Chapter Thirteen
THE PAST
September 1804
Louisa watched as Worthington Hall came into view, its imposing golden front illuminated by the autumn sun. Beside her in the carriage, her mother fussed and tittered at the sight of the grand house. The invitation had not been a surprise, especially to Louisa who had done her best to secure it, but naturally, her mother had thought of one thing and one thing only.
Marriage.
As far as her mother was concerned, and to Louisa’s disgust, this was merely another opportunity to secure a husband.
“You must be on your best behaviour,” Mrs Picard said, smoothing down her skirts for the umpteenth time. “Do you hear me? No talking of your painting. And if a gentleman singles you out, for heaven’s sake encourage them.”
With no interest in marrying, Louisa had thus far made a habit of flirting only with gentlemen she perceived to be disinterested in marrying her. It was a useful exercise in how to flirt, which she viewed as being of the utmost importance.
Marriage was less so, and precisely for the reasons her mother had outlined.
No talking of your painting.
Thank heavens Henry would be attending. There was a gentleman who spoke to her as an equal, as though her love of painting was not so much unusual as fascinating. She had, tragically, concluded that he would not kiss her, but she found pleasure in conversation. He’d told her about his home in Kent, at his father’s seat, and his friendship with the duke’s son at the neighbouring estate. In return, she had told him about her childhood and the landscapes that had first inspired her love of art.
“Are you listening to me, Louisa?” her mother demanded.
Her father sighed. “Leave her alone, Margaret. She’s only a girl.”
“She’s eighteen, Harold. When I was her age, we were married.”
Louisa toyed with the buttons on her gloves. Why her mother wanted her to engage in the same miserable life choices her parents had made, she didn’t know. They had married each other for entirely the wrong reasons: her mother had married him for his wealth and position, and her father had been bewitched by her pretty face. When her mother’s beauty had faded and her father had demonstrated all the many ways he disliked being fashionable, there was nothing left but resentment.
“Louisa,” her mother snapped. “Take that mulish expression off your face. You know why we are here, and it is not so you canscowl in a corner or conspire to escape the opportunities I have provided for you.”
Louisa resisted rolling her eyes with difficulty. If there was one thing she had learnt from eighteen years in her mother’s company, it was that it was best to choose the battles she fought. This was not worth the inevitable casualties.
“Margaret,” her father said now, wearied patience in his voice. “Leave her be. She will hardly flourish if you deprive her of light and water.”
Her mother’s mouth twisted viciously. “She is not a plant.”
“And yet she may flower just the same if you but gave her an opportunity.”
“I give her ample opportunity. If you encouraged her to be a lady instead of indulging her love of oils, she may actually find herself a husband.”
“Is my marriage the only virtue you believe me to be capable of?” Louisa demanded.
“What else is there?” her mother asked dismissively. “Consider what you might do for this family if you but put your mind to it. Think of the match you might attract if you used your charms to good effect rather than flirtations.”
“Now, Margaret,” her father said. “If I recall correctly, you were not averse to a little flirtation in your time, either.”
“Idid not marry a title,” her mother said pointedly, and they lapsed into silence like collapsing earth. Louisa felt as though she might suffocate in it, and the moment they arrived, she escaped into the east drawing room.
Many of the guests had already assembled here, and she took the tableau in at a glance. Most ladies were gathered together, talking, their mothers keeping a watchful eye on them. The gentlemen were in a similar group. Some played cards with the young ladies—it looked like a particularly boisterous game of loo. A few gentlemen, evidently bored with the proceedings,appeared to be reading. And in the corner, two young gentlemen played a game of chess.
They happened to be sitting below the window, and a shaft of early autumn sunshine fell upon them, gilding them and casting them into focus. Henry Beaumont, Viscount Eynsham, and his friend Mr Comerford, son of Viscount Worthington. The two young men appeared entirely captivated by their game and mindless to the chatter that arose around them.
Louisa felt the breath rush from her lungs even as her mother came to her elbow. “Not that boy,” she said sharply, taking Louisa’s arm and steering her bodily away from the vision in sunlit gold. “I know you have developed a particular liking for him to spite me, but it will not be worth the pain of it, I assure you.”
“I have not developed a taste for any gentleman to spite you, Mama.”
Her mother’s brown eyes, sharp from a lifetime of shrewishness, fixed on her. “You are my daughter, so I will pay you the compliment of not assuming you are stupid. All I ask is you do the same in return.”
