“Are you going to tell her?” asked Lark.
“I’ve only had a few minutes to really think on this, but I think not, because she’s marrying Rotherfeld.”
“Does she love Rotherfeld?” asked Lark.
“I don’t know, but she is fond of him.”
“When is the wedding?”
“A little over three weeks from now.”
Lark nodded slowly. “Do you want her?”
Fletcher truly did. He hadn’t let himself feel that way, he realized now, but yes, he wanted Louisa. The way she’d lookednight at the opera, those loose tendrils of hair and the way her gown dipped to display her décolletage, the creaminess of her skin and the plumpness of her lips… He’d been thinking about all of it every night since. He wanted to touch her, to run his hands through her hair, to peel off those beautiful gowns she wore.
“I want her,” Fletcher said.
“Then maybe what you need to do is present an alternative to Rotherfeld,” said Lark. “If you don’t want to tell her how you feel directly, then show that you’re husband material. That you respect her and care about her and desire her and all of that. Show her that Rotherfeld is not the only man in her life who is willing to marry her. But you’d better act fast if she’s getting married in three weeks.”
Fletcher looked at Owen. “Should I take advice from this fella?”
“It’s not a bad idea, but I still think you should tell her frankly. Don’t wait for her to intuit your intent. You’re enough of an idiot that you didn’t realize you’re in love with her until now, so it’s plausible that she loves you but isn’t fully conscious of it, either.”
“You think?”
“It’s possible.” Owen drummed his fingers against his chin. “I like Louisa. I like the two of you together. I think you can make each other happy. It’s both of your stubborn adherence to this idea that you’re basically siblings that has prevented you from marrying earlier. Rotherfeld may prove to be an obstacle here. He has more money and power and clout than you do. But if you don’t at least try to show Louisa how you feel, I think you will regret it forever. You have to at least try.”
Owen had some good points. “Perhaps I will talk to her.”
Owen laughed. “That’s the spirit.”
* * *
The odd thing about being engaged was that suddenly Louisa’s mother’s hawklike gaze had vanished.
When Daniel came to call, Mother was suddenly nowhere to be found. She didn’t send in a maid to keep an eye on Louisa, either. So Louisa and Daniel now sat in the Petty sitting room, completely alone, albeit with an open door.
Daniel kept a safe, appropriate distance from her. She wondered if this was an act of willpower or just his personality. That was, Louisa thought him handsome and had been thinking about running her hands over his shirt for the entirety of this conversation, but Daniel never gave any indication if he desired her one way or the other. He must have, or he wouldn’t have offered for her, but would it hurt him to push the boundaries of propriety a little?
“I attended the opera with Greystone the other night,” she said.
Rotherfeld raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”
“La Cenerentola. A take on Cinderella.”
“The folk story? The one about the woman who acts as a servant and then marries a prince?”
“Essentially, yes, but the opera makes some changes to the story. She has a wicked stepfather instead of a stepmother, for example. And there are some genuinely funny moments.”
“Is it in German?”
“Italian.”
“Then how can you recognize the humor?”
“I speak some Italian. I understand enough. But the actors also played their parts quite broadly, and—”
“I always thought the opera was more a place to see and be seen. Half thetoncouldn’t tell you the plots of the operas performed each night.”
