Page 6 of The Gentlewoman Companion

He must have taken them absently when he left Lord Tilney. “Wouldn’t you crow if it were? I’d never give a woman so sorry a bouquet.” He placed them atop the trunk. “Throw them out, will you?”

“A pity.”

“If you’re so anxious not to waste, give them away yourself.”

“Touché.”

“I wish to depart immediately.” He enjoyed the opportunity to travel to London frequently for his role in Parliament, but he was eager to return to his country home. He missed his mother, and besides, he worried about her. Sometimes she lost herself to melancholy since the death of his father.

“All is arranged,” Graham said. “I’ll have the carriage brought around.”

Half an hour later, Halverton, surrounded by letters and papers, rolled toward home. Already he’d begun preparing for his speech, which would remind the peers he was taking his late father’s place and set a precedent for his involvement.

The carriage hit a pothole, sending his organized pages to the floor. He sorted them and began reading a petition to improve the roads between Richmond and Lancaster. Words blurred. He shook his head, determined not to sleep. There was too much to learn and too little time.

Working through the night, ignoring invitations to balls and dinner parties in favor of examining legislation, left him deeply yet pleasantly exhausted. The unruly ache of losing his father was somehow soothed as James stepped into the rooms his father had frequented, discussing affairs of the world and country as his father had. Although he hadn’t anticipated assuming his father’s role so early in his life, he felt fulfilled to finally be in pursuit of his purpose.

Since leaving home for school at thirteen, time with his father had been limited to brief clusters during school holidays. Even then, he’d brought his friend Hugh Morden, who, though welcome company, had distracted Lord Halverton from receiving his father’s guidance. Upon graduation, he and Hugh had left for the continent, where they traveled for three years. Back in London, the time and space that had once disconnected father and son folded, bringing Halverton a sense that in fulfilling his father’s work, they were united.

He forced his attention back to the document, but it slipped from his lax fingers. Heavy weariness weakened his limbs. He stretched, retrieved the page, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and read.

“Darling, it has been an age.” Halverton’s mother kissed his cheek. “You must be exhausted.”

“Not at all,” Halverton said. “I’m restless after sitting all day.” That much was true. She did not need to know how little he slept of late. “You look well, Mother.” She seemed younger, brighter than when he had left.

“And you are very handsome, more like your father every day. But your eyes are heavy. Go rest.”

He lifted a shoulder. In truth all he wanted was to collapse in his bed, but he hadn’t time for self-indulgence. Besides, he had come home as soon as his work in London had permitted so he could spend time with his mother.

Lady Halverton seemed to sense his desire to stay with her and smiled. “Let’s sit. Tell me all about London.”

Once they had made themselves comfortable, he said, “I am afraid I do not know if panniers are wider than last season, nor am I privy to the latest subject of Lady Montparnasse’s salon. My news won’t interest you, though you might find the workings of the Foundling Hospital interesting.” He hesitated before proposing an idea he’d been considering for some time. “Perhaps you might join me in London.”

“A charming idea! We could take Louisa along.”

“Louisa?”

A young lady stepped into the room. She placed a large vase of flowers on a table.

“Yes?” She seemed almost to shrink under his gaze but then straightened. “Yes, my lord.” She curtsied, polite but not the polished affectation of a London belle. Then she smiled, disarming and sincere. His mother, who had experienced the loss of two infant daughters, gravitated toward unfortunate young ladies. This Louisa was probably the daughter of a low country gentleman, and his mother’s bleeding heart had succumbed to the girl’s artless air. The servant’s quarters were full of villagers who had fallen on hard times. This girl was another project.

“James,” his mother said, her face practically glowing, “this is Miss Thorpe, my companion.”

Companion?

“James was just saying he would be delighted for us all to travel to London together one day,” his mother said, ignoring his surprise.

He inclined his head toward her. “Mother, may I speak with you a moment?”

“Of course. Louisa, will you play for us?”

Miss Thorpe bit her lip and went to the pianoforte. She must only be sixteen or seventeen, far too great a responsibility for a mourning widow. Though his mother appeared to shoulder the weight of grief better than he did, she had her low moments.

While Miss Thorpe played—if her faltering qualified as playing—his mother took him by the wrist and led him to a pair of chairs across the room. “Do not wonder that I have hired a young companion,” she said. “It is quite expected of a widow, you know. Now, I want you to befriend Miss Thorpe. She has no mother, poor darling.”

“She is your companion. I am too busy to attend to her.”

“Tosh. She will not impose upon your time. I only want you to take her where you are already going. What about your beast of a horse you ride each day, Goliath? She can ride Daisy when you take your daily exercise. I want her to feel she is a member of our family. She needs distraction. As do you.” She paused and scrutinized him. “You seem overwrought. If something is bothering you, air it lest it fester. For now, go riding. You will find her amiable.”