Chapter Nine #2
‘I do not think you truly wish to stay here,’ he said. ‘I think that, faced with your grandfather’s displeasure, you are accustomed to surrendering, that’s all. So you give up at the first obstacle.’
She was beyond angry. She was now clearly furious with him.
While he was not one of those men who told women they were more beautiful after he’d done something to ignite their tempers, he might have considered saying something to Louisa.
Instead of staring at the floor, she held her chin high, which called attention to her graceful neck and flashing eyes.
She was flushed, rather than blushing, her bosom heaving as if she might breathe fire at any moment.
‘I have not given up,’ she said, her usual whisper replaced by a tone that was low and dangerous. ‘I just do not know how to beat him.’
He gave her a satisfied nod. ‘All that will change now that I am here to help you. Have I not told you, when this is over you will have your money and everything else your heart desires?’
He watched as her breathing slowed and her expression changed again. The furrows in her brow eased but did not disappear. She was wary, considering his promise and wondering if she dared risk trusting him, now that his first gambit had failed.
‘I assure you, you will be no worse for it, in the end,’ he said, before giving her the smile that he’d used to charm far too many ladies in the past.
‘You have made things worse already,’ she said frostily, rising and sweeping past him towards the door.
She turned and looked back at him, ‘But go ahead. Upend my life and make sport of my suffering. What do you have to lose?’ Then she was through the door, closing it with a bang that caused an immediate flurry of answering thumps from the bedroom above.
Louisa stamped down the hallway, ignoring the alarmed looks from the maids she passed and the warning banging from above.
Her closing words were not worthy of a gothic heroine, but they had been the best she could manage after the state Bonham had put her in.
Everything else your heart desires.
At times like this, she wished she’d been born a man. Then, she could have answered him as she’d wanted to, by shouting, ‘Not bloody likely!’ and laughing in his face.
There were some things that would never be attainable.
She’d reconciled herself to that fact three years ago, when her first Season had passed without Thomas Carew paying the slightest notice of her.
The fact that he had concocted an outlandish scheme to rescue her that very carefully avoided anything like a real proposal had killed any remaining hope she might have had.
And now, he was going to help her some more.
The housekeeper appeared at the end of the hall, holding out the account books for the house and a stack of papers that were probably the week’s menus and accompanying grocery order.
‘Please, Miss. I know you have just arrived. But there are matters that need attending to.’ As always, the request was whispered.
Her, ‘I will take care of them,’ response was whispered back. She gathered up the ledger and the stack of papers and soldiered on.
She should not have got angry with Bonham. The brandy was probably to blame. That, on top of the interview with Grandfather and the fact that, just for a moment, she’d believed that something might change.
She shouldn’t have got her hopes up. And she shouldn’t have agreed to a repeat performance of The Trials of Thomas Smith. One time had been more than enough. If he hadn’t accused her of surrendering…
If it hadn’t been true…
She did not like to admit that she was here because of cowardice. But he had not found fault with her. He had said so many kind things. For example, the moment where he’d called her the most attractive woman he knew. For some reason that was the one that stuck in her head.
It could not be true. He knew everyone in the ton and she saw girls prettier than she was at every gathering they’d attended. He must have been flattering her to get on her good side. She should not let it turn her head.
But it had been nice, all the same.
She passed through the entryway, on her way to the stairs and the gardener stopped her, wishing to consult her about a retaining wall that needed to be built along the back of the garden, where the land sloped downhill towards the village.
She moved her burden to one arm and reached with her free hand for the pad and pencil that normally hung at her waist on the chatelaine she always wore when at home.
But that was still in her room in a dresser.
‘You have my permission to order the materials. I will look over the plans and speak with you tomorrow, after breakfast, in the morning room,’ she said, sotto voce, as always.
He passed the sketches to her and she balanced them on top of the menus.
Then, she made her way to the stairs, forgetting until she was halfway up them that it was better to take the back way.
As she feared, her grandfather’s door was open again, so he could watch who passed by.
Her steps slowed near to stopping, for she dreaded another confrontation.
It was too late to retreat. If he was awake, he had already heard her coming.
For someone who claimed to be near death, his ears were as sharp as a man a quarter of his age.
It would not go any easier on her if he heard her lingering and realised she was afraid.
So, she screwed up her courage and quickened her pace again, hoping she could hurry past without him noticing.
‘Louisa!’
She stopped, framed by the doorway and turned to face him with what she hoped was a serene smile. ‘Yes, Grandfather?’
‘Come here,’ he said, glaring at her.
She took a few steps into the room and waited patiently for him to speak.
‘Where did you find this Smith fellow?’
She struggled to remember the story that the duke had given to her. ‘In church.’ She stopped, hoping this would be the only lie she needed to tell.
‘And what made you think it was a good idea to bring him here?’
She shifted the items she was holding from one hip to the other, buying time as she searched for an answer. What would Tom Smith’s fiancée answer?
‘Because I love him.’
At the moment, she didn’t even like Thomas Carew very much. But Smith had done nothing to her. The man was a paragon.
‘The feeling will pass,’ her grandfather said dismissively. Then, he gave her a long searching look, as if he could sense there was something wrong but could not tell what. He gave a small sniff. ‘Have you been drinking?’
Was that all? ‘I was feeling faint,’ she lied, then added, ‘Thomas gave me a tiny bit in a glass to settle my nerves.’
He was still staring.
‘Just a sip,’ she said. ‘And I didn’t like it.’ That was only half true. It had been like swallowing liquid fire, but she wished she could have another glass, right now.
‘I do not approve of strong spirits for women,’ he said, eyes narrowing. ‘Not even for medicinal purposes. It is a sign of a weak will. But then, you have always been weak.’
Her weakness was one of his more popular criticisms. But she must have some strength in her if she’d lasted this long in this house, she thought grimly. She shifted the book again, holding it in front of her like a shield and wrapping her arms around it.
‘So, Smith gave you my brandy.’
She nodded.
So did he. ‘More proof that I was right in my assessment of him. He is no better than your idiot brother, finding any excuse to drink my liquor. He was probably planning to take advantage of you while you were bosky.’
‘Certainly not!’ She hugged the account book tighter, blushing furiously.
Her grandfather snorted. ‘What else could he possibly want from you? Now that he knows he will not get your money, he will settle for whatever he can take from you. If you have not given him that, already.’ Then, he fell silent, again, waiting to see how she would respond.
She gritted her teeth. Goading her until she cried was one of his oldest tricks. It would make him laugh, which would make everything worse. She must not let it work today. ‘I have not been unchaste. I will take your words as the sage advice I am sure you intended them to be.’
He let out a sharp bark of a laugh as if her sarcasm was almost as satisfying as her fear. Then he went silent, playing the same game as he had done with Thomas earlier.
The account book in her arms was heavy and the plans for the wall kept trying to slide down her body to the floor. He probably enjoyed seeing her awkward and uncomfortable, juggling household tasks he would not do for himself and hinting that she did not deserve any better than this.
And she was allowing him to do it. It was not as if her feet had been nailed into the carpet. She must not fall into the old rut of duty and respect that he’d worn into her soul, coming whenever he called and doing exactly what he said.
Her life would never change if she did not do something immediately. Thomas had been right. She wanted a change.
She took a breath, summoned all her courage and said, ‘Is there anything else, Grandfather?’
It was a simple question, but compared to her usual silent suffering, it was an outright act of defiance.
‘Am I keeping you from something?’ he said, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
‘I need to go over the accounts.’
He sniffed. ‘Go on then. Now that you are home, we have all the time in the word to talk.’
Before he could think of another way to harass her, she spun on her heel and marched out of the room.