Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

The day of the supper party was approaching, and with Louisa having taken control of household matters, the house was improving. New curtains were hung, the carpets were cleaned, the silverware polished, the cobwebs removed. Nothing could be done about the threadbare tapestries, the creaking floorboards, or the damp, mouldy walls in the northern part of the house, but it was as good as it was going to get.

Robert had inspected the damage the moisture had done to the north wing, and concluded with disgust that the only thing to do was to tear the entire structure down and rebuild it, causing his steward to look at him in horror.

"Fear not, Biggs. That will not happen. But come up with a solution that will get the damp out of the house once and for all." Then he'd left to work with Lieutenants Miller and Carey on securing the parapet outside, which could easily be scaled.

The guest rooms were clean, warm, and habitable, even if they were not redecorated in the latest style. Louisa had consulted with Mrs Dalton and the cook on the menu, which would be as sumptuous as any served at the London ton parties. As far as she was concerned, this would be as glamorous as the supper parties as she was used to in London.

Robert had said to expect some elevated guests. She wondered who that might be, and why he was so secretive about them. Hosting elevated guests did not intimidate Louisa. She'd been helping her stepmother with hosting social events for years, entertaining some dignitaries who'd come to London for the Victory parade; foreign dignitaries as distinguished as Prince Metternich, the Chancellor of Austria, or Field Marshal Blücher.

They had not continued their previous conversation and layers of unspoken and unresolved issues accumulated, creating a palpable tension between them. Louisa had not yet forgiven him for his deception, and each silent moment seemed to widen the gap, leaving them more estranged than before. He treated her with cautious politeness, and she addressed him with the same haughtiness she reserved for her suitors. Yet, in rare moments of nostalgia, she yearned for the uncomplicated bantering they had shared back when they lived in their little hut. Sometimes, she almost wished she could go back there. Sometimes, she wished he really was a humble costermonger, and she a costermonger's wife.

Having finished her work for the day, Louisa took a walk into the village and called on Celeste at the vicarage. When she first had extended the invitation, Celeste had been excited about the prospect of returning to her former home, even if it was for a single night for a supper party. But now her enthusiasm had waned.

"I won't be able to attend after all," she told Louisa, averting her eyes.

"But you must!" Louisa insisted. "Even if just for my sake. There are not enough ladies attending, and I was looking forward to having you join us."

Celeste fiddled with her reticule. "I am ashamed to have to admit that I don't have anything suitable to wear for the occasion," she eventually whispered.

Of course, Louisa should have thought of that before. "Papa is having my trunks sent from London. I'll lend you one of my own dresses, Celeste. I have so many, I hardly know what to do with them all. And many of them are too small for me; they will suit you to perfection. Oh, do take them!"

Celeste's eyes had lit up at these words. Then she hesitated. "I couldn't possibly impose upon you like this," she began.

"Nonsense," Louisa said breezily. "Let there be no false pride, Celeste. We are not mere acquaintances; we have known each other since we were children. Let me do you this one favour and give you one of my dresses. It would be a pleasure if you could see this not as an act of charity, but a gesture of friendship. Besides, I couldn't possibly ask you not to come. The evening would be entirely dominated by men, with Sarah and I as the only ladies. This cannot be." She gave Celeste a quick hug. "It will be such a joy to have you."

Celeste's fate weighed heavily on her mind, and Louisa wondered what she could do to help the girl. Born the daughter of a baron, she was now living in genteel poverty because of her father's mismanagement and her brother's indifference.

Her thoughts turned gloomy when she thought of George.

George, with his terrible personality.

George, who'd been her first jilted suitor.

Louisa's steps slowed as she approached the bakery. Through the shop window, she saw Wilbur and his wife working inside. Even from this distance, she could see how in love they were. Mary gave him a tremulous smile as he stacked the fresh bread loaves on the shelves, and he tucked a stray hair out of her face. It was a simple but tender gesture. For one moment she considered stepping into the shop to speak to them. Her hand was already at the door handle, but at the last moment she turned away. There was still this painful ache inside her that prevented her from facing Wilbur.

Since she'd been ill, she'd avoided thinking about Will. She'd thrown herself into a whirlwind of household management and preparations to avoid thinking about the past. She understood now that she'd wanted to come back to Piddleton to find some kind of closure. She'd wanted to find Will, and by doing so, some sense of peace. She'd hoped to find some answers, to be able to move on with her life. That hadn't happened. All she'd managed to do so far was to stir up the murky mud of the past and to find more questions than there were answers. She had to find contentment in the thought that maybe she would never find those answers.

And she had to learn to live with guilt.

She stared at Brooks' bakery for a moment longer, then turned her steps back to where she'd come from. She'd told Mrs Dalton to order all the bread and pastries from Wilbur, of course. Brooks' bakery would do the business of the year with their upcoming supper party.

On her way back to Meryfell Hall, she passed by their deserted hut, looking as decrepit as they'd encountered it that first day they arrived at Piddleton. She looked at it with nostalgia. Had she really thought she'd find contentment in being a costermonger's wife? She'd found the challenge exciting. She'd been willing to learn; she would have liked to be her husband's helpmate in building up his business. She could have learned how to make baskets, weave cloth, and sell the products created by her own hands at the market. She'd enjoyed having a sense of purpose, maybe for the first time in her life. But it had turned out to be a mere fantasy. All those plans had disappeared in a puff, leaving her as disoriented as before.

Was she to be a mere wife now? That was the fate of all the women in her class, wasn't it?

Only she would be a soldier's wife, a major's wife.

If she was lucky, maybe one day there would be children.

Was that what she wanted?

With a sigh, she pushed the creaky door open and stepped into the hut. It had been cleared of all her belongings, but no one had found the loose board under the bed where she'd hidden the tin box with her childhood treasures. That was what she'd come for.

On her way back, she paused for a long time at the crossroads in the forest. Instead of returning to Meryfell Hall, she took the path that would lead her to the shore of the lake.

It was time to exorcise those last memories.