Page 53 of The Gentlewoman Companion (The Gentlewoman #4)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

L ouisa’s eyes snapped open, adjusting to the gray sunlight of early spring seeping in around her window shutters.

Hal’s paws kneaded across her legs before he settled into the bend behind her knees.

She scratched between his ears, feeling his purr, waiting for the warmth of her cat to comfort her back to sleep.

She had dreamed again of those last moments with James.

The pinch of his eyes when she had told him his kiss meant nothing lingered mercilessly in her mind.

But what else could she have said? She’d seen him swallow, watched his mouth open in that deliberate way of his.

She could not bear to hear him tell her that knowing about her elopement had changed his feelings for her.

He could not love a woman who had done such a thing.

She squeezed her eyes against the burning.

Mama, it was right that I came to Stillwater, for though I miss him, I do not think I could have fully loved James until I knew who I was and what I could do.

And she knew she did love him completely, for thoughts of him were never far, whatever task occupied her.

But her feelings were three months too late.

He was out of reach and had surely forgotten about their shared kiss by now.

Louisa rose from her bed and thought it prudent to compose a letter to her mother. She hadn’t had time to put her experiences to paper since arriving in Stillwater, and she knew airing her worries would calm her.

Dearest Mama,

When I first arrived at Stillwater three months ago, I met the esteemed Lady Molesworth, who pried into my affairs until I scared her off with the truth of my mistaken attempt at elopement.

Begrumbled, she wasted no time in spreading the news of my depravity.

Indeed, inhabitants of Wadebridge were at first as frosty as the smoky winter rain that engulfed the landscape.

But fortune has blessed me in three ways.

First, my housekeeper, Jenny, is bright, cheerful, and a proper louster.

Under her hands Stillwater Cottage has become the cozy, welcoming little home we visited together so many years ago.

And I helped, taking the scrub brush alongside Jenny, who is teaching me a great deal.

I can now bake bread, select a fresh fish, and reupholster furniture.

Second, Mrs. Pickett, who initially prohibited her son John’s employment at the cottage, changed her mind after I stopped by her house with Nimbus.

As the daughter of a donkey breeder, Mrs. Pickett is a prodigious donkey devotee and forgave my bad reputation when I offered her the use of the carriage and donkey to visit the neighboring village.

Third, the haberdashery mistakenly ordered four times the quantity of rose and cream striped silk they had intended, which I purchased at a great discount and used to cover the windows, the settee, a chaise lounge—repaired by John—and a hodgepodge of chairs purchased secondhand.

While the superfluity of pink concerned me at first, the fabric lent the room needed cohesion.

Jenny and I embroidered a vast number of pillows that offset the stripes with floral patterns.

Through the winter, I bought seed, attended church, and held my chin high, despite wary glances and whispers.

I read The Complete Farmer which—now that I am a farmer—I find almost as fascinating as The Canterbury Tales .

Lady Halverton sent a few very useful agricultural books, from which I take copious notes and apply to my stretch of land.

To curb my spontaneity, I throw all my rashness into attempting conversation with everyone I meet.

If they do not speak to me, I simply ramble on about myself, hoping one day my chattered stories will replace the exaggerated rumors.

Will I ever be seen wholly for who I am and not my attempted elopement? I wish James would.

But my situation improves every day. Even as the trees misted with chartreuse buds, I received the first acknowledgments from my neighbors. Now, I am greeted almost universally, and I have done something that would amaze you.

The roads of Wadebridge have potholes so deep that vendors coming to market were forced to dismount and guide their loaded carts around their depths.

I organized a weekly sewing circle at the local assembly—I suppose my chatting served me well enough.

I invited women of all stations, and they came.

First two, then four, then twenty. After some weeks, I introduced a scheme for raising a subscription to improve the roads.

The idea took shape and nearly marched out of the room on its own!

Now, I’d like to embark on a venture closer to my heart.

Wadebridge has no bookshop or circulating library, so the women of the sewing circle, though literate, do not read often.

I want to discuss ideas as I used to in salons with Lady Halverton, but no one is familiar with the novels and essays I have studied.

The stationer sells the only reading in town—a sad collection of moral essays—and is uninterested in expanding his enterprise.

Tomorrow, I visit Lady Molesworth, who must spend a prodigious amount of time reading.

I will ask if she would like to sponsor the enterprise.

I hope her concession will aid my efforts, for I believe she craves to be viewed as important and influential.

Come with me, dear Mama, and I know we will be successful in convincing her.

