Page 9 of The Gentlewoman Companion (The Gentlewoman #4)
If a young lady was so criticized for avoiding her father’s machinations, what would they think if they knew she had run away with a man? No one need explain the risk or folly of her choice. She carried it inside, tight and black, a heavy shame she struggled to ignore.
She grasped her mother’s brooch, tightened her fingers around it, and mentally retreated, feeling herself lift, soar out of reach where nothing could hurt her.
Below, powdered wigs bobbed and gloved hands gesticulated.
Lips moved and words vibrated, but she did not absorb them.
When her heart calmed, she returned to the conversation.
“…the problem must be solved through education.” This from a woman overflowing with lace.
The same young lady in the white pinafore who had spoken before said, “Yes, Miss Astell explained that women develop vices which could be avoided through proper instruction. Our ignorance sets a foundation for evils which are never checked if we follow the example of uninformed women, sometimes the very women who raised us. It is, therefore, unjust that we are criticized for not being better.”
“Precisely. Let us be educated!” proclaimed Mrs. Beecham.
On the return home, Lady Halverton let a long moment of silence pass before speaking.
“Louisa, I must beg your pardon. It was unconscionable of me to tell your story. Thoughtless. And I failed to notice your embarrassment until after I’d spoken.
” Her face was tight with real remorse. “It is no excuse, but your plight exemplifies the very thing Miss Astell argued against. It so aptly captures the problem that I burst with it. Fathers may command their wives and daughters, the abuse of women is upheld by law, and women lose their property upon marriage. You are a rare example of one who escaped this unjust authority, but I should not have shared your story, even anonymously. Please forgive me.”
“You are kind to think of my sensibilities, my lady. All is forgiven, I assure you.” Louisa squirmed. “But that woman—the one with copper hair—she was correct. My actions were rash, not a victory to celebrate.”
“That was Mrs. Trelawney. Though she is a friend, I disagree with her views often, as do most women who attend the breakfasts. I encourage you to see your merits. When you appreciate your strength, you will draw confidence from it.”
Strength—a word almost never expressed in relation to Louisa.
The breadth of her ambition had comprised falling in love with a Cornish man who possessed a living sufficient to meet her basic needs and those of any children they should have.
Since the Great Misjudgment, the plan to marry had tumbled to obscurity.
She could no longer envision herself opening her heart to love—and refused to marry without it.
What living was available to her beyond marriage? Even if her secret remained safe all her life, she could not remain Lady Halverton’s companion forever and loathed the idea of caring for her father as he aged.
But she had liked visiting Havenwood. She had admired the humble but skilled evidence of the women’s work, and she appreciated that every woman at the breakfast had been invited—and expected—to share her opinions.
If she could gain acceptance from these sisters who seemed to accept everyone, she would have a place to settle should Lady Halverton dismiss her.
Louisa had experienced too much betrayal to believe in the permanence of her situation.
She would work and learn and change until Mrs. Beecham and Miss Fischer recognized her as one of their own.
But if they knew she had tried to elope, would they accept her? Likely not. An illegitimate niece was far different than a fast young woman of no relation. Still, she would try to ingratiate herself to them. They might understand since they were so gracious to others.
As a last resort, her mother’s humble cottage lay waiting for her, but she could not endure a life of poverty and solitude, and neither did she believe herself capable of living on her own.
Still, Louisa could not deny the possibility it could come to that.
To prepare for that eventuality, Louisa would miser every penny of her wages against the day when she would find herself alone.
Lady Halverton, ever encouraging, was still enumerating Louisa’s positive qualities, bravery holding a supreme position. “Your pluck will take you far. Had I half your courage—well, there is no telling where I would be.”
This struck Louisa. “You are dissatisfied?” With Lady Halverton’s money, consequence, and the freedom that must accompany widowhood, Louisa could not understand.
“Not at present. I wonder what might have been had I possessed the fortitude to express at a young age my wishes to my father.”
“You wished to marry someone else?” Louisa guessed, then waited for a rebuke to answer her impertinence.
Lady Halverton grew pensive. “I did. But I eventually grew to love my husband desperately. He was a truly great man who used his influence for good.” The countess turned to her. “Should you ever wish to wed, marry a friend whom you trust.”
Louisa sat back, wishing to disappear into the seat cushions. If there existed a man with integrity sufficient to earn Louisa’s trust, he would not want her. She was a gentlewoman capable of Great Misjudgment.