Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Over the next few days, neither Louisa nor Will broached the subject of their past. Perhaps they were both avoiding it because there were still too many unanswered questions and unaddressed hurts that could widen the chasm between them even further. They both trod around the subject carefully, in a mutual avoidance. It might have been simply because they were both too busy, and there was no proper occasion for a talk—Louisa had thrown herself into the preparations for their upcoming social event, while Will's attention was demanded by the estate.

"It is probably not surprising that the tenant farms are not in the best of conditions," he told her over breakfast one morning, a note of frustration lacing his voice. "They have been grossly neglected. Their housing situation is poor, and there is something missing or to be improved at every turn. The levies are too high, and if I'm not mistaken, the books are in disarray as well." He ran a hand through his hair in irritation, causing it to stick in all directions, which Louisa found charming.

Her own hand itched to do the same, to run it through his thick hair and pat down the recalcitrant curls.

"I do not know what the devil Milford was thinking when he allowed the place to fall into such disrepair. It doesn't help that I have little understanding of these matters myself. I am a soldier, not a farmer. If you asked me, I'd just tear the whole place down and rebuild it from scratch."

"If things are that bad, why not hire a new steward?" Louisa suggested, folding her hands tightly, lest she betrayed herself and reached out to pat his hair.

Will hadn't died! He was sitting across from her, a living, breathing human being, eating, talking, conversing. Her mind was still reeling, struggling to process it all.

How she yearned to touch him to ascertain that he truly was her childhood friend and first love. But her fingers remained cramped together on her lap. Instead, she politely conversed with him as if he were a guest or a stranger who'd called for tea.

"One can assume that all this mismanagement is because of someone's inefficiency," she said. "Yes, Milford is to blame. But don't stop there. I'd take a closer look at the steward who's been working here all this time."

Will gave her an appreciative look. "That is a sharp but accurate assessment. You may be right."

How excessively strange it was to talk to him in that manner about business matters as reasonable, level-headed adults .

Louisa didn't know what to make of him anymore. He was her friend. He was a stranger. He was one of her hundred hated suitors. He was her husband. He was Robert, the costermonger. Will, who was Major Sir Robert William Ashford. He was the boy she'd once loved so dearly. She believed he'd loved her dearly too once, but now she wasn't at all sure.

Could he still love her after all that had happened?

He'd only told her the rudiments of his story, a rough outline without any details. He had not described how he'd fared in prison. It must be a harrowing experience for anyone, but when one was but a boy, half a child, still … Louisa shuddered. She'd heard terrible stories about what they did to people there. And Will had sat in his cell, thinking the entire world had abandoned him.

Including herself.

She felt ill.

All this time, he must have thought she'd betrayed him. Not just that night, when she hadn't spoken up when she should have, but also much later, when she hadn't recognised him at the ball and made a mockery of him.

Had he forgiven her yet?

She couldn't say, and if he hadn't, she could hardly blame him. Back when he was still the costermonger Robert, there had been unguarded moments when she'd caught him staring at her with a strange expression on his face. Hard, assessing, judging. As if he were sizing her up.

He hadn't liked her at first; he'd been angry.

Oh yes, Will had always been adept at holding grudges. It was likely, then, that he had not forgiven her.

"Louisa?"

She snapped to attention. "I-I beg your pardon."

"Wool-gathering again?" His lips quirked up at the corners.

She blinked. "Did you ask me something?"

"Nothing of importance." He leaned back in his chair, flipping the fork between his fingers as he watched her closely.

Louisa sat rigidly, her back straight, her nose in the air, suddenly feeling self-conscious and strangely shy. She knew her shyness might appear as aloofness as she feigned indifference.

Once more, awkwardness hovered between them, along with a swarm of unexpressed emotions that she could neither understand nor articulate.

It was unbearable. Unbearable!

Abruptly, she pushed her chair back; it screaked loudly against the wooden floor, for the carpets were still being cleaned. She rose to walk towards the sideboard to get another helping of eggs and bacon—not that she was still hungry. For the life of her, she couldn't swallow another morsel; it would turn to dust in her mouth. But neither could she bear sitting across from him, making idle conversation as if they were strangers. As she passed him, in the blink of an eye, he grasped her wrist and pulled her towards him. She landed on his lap, his other hand securing her firmly by the waist.

