed to sense his desire to stay with her and smiled. “Let’s sit. Tell me all about London.”

Once they had made themselves comfortable, he said, “I am afraid I do not know if panniers are wider than last season, nor am I privy to the latest subject of Lady Montparnasse’s salon.

My news won’t interest you, though you might find the workings of the Foundling Hospital interesting.

” He hesitated before proposing an idea he’d been considering for some time. “Perhaps you might join me in London.”

“A charming idea! We could take Louisa along.”

“Louisa?”

A young lady stepped into the room. She placed a large vase of flowers on a table.

“Yes?” She seemed almost to shrink under his gaze but then straightened.

“Yes, my lord.” She curtsied, polite but not the polished affectation of a London belle.

Then she smiled, disarming and sincere. His mother, who had experienced the loss of two infant daughters, gravitated toward unfortunate young ladies.

This Louisa was probably the daughter of a low country gentleman, and his mother’s bleeding heart had succumbed to the girl’s artless air.

The servant’s quarters were full of villagers who had fallen on hard times. This girl was another project.

“James,” his mother said, her face practically glowing, “this is Miss Thorpe, my companion.”

Companion?

“James was just saying he would be delighted for us all to travel to London together one day,” his mother said, ignoring his surprise.

He inclined his head toward her. “Mother, may I speak with you a moment?”

“Of course. Louisa, will you play for us?”

Miss Thorpe bit her lip and went to the pianoforte. She must only be sixteen or seventeen, far too great a responsibility for a mourning widow. Though his mother appeared to shoulder the weight of grief better than he did, she had her low moments.

While Miss Thorpe played—if her faltering qualified as playing—his mother took him by the wrist and led him to a pair of chairs across the room.

“Do not wonder that I have hired a young companion,” she said.

“It is quite expected of a widow, you know. Now, I want you to befriend Miss Thorpe. She has no mother, poor darling.”

“She is your companion. I am too busy to attend to her.”

“Tosh. She will not impose upon your time. I only want you to take her where you are already going. What about your beast of a horse you ride each day, Goliath? She can ride Daisy when you take your daily exercise. I want her to feel she is a member of our family. She needs distraction. As do you.” She paused and scrutinized him.

“You seem overwrought. If something is bothering you, air it lest it fester. For now, go riding. You will find her amiable.”

They both looked at Miss Thorpe as if to test the assertion.

With rigid posture and tightly compressed lips, she squinted between the sheet of music and her fingers.

She did seem more suited to the pleasures of the outdoors.

His mother shook her head, but whether at the amateur performance or the girl’s morose expression, Halverton did not know.

“Her father tried to force marriage on her. Very distasteful.”

“Be on your guard, Mama. You do not want to meddle in their family affairs.”

“I think she was sent to us by providence.”

“It’s a risk to bring a person into the house about whom you know nothing.”

“James. This is not the first time I’ve taken someone in.”

“This is different. She is not a village orphan employed to clean the grates.”

His mother clenched her jaw, and he prepared for a lecture.

“Poverty is not the only ill that befalls women. Society demands a daughter obey her father, even that she commits her life and well-being to a man her father selects. Put yourself in her shoes. Would you like me to choose your wife?”

He knew better than to respond.

“Good. Lady Gifford will be your bride.”

He repressed a sigh. Lady Gifford was almost twice his age and had five children.

“Miss Thorpe has been a pawn,” she said. “It is unreasonable not to consider a woman’s wishes.”

“Not all fathers are so unfeeling.”

She nodded at Miss Thorpe. “Her father is, and if I can remove one young woman from such tyranny, I will. Truthfully, I admire her pluck. Escaping one’s family requires no small amount of courage.”

“Escaping her family?”

“She fled when they insisted she marry.”

“Your companion ran away from her father?”

“Lower your voice.” His mother darted a look at the girl. “All has come to rights. She has leave to stay.”

“What exactly is her station?”

“She is genteel. Her father is a country squire, little better than a yeoman. Her education is wanting.”

“No doubt you will remedy that.”

“Absolutely. I will enlighten her mind and polish her manners. She will be ready for London.”

Halverton furrowed his brow. “I did not expect you to agree to such a trip so readily.”

