Page 43 of The Gentlewoman Companion

But remaining distant from him and his problems would keep her safe. When he’d shared his feelings about his father’s death, he seemed to expect a return of that confidence, and that was something she could not do. It would open her heart, and she did not know what would come spilling out.

He passed her to the next man in line, but their eyes held until a turn forced a break. When they rejoined, he was more distant than ever. She would woo him from his stormy temper if only to maintain her own good humor; she searched for a topic of conversation that might interest him.

“My Aunt Mary is Lady Mary, an author. Have you heard her spoken of?” He shook his head. “Oh! Well, you must read her novel. It was all the talk in Bath.” Why was she saying this? She did not want to think about the book that had inspired her attempted elopement, her greatest—but by no means her only—lapse in judgment. Her heart grew heavy, and she felt as blue deviled as he looked. “What do you think of second marriages? My aunt has been widowed for two decades and is only now marrying.”

“I do not see why she should not wed.”

A response! That was something. “She is older than he. What do you make of that?”

“Very little.”

“I am sure there is a widow here who would do for you.” She glanced around the room. “Alas, I do not know these people. You must tell me about them.” When he did not respond, she said, “What about that woman, with the giant red plume.”

“Mrs. Henry.”

“Well? And what about her?” she asked, studying his countenance, which was gradually clearing.

“She has thirteen children, all living.”

“My! But she looks very grave.”

“She has a reputation for sternness.”

“Perhaps her children are afraid to fall ill.” She looked directly at him, grinning. He sniggered, sending a whirling thrill up her back and into her head. His smile was dizzying. “Where is her husband?”

“Most likely in the card room. He has a reputation for gambling.”

“Oh. Poor Mrs. Henry and all those children! I hope they are not neglected.”

A shadow passed over his face.

“My lord, this gossip is unforgivable. I will have you know that I am a Christian woman and will not join you in a critical examination of our fellow men.”

His mouth tilted up just the tiniest bit. “You are quite right, Miss Thorpe. I beg your pardon.”

The set ended, and they parted ways. Louisa did not see him again until the carriage ride home, during which Lady Halverton filled the compartment with her buzzing satisfaction at the party. She seemed as determined as Louisa to draw Halverton from his distress.

“What a grand evening,” Lady Halverton said. The breeze she created with her fan chilled the entire carriage. “I have never enjoyed myself better. So many friends. And the ballroom appeared unusually fine, though the refreshments lacked refinement. James, consider donating champagne next time.” He continued staring out the window. “I suspect my dressmaker is making my French designs for his other patrons. Did you notice Mrs. Blakely, Louisa?”

Lady Halverton required no reply, so Louisa listened to her trilling voice and watched Lord Halverton’s profile, wondering what sorrow deepened the line between his brows.

Something new and exciting would set him to rights. Such things always helped Louisa. Perhaps, with Lady Halverton’s help, she could cheer him.

Louisa suspected Lord Halverton required a confidant. Though audacious to think herself a friend of an earl, he’d been thoughtful and kind to her. He had not admonished her for keeping him in the rain, had included her at the card party, danced with her that night, had never belittled or shown himself ashamed of her. He was trustworthy and had not told Lady Halverton the truth of what Louisa had been doing with a fire in her room, nor had he pressed her to elucidate, despite clearly wanting an explanation. She did not like seeing sadness in a man so good and sincere.

If a new adventure did not set him to rights, she would speak with him about his troubles. That was the generous course to take, but the idea caused her fingers and toes to numb. She folded and unfolded the top of her glove, pulled it down her arm, then up again.

Should she ask him, what was the worst that could happen? He could refuse to speak, be offended by her presumption. She might learn something she did not wish to. Those circumstances she could endure with equanimity, knowing she did what she felt was right. A far more dangerous possibility remained.

Her heart, which was prone to misbehave, might open to him.

Across from her, Lord Halverton slumped against the side of the carriage, his brows pulled low over his eyes. His neckcloth, usually meticulously tied, lay floppy and uneven. He ran his hand over his face as he rested his forehead on the window.

She rubbed her burning nose, confused at the way his countenance pulled at her emotions. She could not bear his melancholy. Regardless of the outcome, she must do something to help her friend.