She froze, surprised.

"There, isn't that better?" he murmured into her ear .

Her heart fluttered wildly, her mouth went dry, and her brain could not, for the life of her, come up with an appropriate response.

"And now, Louisa, tell me what is the matter."

"I, uh, nothing is the matter. I merely wanted to get another helping of eggs," she muttered, her hands clutching the lapels of his waistcoat, resolving that she would never, ever let go.

"You've already had two helpings."

"I want a third."

Heavens, how she loved that half-cocked smile; it lit up his eyes and coaxed from her a smile in return. Holding her breath, she stared at his lips, soft with tenderness, and entirely unaware of what she was doing. She pulled him closer towards her.

And kissed him.

Just then, the door swung open. The butler entered, froze at the sight, and quietly retreated, but neither of them noticed. After a wonderful eternity later, he brushed his lips against hers with featherlight tenderness, and murmured, "You were lying just now."

"Was I?" Her voice was thick with emotion.

"When you said that nothing is the matter." He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. "You forget I know you all too well. Tell me what's wrong."

"Will, I didn't know," she burst out suddenly, the words emerging from the deepest depths of her being.

There was a pause. Wasn't he going to say anything? Did he understand what she was talking about?

After an eternity, he finally spoke. "I confess I didn't always see it like this, but I understand now that you probably really didn't know. You were just a young girl back then. You wouldn't have known that they dragged me off to prison. I learned only later that your father had whisked you away from Meryfell Hall before either of us could blink."

She closed her eyes in relief. He understood.

"But back then, when they left me to rot in that damp cell, I was a frightened, bewildered boy who didn't know what was happening to him. Some loyal friend you were, I thought. All I knew was that I desperately waited for you to come, but you never did." His jaw was grim. "I confess I felt rather betrayed. I thought you'd gone ahead and married George and forgotten me. That was the darkest moment of my life, Louisa, and I struggled hard not to hate you then."

"Oh, heavens!" She looked like she was about to burst into tears. "If only I had known! I would have come. I would have defended you, given you an alibi, helped you prove your innocence. And if all things had failed, I would have helped you escape from prison single-handedly. I would have done it, too! We would have run away together and, and?—"

"I know, Louisa. I know." He took her clenched fists in his hands and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. Then he let out a short laugh. "Oh, what I wouldn't give to have seen you break me out of prison. The guards wouldn't have known what hit them. If there was anyone who could have accomplished this, it would've been you."

"It's not funny. I shall never forgive myself that it went that far. That night, Papa had a vehement row with Lord Milford. It was so bad that their friendship broke forever. We returned to London the next day. We never went back to Meryfell Hall. Papa was so angry that he never mentioned Lord Milford's name again, and he wouldn't talk about what had happened, not a word. He wouldn't let me mention it. He wouldn't let me mention you. I wrote and wrote, and you never wrote back. I wrote to Reverend Graham, but he never wrote back either. No one would tell me a thing. You'd simply disappeared. Father would only tell me to forget you. I waited and waited. And then …" Her shoulders slumped. "One day I just gave up. I thought Papa was right, and the best thing was to move on with my life. What else was I supposed to do?"

"You did nothing wrong, Louisa. You had to do what you did to get on with your life. As did I. I had to focus on survival, so I put you out of my mind. For a while, that worked. I blocked you out, willed myself to forget. It hurt less that way." He rested his chin on her head, lost in thought.

"But you know, when hell raged around me at its worst, threatening to swallow me completely, it was those memories of you that saved me. Short, clear, colourful flashes of you, here, by the lake. Your clear laugh, with that adorable catch in your voice. You swimming across the lake and how the water made your hair darker and stick to the sides of your face."

He tugged on a curl of her hair. "How you'd sit there, bent over your book, reading. The way your nose crinkled when you laughed." He reached out to touch the tip of her nose. "I haven't forgotten. Not a single memory. And in the end, it was those memories that kept me sane. "

"I never forgot you either," she whispered. "Never. Not for one moment. You told me to wait for you. You said you would come. You made me promise." It had been his last words before the footmen had dragged him through the door. "So, I waited. I waited and waited." Then her voice broke into a wail. "I waited so long, Will! But you never came."