T he following morning Louisa drove Nimbus down a beautifully even lane toward Molesworth Manor.

Though not built for speed, the donkey enjoyed a good gallop and increased his pace without Louisa’s requesting it.

She urged him on, allowing him to thunder over the country road for the short distance that remained of their journey.

Louisa pulled Nimbus to a stop in front of a gabled grey stone manor house, her heart thudding at the prospect of confronting the woman who openly despised her.

She left Nimbus to the groom and stood in front of a large, arched door.

Her arm had never felt so heavy, her palms never so damp.

But she could not stand on the stoop forever.

She knocked on the door and waited for a count of three.

Of five. Of fifteen. She turned to leave.

Shuffling footsteps approached from the other side of the door. Spinning around, Louisa met the gaze of an ancient butler wearing livery that had been made for a larger man, or perhaps a younger one. He blinked at her from beneath a sagging, blue-powdered wig.

He led her into a pleasantly situated morning room, which boasted a large window. Deep red and gold wall coverings, richly carved furniture, and ornate cushions weighed down the space, but the stacks of books on the tables sent a thrill down Louisa’s spine.

The butler returned with a scowl. “Lady Molesworth is not at home.”

Louisa had expected this falsehood. “Oh! It is urgent that I speak with her. I shall wait here until she returns.” She balked at her own audacity but sat down. She had experienced humiliation far beyond what this moment held.

The butler’s face tensed. “She will not come for hours yet.”

“I am content to peruse her books. Thank you.”

Near the fireplace, an overstuffed chair set itself apart from the other furnishings.

The seat was worn and droopy, the arms shone with use.

Beside it was a table laden with jars of bonbons, and a stack of books lay on a footrest. This was a favorite corner.

Lady Molesworth would not remain from it long.

Two minutes later, Lady Molesworth entered, already speaking. “This is unprecedented. Do I need to explain that in polite society, one does not call on her superiors before receiving them?”

Louisa flew to her feet, instinctively grasping for the bow at her sleeve. She stayed her hand, clasping her fingers in front of her. “Lady Molesworth, you are radiant in that shade of green.” Louisa’s compliment was sincere. “It sets your skin to glowing. Do you use Milk of Roses?”

“Almond paste,” she snapped.

“I must obtain some for myself. Nellie, my former lady’s maid, created a wonderful cream, but it is sadly gone. Do you buy the paste or make it yourself, my lady?”

“My sister sent me—I will not discuss this or any subject with you. Your appearance here is evidence of your fallen nature. You must go.”

“Lord Molesworth called on me a fortnight ago—do not fret, for we were respectfully chaperoned—and I am remiss in not returning the visit sooner. I was very happy to meet him—such a kind gentleman, solemn and unassuming. You are fortunate to have him.”

“My husband!” She pressed her hands against her chest. “Dragging his honor through the mud, polluting the Molesworth name—the cherisher of my heart! No, I shan’t believe you.”

It was a great pity Lady Molesworth did not like Louisa, for she would make an amusing friend.

As it was, her dramatic outrage had Louisa reaching for the comfort of her ribbons.

But no. She would not cower. Wadebridge needed a circulating library.

“Your honorable husband and his friends came to donate toward improving the roads.”

“You are the woman behind all that? Now that I think of it, yes. He mentioned the visit. He thinks you are some sort of Athena, battling to improve the town. I don’t recall his mentioning your name, else I’d have reminded him of who you are.” The woman spoke this last with contempt.

Louisa’s fingers shook as she picked up a book and read the title. “ Tom Jones . So many books.” She gestured around the room. “Have you read them all?”

“And more.”

“You are an educated woman with refined taste in literature.”

“Well, I…my distinguished palate has been noted by some,” she simpered.

“Everyone in town could benefit from your cleverness, you know.”

Lady Molesworth’s eyes brightened. “How so?”

“Think of the gratitude and awe your name, Lady Molesworth, will carry when you become the founder of Wadebridge’s first circulating library.”

“Me?” Lady Molesworth whispered. “The illustrious Lady Molesworth, the beneficent woman who brought literacy to the masses. Yes, appreciation will span generations!”

Her vanity was incomparable, but it served Louisa’s purposes. “Indeed, all Wadebridge will reverence the baroness who introduced to them Robinson Crusoe , Pamela , Shakespeare, Chaucer, and Voltaire.”

Lady Molesworth collapsed in a chair and began fanning herself.

Louisa smiled. She had her.