Page 32 of The Gentlewoman Companion

Lord Halverton considered Louisa’s gown—cut much lower than anything else she owned—for a mere second before looking away. “She is right, Miss Thorpe, but between ourselves, you look just as well in my mother’s riding ensemble.”

Louisa became warm and light. It was pleasant that one person approved of her regardless of what she wore.

“James! How dreadful of you. Look at her. She is a paragon of beauty.”

His eyes captured Louisa’s. “You are charming, Miss Thorpe,” he said, but his attention remained on her face. Lord Halverton was proving himself a true gentleman, a kind man.

Louisa sighed, then covered her mouth. It was not a swoon, but a grounding sense of belonging that affected her. It was like cold winter feet finding a hot water bottle beneath the bedclothes.

Guests gathered in the drawing room, a party of fourteen. A middle-aged vicar and his gentle-faced wife, Mr. and Mrs. Kent, were followed by Lord and Lady Waxpole, Mrs. Trelawney with her daughter Miss Rosamond Trelawney and son Mr. Henry Trelawney, who had fire-red hair and lashless eyes that reminded Louisa vaguely of a pig. Next came Mr. and Mrs. Lewis and their son, Mr. Alexander Lewis, who was of similar age to Lord Halverton and Mr. Trelawney. The younger Mr. Lewis resembled his mother, with soft golden curls and an amiable demeanor. Miss Cron, who came in the Lewis’s carriage, lived with Mrs. Beecham and Miss Fischer. The sisters had declined the invitation, but Louisa did not know why.

After preliminary introductions and greetings, no one spared Louisa more than a nod, though she really wanted to speak with Miss Trelawney, whose serene countenance gave the impression of self-containment. Dressed in brocade silk trimmed in velvet ribbon, she bore a cool smile and probably never did anything she regretted.

Through a gold-framed mirror, Louisa watched the image of the party, huddled in twos and threes, laughing, touching, and exchanging news in earnest, intimate tones. Lady Halverton’s head bent toward Mrs. Trelawney, her fingers wrapped around the other woman’s wrist, sharing confidences to which Louisa would never be privy. Miss Trelawney lowered her eyes and smiled at the three young gentlemen surrounding her. Louisa stood apart, more elegantly adorned than anyone in the room save Lady Halverton.

Like starlings, the Halvertons and their guests flew in coordinated precision, each understanding their places—when to lift, when to perch, when to soar—while Louisa was a solitary swift, unable to perch. Silk feathers could not disguise the outsider.

Louisa, who was not timid, tried to shake these thoughts, but this situation was outside her experience. Where did she belong in this unfamiliar social structure? She was a gentlewoman, though not as highborn as many others in the room. Her accent set her apart as did her position in the Halverton household.

Unable to ignore the rising discomfort of standing alone, she ran her hand over the bumpy texture of the lace at her sleeve. Her little finger slipped into a loop, and she watched it wiggle through and weave into another circlet to give the impression she was busy with something important.

A warm hand enveloped her bent elbow. Lord Halverton stood close, almost confidentially. “Miss Thorpe, I hoped you would explain your version of pall mall to the others.”

Despite his imposing nearness, she found his presence improbably calming. A scent, warm and familiar, encompassed her. “Rosemary? From Floris?” she asked.

“Pardon me?”

“Your soap. I recognize it. My…” She cleared her throat. “My mother used to order it from London.” She dropped her arm to her side. He released her elbow, and his hand brushed down her arm. The room felt suddenly hot.

His eyes softened. “Smells are strong containers for memory. Later, I want to hear what this scent recalls for you.”

She could only nod.

“Come.” He led her to the group and said, “The other day, I found Miss Thorpe teaching my mother a most diverting game.” He described what he had seen, and it tickled Louisa to hear it from his perspective. “Tell us the rules, Miss Thorpe.”

She cast aside her doubts, buoyed by Lord Halverton and Miss Cron’s encouraging smile, and launched into a lengthy description of a very foolish, simple game. Lord Halverton laughed when she told them that participation was not without risk: broken windows, a bruised passer-by, loss of dignity. Everyone gasped and exclaimed in all the right places. She sent a grateful smile in Lord Halverton’s direction for his including her.

Lady Halverton clapped her hands. “We have faro, whist, and speculation.” She indicated the corresponding tables. “Lord Halverton, lead your young friends to speculation. Lord Waxpole and Mr. Trelawney, I know you will want to play faro while the ladies and I play whist. Mr. and Mrs. Kent, you may go whichever direction pleases you.”

The party dispersed to their allotted stations. Louisa waited until Miss Trelawney and Miss Cron claimed their seats before moving to take the empty chair between Mr. Kent and Mr. Alexander Lewis, both of whom, along with Lord Halverton and Mr. Henry Trelawney, stood until the ladies settled. Louisa swallowed hard and sat.

Lady Halverton had reshaped Louisa into someone unfamiliar, even to herself. While the change was freeing, it left her in a quandary. She was not certain if she should articulate her own thoughts or what she imagined her mistress expected her to say. How much of herself could she reveal? She sat quietly, trying to emulate Miss Trelawney. She wished she could speak across the table to Miss Cron about Havenwood or to Miss Trelawney about her fashionable dress, but she worried idle conversation might not be tolerated during a game.

Lord Halverton, who did not seem to know his companions as well as she expected he might, played dealer and smiled at Louisa from across the table. It gave her courage, though he paid equal attention to everyone. “The value of a fish shall be one shilling?” he suggested as he distributed the counters. Everyone agreed. He turned over a card at random—the two of hearts. “Hearts trump,” he said, then dealt three cards to each player.

The game advanced in a far more subdued manner than Louisa was accustomed to. After a few rounds, the players’ bargaining increased in volume, and she felt more comfortable. She did not, however, give in to the impulse to whoop whenever she won or protest when she did not.

In the third and final round, Louisa turned a ten of hearts. Her breath caught. If no one turned a higher trump, she would win, a prospect that greatly appealed to her. To ensure victory, she could buy everyone’s remaining cards, which would disable them from playing that final round.

“May I buy your last card?” she asked Mr. Kent, a quiet, serious man. He relented at the bargain price of only one fish. “Miss Trelawney, may I purchase yours for the same?”

“I hardly trust your fish are worth anything! Must I wait for payment until you receive your wages?” She giggled and patted Louisa’s arm as if they were great friends and her insinuation was naught but an affectionate tease. Louisa’s confidence melted.

“Miss Trelawney,” Lord Halverton said, inflicting her with an acerbic glare. “Let us keep our conversation genuine and our competition fair.”

Miss Trelawney flushed. “Miss Thorpe, of course you may buy my card. Shall we say four fish?”

They bargained, and Louisa prevailed with three counters, winning the round. She stood and gathered the fish she had won. When she sat down, she found Mr. Henry Trelawney gazing at her from her neck to her bodice and wished Lady Halverton’s taste a fraction less fashionable. Next time she would wear a fichu.