"Instead, all these other men came," she continued to babble into his chest. "And I didn't want any of them because they didn't want me. They wanted my fortune. And after a while," she heaved a deep sigh, "I simply gave up hope. And then, when you finally came in all your glory, I didn't recognise you, because I'd firmly cut you out of my mind and heart. At least I tried to do so. It was the only way for me to go on. But you stubbornly refused to leave."

He tightened his hold on her and pressed a kiss on top of her head.

"Will?"

"Hm?"

Her finger traced up and down the lapel of his waistcoat. "I still have so many questions. I think that there's still so much you haven't told me. And I want to know."

He was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Very well." He paused again, collecting his thoughts. "The Peninsula—do you really want me to expound on the gory details?"

"Yes. I want to know everything." She leaned her head against his chest, listening to the steady tum-tum-tum of his heartbeat.

He sighed and began. At first his voice was halting, then as the memories surfaced, his narrative grew more fluid. He described what he'd experienced during the wars, and how he had survived.

As Louisa listened, tears filled her eyes. No newspaper story could ever convey the vividness of his account. The suffering, the horrors, but also the camaraderie between the soldiers, their unwavering loyalty, the daily acts of heroism that were never rewarded by any medals. It left her profoundly moved.

"We had no newspapers there, so we had to rely on word of mouth as to what was happening in the world and back at home. Eventually they reached us, the stories from the London ballrooms … on the battlefields of Talavera and Salamanca, even in the hell of Badajoz. The stories circulated among all the soldiers; they were passed on as we marched. You wouldn't believe how thirsty we were for them, how eagerly we listened: stories about an infinitely beautiful but merciless maiden who turned down suitor after suitor after suitor. We dubbed her La Belle Dame Sans Merci . The Ice Damsel. You can't imagine how these stories inspired us, how they spurred us on, how they gave us hope, something to look forward to in the greatest chaos. ‘Let us survive so we can return to London to woo La Belle Dame '—that became our rallying cry. We were collectively obsessed with you. When your name was finally mentioned, I was so startled I tripped over my own feet and fell into a ditch, nearly impaling myself on my bayonet." He chuckled at the memory, but Louisa could only groan.

"I was delighted at first. So you never married that cur George after all. You were holding off all the other fortune hunting nincompoops with fortitude. Clever Lulu. I was proud of you. Then I was terrified. All the countless men who flattered and worshipped you. All the men who came up to scratch. The names grew grander with every Season. The list simply wouldn't end. Earls, dukes, even princes. I couldn't keep up with them. Surely one day you'd cave and accept one of their suits? You'd be mad not to. Then, as time passed, the stories grew less amusing and progressively worse. Good heavens, Louisa! I could hardly believe it was you they were talking about. Surely you hadn't turned into that insufferably proud, superficial, and cynical creature? Surely you hadn't said and done all those cruel things? Toying with men as if they were disposable playthings? Surely not my Lulu?" He looked at her searchingly.

She hid her face in her hands.

"I no longer knew what to believe," Will continued relentlessly. "Then an officer returned from his leave and brought with him firsthand news. It was all true. He'd danced with the Incomparable and, not surprisingly, been cruelly rejected. It was as if it was all a jest, a cruel game, and the men thought it a great lark. But I grew uneasy and wondered?—"

"What?"

"I started to wonder …" He fell silent, lost in thought. After a while, he continued, "People change. Just look at me. Why wouldn't you have changed, too? What if that was what you'd really become? What if that was what life had made of you?"

Louisa chewed on her lower lip.

"We returned to London for the Great Victory Parade. I was eager for you to see me in my resplendent glory, even if from afar, even if you didn't yet know who I was. How I'd been working towards this moment. I wanted you and your father to see that the wretched fry that I used to be had become someone with a name. Someone worthy of you. Someone to be proud of." A wry smile touched his lips, as if aware of his folly. "So, I piled all my medals on my chest and rode at the head of the parade."

She had watched the parade from the balcony of her father's townhouse. One of the many officers riding in the parade would have been him. "It's likely I saw you, but?—"

"You don't remember. Ahh, how cutting to my pride!" He placed a hand over his heart with a groan. "The day after the parade, I was determined to see you for myself. At a grand ball given by the Duke of Asterley."

Louisa remembered the event only too well. It had been a disaster.

