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“You fool,” Louisa said as she entered George’s breakfast room the day after. “You utter fool, George.”
His head ached. After Caroline had left the previous morning, he had over-indulged. As a result, he was not in the mood to entertain Louisa’s sharpness.
“Thank you for your consideration,” he muttered, sipping his coffee and wishing the world was not so bright.
“Have you no sense?”
“It appears that allowing you entry into my house displays a distinct lack of it.”
She ignored him, whirling to the curtains and yanking them open. He squinted in pain at the sudden burst of sunshine. “You deserve that,” she informed him. “And more. What were you thinking?”
“Evidently I was not.”
“If you were intending to propose, why did you let her think you were penniless?”
“I said no such thing.”
“You said your father would cut you off.”
“From the bulk of his fortune, certainly, but I have a tidy inheritance elsewhere. It’s not a vast fortune, perhaps, but it will suffice perfectly nicely.” He squinted at her. “Why, have you spoken with her?”
“We had an engagement—she had forgotten but I had not.” She took a seat beside him. “Did she give her reasons for refusing?”
“I gather she thinks she is too old and too notorious.” He winced at the memory. “And she has been selling the jewels I bought her.”
“Of course she has,” Louisa said pragmatically. “How else did you expect her to survive?”
“I told her on more than one occasion that if she wanted for anything, I would provide it. And I thought she was left some money by her late husband? My gifts—they were designed as fripperies, things she could wear to the opera. Not necessities.”
Louisa sighed, massaging her eyes. “I had not thought you so foolish.”
“What obligations does she have that I was unaware of?”
“Are you in love with her?”
“What an obnoxious question.”
“I take it that’s a yes.”
In the past, a sonnet or two had been enough to bleed his love away, until he had concluded it had not been love at all. Usually, he tired of his lovers within weeks. Caroline was the only one who stayed the night, who awoke sleepily at dawn to climb atop his body. Who, laughing, recited the historical facts he had relayed the night before as she rocked above him, her words devolving into gasps.
“What do you want from me?” he asked wearily. “Yes, I love her. It’s entirely possible I’ve been in love with her since the very first moment I laid eyes on her. I want her to be mine even if it’s foolishness and the world turns its back on me—so long as she wants that too.”
“Very well, then.” She tapped her fingers against the table. “Caroline had a child out of wedlock before she married and moved to London. From what I understand, she has been providing for the girl all these years—and she had too much pride to put the burden of her dowry on you when she learnt you would be cut off from your father.”
He froze, the implications of this coming tumbling down around him. The lover from her childhood had left her with his bastard, and she had been picking up the pieces ever since. No wonder she had raged against the injustice of the world when she had been forced to bear its cross.
Relief flooded through him, mingling with his anger. “Did she truly suppose that I was asking her only to drag her into poverty with me?”
Louisa raised a brow. “Youmade it sound like that, George.”
“She left before I could explain the terms of my inheritance,” he said impatiently. “This daughter—how old is she?”
She shook her head. “I know none of the details. The only reason I’m telling you is because her pride won’t let her.”
“The little fool. As though I should have balked at providing for her daughter.”
