Chapter Seven
After Fletcher explained to Owen in some detail what had happened at the opera—omitting a few salient details about the question Louisa had asked him in the carriage and the information he had volunteered—Fletcher concluded, “I felt out of sorts afterward, but I am not sure why.”
They sat at the club. Lark was absent tonight, and Hugh was currently tied up in a conversation with Devonshire, so it was just Fletcher and Owen sitting by the fire.
“Let me summarize,” said Owen. “Louisa has been your friend since before you understood the key differences between boys and girls.”
“Yes.”
“You are fond of her but in a friendly way.”
“Yes.”
“She is now engaged, and you feel out of sorts about that.”
“Perhaps, but only because—”
Owen held up his hand. “You find her fiancé boring.”
“Right.”
“I don’t think it is so much that you are worried Rotherfeld will take away your sisterly friend. I think you have feelings for Louisa, and you are worried about him marrying her when it should be you.”
Fletcher scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It should be you.”
“What are you talking about?” But somewhere deep in his chest, Fletcher knew. In the same way he couldn’t stop looking at Louisa on their night at the opera, he knew his feelings for Louisa were not, in fact, entirely friendly. But what was he to even do about it?
Owen rolled his eyes. “You and Louisa speak the same language. You have similar interests and enjoy each other’s company.
You’ve been good friends for most of your lives.
You confide in each other and care about each other.
The only missing component was a physical spark, but I reckon that, since before Louisa became betrothed to Rotherfeld, you’ve felt that spark. ”
“I will admit to…admiring her figure.”
“Fletcher, you are being foolish. You love this woman. I know you do. You keep making all this noise about her being like a sister to you, but she’s not.
It’s all there. You know her better than most men know their wives, and you love what you see.
You find her attractive. Maybe her betrothal to Rotherfeld is the kick in the head you needed to realize that.
You feel out of sorts because you’re in love with her and don’t know what to do now because you’re an idiot and she’s engaged to someone else. ”
“I’m not…”
But he stopped talking abruptly. Of course, Owen was completely correct. Fletcher loved Louisa. It should have been him marrying her, not Rotherfeld.
Louisa was his. She was his friend, yes, and he understood their friendship was a bit unorthodox for the ton, but it worked for them. And no, he did not like that Rotherfeld was taking her away from him. That was what had bothered him since her engagement was announced.
Because Louisa was beautiful. She had a laugh like a bell that had always charmed Fletcher.
She was smart and funny, and she loved art, and she understood Fletcher well enough to call him on things when he was acting like an idiot, just like Owen was now because Fletcher had, indeed, been acting like an idiot for months.
“Devil take me,” Fletcher said.
“There it is,” said Owen.
“I love her.”
“Yes.”
“But she’s marrying Rotherfeld.”
Owen nodded. “That is a bit of a predicament, but it’s an engagement. Engagements can be broken. She hasn’t married him yet.”
“What should I do?”
“You could tell her.”
Fletcher shook his head. “No, I can’t. Her mother made me promise not to do anything to jeopardize her engagement to Rotherfeld, and I intend to keep my word. Plus, she’s made her choice.”
“You never gave her the option to choose you.”
“Why didn’t I notice I felt this way before she got engaged?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to tell you for at least a year.”
Fletcher looked at Owen, who had a smug grin on his face. Owen really had been teasing Fletcher about his relationship with Louisa for a long time, but Fletcher had refused to see it. Why had he refused to see it?
They were interrupted by Lark, who came in and plopped into a nearby chair. He looked upset.
“Are you drunk?” Fletcher asked.
“No, alas.”
“Why do you look like someone kicked you in the shin?” asked Owen.
“I’ve been spending time with Beresford again.”
“Is that a good idea?” asked Owen.
“Probably not, but I believe I’m done caring.
I’ve spent nearly a year without him. All it’s gotten me is misery.
He’s in no better shape. We’ve not…that is, he is still mourning and thus he is not in a position to offer me anything right now, so I am trying to just be his friend, and I’m finding that spending time with him is infinitely better than… not.”
Oh, god. Spending time with Louisa was also far better than not spending time with her.
The reason Fletcher was so out of sorts about Louisa marrying was that the time not spent together was bound to increase, and Fletcher found the notion of that unbearable.
