Page 49 of The Gentlewoman Companion

Chapter Eleven

Ahollow knocking echoed through the forest. Louisa squinted into the trees, hoping to catch sight of a woodpecker. She sensed Lord Halverton had no further inclinations to discuss his father’s character and hoped pointing out the creature might bring their conversation to happier topics.

Suddenly, he spoke. “Miss Thorpe, I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your listening ear today. More than that, I must express how I value your judgement and understanding. You’ve explained the nuances of smuggling to me, the practicalities surrounding the Foundling Hospital—which is more urgent than ever, considering those orphaned children may be related to me⁠—”

She put up her hand to stop his wandering monologue. “Flattery will never do, my lord.”

“It is not flattery,” he insisted. “Miss Thorpe, I…if I may be so bold as to address you informally, I would call you Louisa.” His lips formed her name slowly, as though he were tasting the word, his baritone vibrating in her chest. “And you must call me James.”

What had prompted this intimacy? It was exactly what she had sought to avoid. But hadn’t she, by offering to be his confidant, opened the door for familiarity? How to close it? “You are an earl, and I am an employed member of your household. I will call you Lord Halverton. Except perhaps at the next ball, just to start tongues wagging.” She tried to smile at her joke.

“It is only fair that you refer to me as James.”

“Since when is anything fair?”

“Very true.” He sighed, and it was so deep and mournful that Louisa’s heart dipped.

He offered his arm before leading her along the path, his silence accentuating the rhythm of their steps and chattering birds. They walked until reaching a path leading up a to knoll. Wildflowers hedged the way in red, gold, and purple. Idyllwild.

“Loui—Miss Thorpe. You are a bright spot in this blotted world,” he said.

Her chest tightened. “How very dramatic. I did not know you were prone to hyperbole.” She laughed to hide her discomfort. The arm that linked through his prickled. She slipped herself free and stepped away.

“I merely want you to understand your capabilities. Your friendship and generosity mean a great deal to me,” he said, peering at her with golden eyes.

She wiped sweaty palms on her skirt, her heart shuddering at his words. Where was this admiration leading? To something more than admiration? “I do not deserve such praise.”

“You are fresh and untainted, compassionate and understanding, while many are self-serving and deceitful.”

Untainted. Of course he would use the one word she felt her Great Misjudgment had taken from her. “You do not know me.”

“I want to know you. You have become…important to me.”

Her breath came, shallow and rapid. She spun, facing him. “We must return to the house. Lady Waxpole is surely gone by now.”

“I do not believe you see yourself clearly.”

“Ha.” She brushed past him, taking long strides down the hill. His steps resonated alongside her own. Too close. She wished she could raise her skirts and disappear into them. “You are mistaken. I know both my virtues and my mistakes perfectly well.”

“Tell me, why do you withdraw from my friendship?” He ran his hand over his face. “I feel something is bothering you, and I want to give you the same courtesy you’ve given me.” His gentle voice scratched against her bruised heart.

“You want me to explain my foolishness? To tell you how capable I am of error? To confess my mistakes and how they claw at my insides and darken the cloudiest night?”

“If you refer to fleeing your father, know that I agree with my mother. It is an action of which I would not generally approve, but in your case, I believe you acted quite fearlessly.”

She clapped her hands over her ears. “I am far worse than a disobedient daughter and merit no praise. I must hurry. Your mother will want those hydrangeas.” Gathering her skirt, she strode away.

“Louisa? Er, Miss Thorpe?” He was behind her.

“Please, don’t follow.” Her voice cracked. She no longer heard his footsteps. After several minutes, she gave way to the sob, crying out from somewhere so deep it jolted her frame.

How could she have said so much? Would he guess? Would she lose her position?

But she’d had to dissuade him somehow; she could not have endured his praise any longer. His words had struck the injuries she kept locked away, revealing the depths to which she misrepresented herself. She was not the person her employers believed her to be. Not heroic in the act of defying her father, not brave or intelligent or strong. She had been, and still was, desperate. Desperate to hold her mistake so tight that it could never shake loose.

Oh, but it was heavy! She was a bird with no perch, constantly pumping her wings as the burden she lifted grew heavier and more demanding.

Aweek later, Louisa still could not meet Lord Halverton’s golden gaze, though his scrutiny scorched her cheek. He sat near the window while she smiled and greeted Lady Halverton’s guests. “How lovely to see you Mrs. Trelawney, Miss Trelawney, Mr. Trelawney” and “Please help yourself to refreshments” and “How did you enjoy ‘The Wife of Bath’s Tale’?’” Her Cornish accent had mostly faded, or so Lady Halverton assured her.