Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Things might have turned out differently if her father and Lord Milford hadn't concocted the harebrained scheme to betroth her to George. They must have been foxed; there was no other explanation.

The day her father and Lord Milford announced that an engagement between George and herself would unite their families remained vivid in her memory.

At first, she thought it was a joke.

"The idea has merit," her father had said. "We discussed it last evening over a glass of port and concluded that both our families would benefit enormously from such a union." He'd folded his arms and nodded to himself. "It was Milford who first thought of it. And the more I think about it, the more I like the idea."

Louisa laughed. "Papa, dear. You must be joking. We're far too young to get married. I'm not even sixteen!"

"No, it is a serious proposition. True, you're both young; but you and George are about the same age. The marriage itself wouldn't happen until much later, of course. You would make a splendid couple. The two of you together look spectacular. I like the idea."

"But I don't like the idea at all."

"You don't?" He blinked. "Come, give yourself time to at least think about it. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do, you know."

She rested her head against her father's arm. That she knew. As difficult as her father was sometimes with his explosive, irascible temper, she had to grant him he had never, in her entire life, forced her to do anything she did not want to do. No doubt that was one reason she'd grown up so over-indulged.

"I know, Papa. Which is why I don't have to think about it. I won't have George. He is a terrible person. Spoiled and entitled."

Her father pursed his lips. "One could say the same about you. You'd make a perfect match."

"Papa!"

"I said, think about it. That's all I want from you now."

She'd left it at that, secure knowing that nothing would ever come of it.

George had sneered and merely commented with the tasty analogy that an engagement between them would only happen on the day the worms were feasting on his carcass. Louisa quite agreed. Since neither of them were inclined to cooperate in the matter, she did not think that these plans would amount to anything.

Her father, she knew, would have abandoned the idea had it not been for Lord Milford. To Lord Milford their engagement was a given, for he had much to gain from it. He ran roughshod over any arguments and planned to organise a small engagement ball to which he invited the local gentry.

Louisa's mistake had been to tell Will about it.

They were sitting in their favourite spot by the lake. The water lapped gently against the shore, and a few ducks honked in the distance. She had told him about her father and Lord Milford's harebrained idea of marrying her to George. It was so ridiculous, she'd laughed it off.

Only Will hadn't found it funny at all. He'd jerked back in horror and grabbed her arms. "No, Louisa, no. Don't do it!" There was a stricken look in his hazel eyes. "It's madness!"

She'd done the wrong thing by trying to comfort him. "You're right, of course. I'm too young. We're too young! Nothing will come of it. It's just one of those ridiculous things our fathers dreamed up. It won't mean anything."

Only it did.

And Will knew it, too. He shook his head. "No, Lulu. Please. I won't allow it." It came out as a sob.

Despite her explanations that nothing in the world would ever induce her to marry George, nothing she said could convince him that the engagement might not actually proceed.

"You know I despise George. I'll never go through with it."

He clenched his hands into fists. "Then run away with me. Don't go to that ball. Milford will use the occasion to announce your engagement and then all will be lost. Run away with me."

She shook her head. "You always have the maddest ideas. We don't have to run away. I'll just talk to them. I'll talk to Papa. He'll listen. He never makes me do anything I don't want to do. I know he won't make me do this, either. Trust me, Will."

"You will find you have rather little to say in the matter. You're an heiress. Of course, Milford wants you. He won't let you out of his clutches." He clenched his fingers into fists. "If only … if only I could do something about it!"

They'd quarrelled over the matter. Louisa had been annoyed and exasperated over his stubbornness and lack of faith in her; he was peevish and irritated by her naivety and what he interpreted as a shocking lack of resistance. He was certain she would eventually cave in to their demands.

In the end, Louisa had thrown up her hands, called him more stubborn than a mule and more thick-headed than a stone wall and stormed off, not knowing that it would be the last time they were together at the lake.

The next time she saw him, Will was being dragged away by two strong footmen, a wild look of desperation in his eyes.

She was out at sea and the ship was being tossed about by the stormy waves.

Then she was in the desert on Glubbdubdrib, and it was hot.

"You're burning up. You must drink something," a voice said.

"Will," she moaned. She had to get up and find him. She had something important to tell him. But a firm hand kept pushing her down. She tried to escape the nettlesome hand that was always there, alternately brushing her wet hair away from her forehead, then stroking her cheek. Lifting her head and shoulders and pouring some liquid down her throat.

She coughed and gasped.

Will.

But it was the other one. What was his name again?

"Lord Frippery Fop," she whispered. The proud nonpareil who'd disguised himself as a costermonger out of pure vengefulness.

It was he who cradled her head and poured warm liquid down her throat.

She didn't want him. She wanted Will. She whimpered and thrashed.

Then the desert turned into an ice desert because it was cold, so very cold, and she couldn't stop shivering.

And then someone picked her up and carried her—why were there horses and a carriage at the North Pole? Or maybe she was on the boat again. A rocking boat with horses because there were hooves clattering. She wanted to ask, but not a word crossed her lips. It stopped, and someone was carrying her again.

"Sir, everything is ready, just as you ordered."

"Fetch a physician immediately."

"Yes, Major. Right away, sir."

There was a blasted major in their hut, and she wanted to ask Robert what he was doing there. But her lips were glued shut and she did not have the strength to utter the words .

Instead, she fell into a deep sleep filled with fever dreams, and Will's sweet, round, dimpled face swam before her, and he smiled.

But that day, he hadn't been smiling. His eyes had been filled with despair.

It was the evening of the ball. She'd stood up with George with much distaste, after Lord Milford had suggested they dance together. George had also pulled a face.

Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted outside in the corridor, drawing everyone's attention and interrupting the dance. The guests rushed outside to find Will struggling wildly with the footmen.

"We caught him trespassing and attempting to burgle the house, my lord," one footman said, while the other held out a knapsack stuffed with silverware.

Louisa watched in shock, struggling to understand what was happening. Was this another of Will's pranks? Had he climbed into her room, collecting the silverware as part of a jest?

Doubt flickered in her mind, and she hesitated.

Her fingers had gripped George's arm as they paused the country dance.

To any onlooker, they must have appeared like they were a couple.

"Will?" she'd whispered.

"I didn't trespass. I came to the party. Tell them you invited me, Lulu! Tell them!" Will pleaded .

But Louisa remained silent, transfixed by the silver spilling from the bag.

Lord Milford scowled at Will. "Take him away, we'll deal with him later," he commanded.

"Don't do it, Lulu! Don't do it! Promise you'll wait for me! Promise!" Will shouted, his words ringing in her ears long after he was gone.

As her father and Lord Milford turned to her, pelting her with questions about who that boy was and what her relationship to him was, she froze, overwhelmed by a nauseating sense of dread that if she'd only reacted differently, this could have been prevented.

It would be the last time she ever saw him.

She'd never known that he'd been thrown into prison and died in transportation.

Pain burned through her.

She should have run away with Will when he'd suggested it.

She should have listened to him.

She should have spoken up and defended him.

He might be still alive if she had.

For that had been the root of it all. That was where it had all gone wrong.

It was all her fault he had died.