Because he wanted Louisa to spend all of her time with him, and not with Rotherfeld.
This was love. And it was terrible.
“I’ll come to your hanging,” Owen said to Lark.
A soft smile played across Lark’s lips. “I don’t believe it has come to that yet.
This situation is complicated. He has a child now, and even if he didn’t love his wife, her death has upset him greatly.
He’s…he’s like a shell of himself. I haven’t asked him to be with me again, I am merely acting as a supportive friend, and I am content with that for now. ”
“You have been rather unhappy,” Fletcher said, feeling foolish as soon as he said it, stating the obvious. Of course Lark had been unhappy; the person he loved had married somebody else. What a stupid, frustrating predicament they’d both found themselves in.
Lark merely nodded. “I’ve been a right miserable bastard.
I contend I was right to end the affair, but being right does not make things easier.
I think I did not realize the depth of my own feelings.
If I do end up with a second chance, I do not intend to squander it.
Hell, maybe Beresford and I can buy a farm in Scotland and hide there for the rest of our lives.
That would certainly be an improvement over living without him in London. ”
“I do not care for this love business,” said Fletcher.
“I know, it’s terrible.” Lark gave Fletcher an appraising look. “Who are you in love with?”
“Lady Louisa.”
Lark laughed. “Ah, finally.”
“You knew as well?”
“Everyone knew,” said Owen.
“I didn’t know.”
“Are you going to tell her?” asked Lark.
“I’ve only had a few minutes to really think on this, but I think not, because she’s marrying Rotherfeld.”
“Does she love Rotherfeld?” asked Lark.
“I don’t know, but she is fond of him.”
“When is the wedding?”
“A little over three weeks from now.”
Lark nodded slowly. “Do you want her?”
Fletcher truly did. He hadn’t let himself feel that way, he realized now, but yes, he wanted Louisa.
The way she’d looked night at the opera, those loose tendrils of hair and the way her gown dipped to display her décolletage, the creaminess of her skin and the plumpness of her lips…
He’d been thinking about all of it every night since.
He wanted to touch her, to run his hands through her hair, to peel off those beautiful gowns she wore.
“I want her,” Fletcher said.
“Then maybe what you need to do is present an alternative to Rotherfeld,” said Lark.
“If you don’t want to tell her how you feel directly, then show that you’re husband material.
That you respect her and care about her and desire her and all of that.
Show her that Rotherfeld is not the only man in her life who is willing to marry her.
But you’d better act fast if she’s getting married in three weeks. ”
Fletcher looked at Owen. “Should I take advice from this fella?”
“It’s not a bad idea, but I still think you should tell her frankly. Don’t wait for her to intuit your intent. You’re enough of an idiot that you didn’t realize you’re in love with her until now, so it’s plausible that she loves you but isn’t fully conscious of it, either.”
“You think?”
“It’s possible.” Owen drummed his fingers against his chin.
“I like Louisa. I like the two of you together. I think you can make each other happy. It’s both of your stubborn adherence to this idea that you’re basically siblings that has prevented you from marrying earlier.
Rotherfeld may prove to be an obstacle here.
He has more money and power and clout than you do.
But if you don’t at least try to show Louisa how you feel, I think you will regret it forever. You have to at least try.”
Owen had some good points. “Perhaps I will talk to her.”
Owen laughed. “That’s the spirit.”
* * *
The odd thing about being engaged was that suddenly Louisa’s mother’s hawklike gaze had vanished.
When Daniel came to call, Mother was suddenly nowhere to be found. She didn’t send in a maid to keep an eye on Louisa, either. So Louisa and Daniel now sat in the Petty sitting room, completely alone, albeit with an open door.
Daniel kept a safe, appropriate distance from her.
She wondered if this was an act of willpower or just his personality.
That was, Louisa thought him handsome and had been thinking about running her hands over his shirt for the entirety of this conversation, but Daniel never gave any indication if he desired her one way or the other.
He must have, or he wouldn’t have offered for her, but would it hurt him to push the boundaries of propriety a little?
“I attended the opera with Greystone the other night,” she said.
Rotherfeld raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”
“La Cenerentola. A take on Cinderella.”
“The folk story? The one about the woman who acts as a servant and then marries a prince?”