Page 52 of The Gentlewoman Companion

Chapter Twelve

Lundbrooke was a house turned upside down and given a good shake. Trunks were piled in corners; furniture lay shrouded in white. Various portmanteaux sat open in the entrance hall, insides splayed in flashes of bright, ruffled silks. James’s mother and Louisa—Miss Thorpe—circled the house separately, shouted at one another from distant corners, came together to chatter and fuss over which of their gowns to bring. James sat in the library, sorting through a stack of books.

Footsteps approached the library from both sides of the hall. His mother’s and Louisa’s paths intersected at the open double doors. He watched his mother take both Louisa’s hands in hers. She said, “London!” and Louisa squealed and bounced on her toes.

At least they were happy.

The pair glanced at him. His mother beamed. Loui—Miss Thorpe bit her lip. They returned to their rushing about, and the purposeful click of their feet on wood flooring faded. He must stop thinking of her as Louisa. Once his mouth formed the word, it had solidified and lodged itself in his mind. Miss Thorpe. Miss Thorpe.

Graham entered and gave James a letter with a raise of his brows. On the outside was written the sender’s name:

From: Margaret Cooper

To: The Right Honorable Earl of Halverton

Cooper was Sarah’s surname. He’d written to Sarah directly after his disastrous walk with Louisa—Miss Thorpe.

James’s stomach grew hot. He slapped the letter to the desk and covered it with his hand. As if that would keep Graham’s eyes off it.

Graham remained, as did the question on his face.

“Thank you, Graham.” James dismissed him, still unable to discuss the matter with the valet, who no doubt had aided his father in his dalliances. Aware that Graham’s complicity would have been obligatory, James knew his feelings were unfair and petty. Yet they lingered and blossomed around the truth that in having likely assisted his father, Graham knew the sordid details of his father’s relationships, an idea that turned James’s stomach.

He cracked the seal.

Dear Sir,

Sarah, my mother, is dead. I care for myself and my half-brother Samuel quite well. We have no need or desire for your assistance.

Respectfully,

Margaret Cooper

He closed his eyes and swallowed a groan.

It was true. Otherwise, she would have asked for money.

He stood and paced before the bookshelves. Why would his siblings decline his support? Very likely they were impoverished. He crumpled the page and shoved it into his breast pocket.

They lived on Rosemary Lane, an area he was familiar with only by its reputation, a street flowing with rum and poverty. If Margaret and Samuel were indeed his relations, they needed him, and he would find a way to satisfy his responsibility.

“James!” his mother called him.

He found her with Louisa—Miss Thorpe—in the parlor.

“I have just been saying to Louisa that I do not see your trunks among the rest. Have your plans changed?”

He stole a glance at Louisa, who adjusted her large diamond brooch with great focus. “I am going.”

“You will be ready tomorrow, then?”

He nodded, but he would need to speak with his mother soon, else she would wonder why he did not enter the House of Lords come December. His only purpose in going to town was to find Margaret and Samuel and ascertain their needs. After that, perhaps he would return to the continent and meet up with Hugh to escape the ever-present reminders of his father’s failings.

The trunks that had littered the house the day before were now strung over the gravel yard, which was a spectacle of horses, donkeys, carriages, servants, and the travelers themselves.

“There is simply not room in our London stables for seven horses, two donkeys, and three carriages,” James told his mother, who glanced at Louisa.

“She requires Nimbus and her carriage.”