Page 97 of The Gentlewoman Companion

Chapter Twenty-Three

Louisa’s chest pounded so severely that the pain of it radiated to her shoulders and down her arms until her fingers throbbed. Her hands ached with cold while her forehead pricked with heat. She slipped off her dancing slippers and padded toward the stairs, hoping no one would see her as she crossed the parlor door, from which bloomed a glowing light.

As soon as she’d arrived at the ball, she’d been shunned. After a whispered conversation to which Louisa was not admitted, Mrs. Trelawney and her daughter had turned their backs on her, spreading the truth of her scandal to everyone within hearing. Louisa had been forced to flee and call a hackney to take her back to Grosvenor Square. Perhaps she could sneak into bed and pretend the entire evening had been a terrible dream.

“Louisa?”

Lady Halverton. Louisa could not face her. Already her nose stung and her eyes burned. She would burst into tears if she beheld her mistress.

She tried to slow her breath, but it pulsed faster, matching the relentless cadence of her heart. From the doorway, she met Lord Halverton’s gaze as he sat beside his mother. His eyes slipped from hers to the floor near her feet.

He knew.

“I returned early.” Her voice was too loud, too high. “I don’t feel well. Please excuse me.”

“Wait,” Lord Halverton said. His mother put her hand on his knee and glared at him. “I heard your brother is still in town.”

“Yes.” It was all she could say. Tears threatened, the mortification too great. Anger at Charles so hot, it crackled beneath her skin like a fire spreading over tallow. She wrapped her arms around her ribs, trying to press away the discomfort of her stays.

“It’s true, then?” Lord Halverton’s voice was expressionless.

“Yes.” She laid the final element to her destruction. It was no use pretending. Everyone knew or would by morning.

“I see,” Lord Halverton said.

Swallowing, choking, she could not repress her tears any longer. She ran up the stairs, slammed the door, and bolted it. She yanked at her gown, ripping it from the stomacher. Too tight. Too much pressure. She tore and pulled until she’d revealed her stays. A sewing box lay on a side table. She found scissors and sliced through the laces. Now wearing only a loose chemise, she collapsed into the pool of her gown, tears dotting her gold petticoat.

Oh! That she had never come to London. Wretched Charles! He’d ruined her. And she’d been fool enough to trust his desperate promise. Curse him!

When her tears were spent, a sharp headache remained. She drank water and stared at her blotched face in the mirror. She moved to a chair near the window and watched the night grow colder and deeper. Desolate mist floated over a full moon, growing thick until the light disappeared altogether. In the darkness, the chamber walls closed in, reminiscent of the room at the inn where she had locked herself to escape that man.

Charles had stolen her freedom to walk unashamed, while he drank and laughed somewhere in London, spending the money she’d traded for her mother’s brooch.

Curse her stupidity! May a plague rob Charles of his faculties! She should have left him to reap the consequences of his bad behavior. At the very least, their joint fall to infamy would have been just.

Her skin grew tighter and tighter. She could no more remain in the house than she could face the Halvertons.

Louisa retrieved a fresh set of stays, laced them loosely, tied on a plain petticoat, attached her largest pocket, and pinned closed the coordinating robe. She threw on her warmest cape and grabbed her reticule, stuffing it into the pocket before slipping out. The hall was empty. Good. It was still too early for a maid to stand waiting for a bell to ring. Her feet stepped lightly down the back staircase into the kitchen, where three cooks looked up at her. She mumbled a good morning and unlatched the kitchen door. Damp, frigid air robbed her breath as she emerged into an unusually foggy morning and made her way to the stables.

“Good morning, Miss Thorpe.”

Blast! She did not wish to talk to anyone, not even the stable hand.

“I shall hitch my donkey myself this morning, thank you.”

As she bridled Nimbus, his warm nuzzling drew a hot tear from her eye. The groom stood too close, checking her every move and rambling about securing the lines. She resisted the urge to bat him away.

“I will thank you to move away from the door,” she said once the little carriage was ready.

“Alone?” He scratched his chin. “I can accompany you.”

“Not today.” She pulled Nimbus forward, pushing past the man and into the street, where a measure of calm swept through her. The leads imparted a sense of control and anchored her to sweet, reliable Nimbus, the lone creature who would never look at her with consternation.

Early sun spilled milky light through the misted street, making it impossible to see more than a few yards ahead. Louisa kept Nimbus at a slow walk and arrived thirty minutes later at the carriage house Mrs. Beecham and Miss Fischer shared with their neighbors.

“I won’t be long,” she said to Nimbus, shutting him in with a collection of carriages. She knocked on the front door and waited. It was far too early for calls. Should she take Nimbus for a long drive? Perhaps it no longer mattered. Not having a reputation to concern herself with allowed freedoms she had not considered. But the sovereignty lacked the glitter and allure it might have held in different circumstances. She watched down the street and listened for movement inside the house.

From down the lane, a cloudy shape emerged from the haze. A winged woman? As the figure approached, Louisa identified a milkmaid with a yoke over her shoulders, large pails hanging heavy to each side. She nodded at Louisa, then turned into an alley that went behind the houses. Louisa followed her to the back door, which was opened by an expectant cook. Louisa was barred from entering the kitchen, but after explaining her desperation to see the sisters, she was left to wait in the drawing room.