“Whyever not?”

“It’s been so long since you’ve gone to town. I thought you had an aversion to the bad air.”

“Nothing of the sort. I adore town, and Miss Thorpe will benefit from seeing the sights. Besides, I will cherish additional time with you.”

Unexpected as his mother’s enthusiasm was, her answer pleased him. “I shall look forward to it, then,” he said.

“Shall I prepare Louisa to accompany you on your afternoon ride?”

“Really, Mother. Who is the companion here? Isn’t she to see after your needs?”

“Take her riding. Your father would be happy to see you taking a small pleasure for yourself.”

He studied her. “I hope you are not matchmaking.”

“Gracious, no! Not after her ordeal.”

She had a point. Still, he hesitated. “My tasks outpace me, and I cannot seem to get ahead.”

She shook her head scoldingly but smiled.

“So serious. You need recreation. You know your father never sat at his desk for more than thirty minutes together.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice.

“Since your father died, you have treated your mourning like a calling, avoiding society and behaving as if you’re mid-life.

Go outside with Miss Thorpe. Both of you need the company of young people. ”

Halverton considered Louisa as she uncertainly played the pianoforte.

He weighed her against the letters and notes that waited in his study, ideas swirling and jumbling in his mind.

Perhaps a break was in order. If Miss Thorpe was as quiet as she seemed, he could think over Lord Tilney’s letters and mentally sort through his idea.

“Very well. If she is amiable to the idea, tell her I will meet her in the stables.”

F ifteen minutes later, Halverton inhaled the comforting aroma of hay, leather, and horses, reminding him of hours spent with his father, an exceptional equestrian.

The late Lord Halverton’s tack hung where it always had.

Halverton hesitated before sliding his palm over the cool patinaed leather of his father’s saddle.

He was expected to take his father’s position in the House, in society, over the estate.

All his time in university and throughout his travels, he’d believed he was preparing for that day.

In London, Halverton could go nowhere without hearing effusive praise of his father’s accomplishments.

While gratifying, the gap between what Halverton was and the man he hoped to become was a canyon too wide to traverse.

But he would try. Whatever was required of him to reach that point, he would do it.

He passed over his father’s saddle and carried his own toward Goliath.

“I can do that, my lord.” The groom tried to take it.

“You prepare Daisy. My mother’s companion is joining me.”

Daisy was a striking horse who would keep pace with Goliath, assuming Miss Thorpe was comfortable in the saddle. If she wasn’t, Halverton felt no compunction to remain with the young lady, who just then entered the stable. She curtsied and greeted Halverton wearing an ill-fitting habit.

She gestured at her attire. “Your mother’s.”

“Jones,” he called out to the groom, “Miss Thorpe is ready to mount.”

Miss Thorpe’s eyes widened when Daisy was brought out. “She is tall. I am used to Connemara ponies.”

“Do you feel comfortable riding her?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in her step onto the mounting block. Halverton held Daisy’s head while the groom handed Miss Thorpe into the saddle. Miss Thorpe grasped the horse’s mane. Daisy skittered from side to side, and Miss Thorpe’s fingers dug deeper into the hair.

“She doesn’t like your hands in her mane,” Jones said.

Miss Thorpe’s fists pressed into her hips.

Jones passed her the leads. “Take the reins, miss. Do you need anything else, my lord?”

“Not at present. Thank you, Jones.”

The groom retreated to the stable.

Miss Thorpe sat a little to one side. Had she ever ridden before? Mother had misled him. “You do ride?” he asked.

“Yes.” Miss Thorpe tossed her head. At least she was not afraid. “But this is different. Sunny, my pony, did not require a saddle or bridle.”

She rode astride? With no bridle? That was highly irregular. “Have you ever ridden aside?”

“Ess coss—er, yes, of course.” She straightened her back and shot him a side glance. “Not often. Sunny required only a rope around her neck and didn’t mind my hands in her mane.”

There was something endearingly fragile yet determined about her.

With an inward groan, he bid farewell to his plan of taking Goliath for a brisk gallop and said, “I will lead Daisy around the yard. She’ll move no faster than I walk.

” A few circles around the green and he would be back in his study in a quarter of an hour.