“Are you nervous about the Season?”
“Not nervous, exactly.” Louisa shrugged. “Well, maybe a little. You know I’m not terribly enthralled by all the parties and soirees. I find it all rather overwhelming.”
“Yes, I do know, and I’m afraid you might have inherited that from me.” She glanced about. “As it happens, I didn’t have to endure it, since I met your father beneath this very roof.”
“You were fortunate, Mama.”
“Iamfortunate, and I make sure to tell myself that every day.”
“Today was definitely a good day,” Louisa said. “Especially for Papa.”
“Yes, I’m so happy for him. He’s thrilled about the lease. It’s a weight off his mind.” She heaved a sigh and regarded the flickering candle. “It’s a bit of a sad day on the calendar, though.”
Louisa frowned. “Why?”
“Because it’s the twentieth day of February.”
Louisa gasped as the significance of the date dawned on her. “Oh, Mama, please forgive me. It completely slipped my mind.”
“No need to apologize, dearest,” she said. “I don’t expect you or anyone else to remember. The date is only relevant to me, after all. Actually, it’s been nice to have something positive to think about on what is usually a mournful day.”
Louisa glanced up at her uncle’s portrait and did a quick calculation. “He’s been gone thirty years.”
“Yes. Since this same day in 1815, except it was a Monday.” Grace also regarded the portrait, her expression pensive. “It was snowing quite hard that day. Papa asked him to delay his departure, but he refused. He gave us both a kiss, got on his horse, and off he went, pausing at the gatehouse to give us a final wave. That final image of him has forever stayed clear in my mind. I never saw my father cry till the day he finally realized his only son-and-heir would not be coming home. I think a part of him died that day too, because he was never quite the same. Hehad a few gray hairs when Julian left. Several months later, his hair had turned completely white. The mind is a torturous thing when unenlightened. There’s a gap where the truth should be, filled by terrible imaginings. There is no tomb to visit, no stone marking my brother’s grave, but lighting the candle keeps the memory of him very much alive. I wonder about him every day, Louisa. Every single day.”
Louisa nodded. She, and everyone else in the family had heard Uncle Julian’s story many times, but no one ever complained about the repetition. They respected Grace’s need to share it over and over. The tragedy, after all, was a part of their family history. Lighting a candle each night was not enough. The memory of how it came to be also needed to be kept alive.
A short while later, Louisa lay in her bed gazing up at the ceiling, the solitary candle on her bedside table creating a soft circle of light overhead. She felt calmer, as if the fresh outpouring of her mother’s anguish had soothed her own unsettled emotions. Or maybe it had simply put things into perspective, allowing her to step back and take a breath. Twenty-four hours. It seemed longer.
But that’s all it had been since a stranger on the moor had awakened something in Louisa that she’d never previously felt, that being a sense of attraction toward a man. And, dare she say, desire. Maxwell Harlow had an allure in the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he thought. Certainly, he was somewhat solemn by nature. Staid, almost. Quite unlike herself. But Louisa had the impression there was more to the man than met the eye. There had to be, given his success. Perhaps he was merely guarded, allowing people to see only what he wanted them to see. That he was not of her world, but dared to enter it, only added to the intrigue.
And he was handsome. Dangerously so.
The twins still thought Mr. Harlow standoffish and absolutely middle-class. Julian, she suspected, hadn’t quite made up his mind. Her parents genuinely liked him. More than that, her father trusted him, which said much. Arthur, as good-natured as they came, tended to echo the general sentiment, happy that the manor had been leased.
But, all other considerations aside, the sad reality remained. Louisa had found herself attracted to a man who would soon be married to someone else. And even if he wasn’t, Maxwell Harlow was not for her, as Julian had taken pains to point out. Nor would he ever be for her. That was the cruel part; to feel something so profoundly, yet be denied the opportunity to express it, verbally or otherwise. She glanced at the hat, which still sat on her dresser. Maybe she would discard it, after all.
Heaving a sigh, she leaned over, and blew out her candle.
Chapter Four
London, March 1845
The dance endedafter what seemed like an eternity. Louisa’s resulting smile was genuine but stemmed from relief rather than courtesy.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, inclining her head.
“My pleasure, dear lady.” Lord Milnthorpe took her hand and steered her from the dance floor. “Are you in need of refreshment, by chance? Might I fetch you something to drink?”
“Again, thank you, but I believe my brother has a drink waiting for me.” Louisa tugged her gloved hand free of his and gestured to where Julian stood with their mother. She then scooted away before the man could answer. Something about him gave her goose bumps. The unpleasant kind.
“You scurried off the dance floor rather quickly, my dear,” her mother said, as Louisa arrived. “Do you not like Lord Milnthorpe? He seems charming enough.”
Julian snorted. “The man is about as interesting as nasal hair,” he said. “I’m surprised Lou didn’t fall asleep halfway through the dance.”
“Nasal hair?” Louisa giggled. “Can’t say I paid much attention to his nostrils, but yes, the man’s personality is somewhat…”
“Absent,” Julian finished, and held out a glass. “Lemonade, Lou?”
