Page 53 of The Gentlewoman Companion

Louisa put her hand on his mother’s arm. “You mistook me, my lady. I understand the constraint of space and am very content with Daisy.”

“Did you hear that, James? Louisa needs her donkey.”

“How do you propose we manage it?” James asked.

“Trade out Daisy and Goliath for two of the four drawing the carriage. We can all take turns with Nimbus. That makes four horses and one donkey,” said Lady Halverton.

“What say you, Jones?” James asked the groom.

“I should like another six weeks with the donkeys, but this may be the perfect time to seal their training.”

“It’s settled.” His mother spun around and began directing the servants.

James found himself pleased with the solution. He would drive the donkey rather than be stuck for hours in a tight carriage next to Louisa. “Graham, you and I will take Nimbus.”

His mother turned back to him. “Oh, take Louisa. She prefers the open air.”

Louisa’s fingers found a ribbon. “Really, my lady, I would much rather read to you while we go on.”

“My dear, you are ever thoughtful, but I know you. How many times have you exclaimed over the superiority of an open carriage? Do not think of me. When I am not eating bonbons, I will be sleeping.”

Louisa’s eyes flicked to his, then melted toward Nimbus. Perhaps it would rain, and she would be obliged to take cover in the carriage. Never mind that—the rain would serve as an inducement.

Over the few days since he had told her about his father and tried to express his high opinion of her, Louisa had not ignored him. It was worse than that. She’d maintained the same bright and cheerful countenance she always had. While she’d avoided walking or riding with him, while she’d left the room should they find themselves alone, while she would not fix her gaze upon him, she’d behaved as though nothing at all had changed.

Why couldn’t he simply tell her about his father without expecting her to return the confidence? And what had she done that had shamed her so? Perhaps on her way out the door to escape her family, she’d taken the diamond brooch she often wore as insurance against the possibility of not finding employment. Whatever it was, it tortured her conscience, prevented her from accepting the slightest praise. He could never guess what she had done. Speculating was useless.

He wished he could ignore what stood between them so he might ask for her advice regarding the letter from Margaret.

When the last of their luggage was strapped to the carriage, James helped Louisa into the seat and sat beside her. The reins were already in her hands.

“I can take those, should you tire.” His voice was colder than he intended.

“Thank you, my lord. I shall keep that in mind.” She spoke with cheerful alacrity. “Walk on!”

As they drove, Louisa chattered about the weather, Nimbus’s skill and condition, the ideas shared at the literary breakfast. She mentioned a letter she’d received from her aunt, and he started paying attention.

“Aunt Mary and Mr. Fletcher are going to live in Ireland where she has an estate, but I think they are waiting for old Mr. Fletcher to die so they can come back to England. My aunt’s husband is obsessed with his family’s castle and longs to inherit it, which I don’t understand because it really is a mound of rubble. Though he was told that if he married my aunt instead of me, his family would disinherit him, so I am not sure he will get his beloved castle after all. Are there any good parents in the world besides your mother and mine?”

A shock went through him. “He was meant to marry you?”

“Did I say that? Oh!” She stilled for a long moment. “Listen. Is that a goldfinch?”

“You said Mr. Fletcher was told he would be disinherited if he didn’t marry you.”

“Yes. But he was in love with Aunt Mary.”

“Did you love him?” His heart stilled.

“No! I mean, he is a very good sort of man, but he is old.” After a pause, she added in a more subdued tone, “He is the man my father intended for me because if I married Mr. Fletcher, my father would give his parents my mother’s little cottage and allow Father to keep my dowry.”

“Ah. That seems unfair to you.”

She waved her hand. “It is nothing that doesn’t happen every day. Also, thank you for the soap. I pull it out when I miss my mother.”

His insides puddled warmly into his middle. He shifted so their shoulders no longer touched. How did she have this effect on him, even after she’d made it clear she did not trust him? He could not be close to a person who shut him out and never divulged. But hadn’t she just? She had told him more about herself in the last few minutes than ever before.

When she’d spoken about her past mistake, slashes of red had crossed her cheekbones. She’d been agitated, like a trapped animal. The death of her mother, the unfair treatment she’d received from her father—those were things outside her control. But she alluded to something she had done—and it wasn’t running away. Whatever it was, she kept it close and deep but also let it define her.