"Poor Will. You survived all those terrible wars and came back a hero, only to discover, to your great shock, that those stories about me were true after all." Louisa's eyes glimmered with a quiet, aching sadness. "Not only did La Belle Dame Sans Merci fail to recognise you when you finally appeared in front of her, but she also made a public laughingstock out of you most cruelly. You must have been shocked and furious."

He looked down at her thoughtfully. "I was a fool. I should have expected something like this. But what saddened me was your transformation of character. I was surprised that I hardly recognised you, either."

Suddenly, Louisa felt endlessly tired. "We've both grown up, I suppose. You've been through the wars and seen the worst of horrors and suffering. How could that leave anyone untouched? While I … I've frittered away my time flirting in the ballrooms, bored by the attentions of fawning men. You're right. I'd turned into a superficial, cynical creature. We have both changed, Will. Neither of us is the innocent child we once were."

She made a movement to get off his lap, but he increased his hold on her, not yet ready to let her go.

"And after all that, you hatched that diabolical plan to get your revenge. You disguised yourself as a costermonger. Why did you choose the name Robert, however?"

"It's my name. Robert William Cole Jones. My ma always called me Will, though, which is why I preferred that when I was younger."

Another thing she hadn't known about him.

"So you've achieved your goal. You've had your laugh. And here we are," Louisa said, bringing their conversation full circle.

He did not contradict her. "And here we are."

A heaviness settled upon her.

Was this the answer she'd been seeking?

Revenge. That was all it had been, it seemed.

A great lark by an ambitious soldier whose pride forbade him to lose. With Will, at least she knew her inheritance had never mattered; he was never one to care about material things .

But what if it had been about pride and honour, about proving a point to his men after losing face?

She was but a grand trophy, the ultimate prize.

"But of course, what else could you be?" Will said flippantly. She jumped. Had she just voiced her thoughts out loud?

It appeared she had, for he continued. "Haven't you understood yet? You are a soldier's most coveted trophy, Louisa. The only reason I married you was that I could put you into a vitrine next to my other medals of honour. I polish them every day so I can bask in their shine of glory and triumph. I stand before them daily, preening, patting my own shoulders, congratulating myself on how cleverly I outmanoeuvre all your other three hundred or so suitors." He was, of course, teasing her.

"They were merely ninety-nine!" Louisa said with outrage, hitting his arm.

"Bad enough." He tugged at a curl.

Louisa pouted.

He chuckled. "In one thing you haven't changed at all, my love."

"Oh. And what would that be?" Her tone was icy, her demeanour haughty. She'd turned into the Ice Damsel once more.

"You overthink, running through the labyrinth of your mind until you hit a dead end, letting your thoughts drag you down. And then you shoulder the blame for everything and the entire world. And you can't lie for the life of you." He tipped his lips up in a smile. "That was three things now, wasn't it?"

She scowled .

"Look at me, Louisa Highworth," he commanded.

She stubbornly looked away. "I'd rather not. In fact, it is time for me to get off your lap. It's growing rather cold and uncomfortable." She squirmed, but his hands tightened about her waist.

"You are such an adorable goose," he murmured, turning her chin toward him with one finger and kissing her again.

Her resistance crumbled. She melted against him, and then, somehow, her heart grew lighter.

She was a goose indeed.

How could she have ever doubted him? This feeling of belonging, of being safe and cherished, was all she ever craved.

Later, after Will had left to meet the steward to discuss further estate matters, she'd remained sitting in the dining room on her own, with a silly smile on her face.

"Lady Ashford, ma'am." A voice penetrated her thoughts. "Would we be using the plain linen serviettes, or the diamond patterned damask?" Mrs Dalton lifted one of each for her perusal.

She shook herself. Louisa Highworth, gather your wits. There was much work to do to prepare for the supper party. This was no time for wool-gathering.

"The one with the diamond pattern, if you please. We also need to start the flower arrangements. If you could have the flowers brought in now, I would like to do that myself."

"Yes, ma'am. If I may say so, this will be the most lavish supper party this house has ever seen."

"I do hope so, Mrs Dalton."

Several days earlier, trunks and boxes had arrived from London. It contained her wardrobe, all her dresses, ballgowns, shawls and slippers and boots, petticoats and bonnets, gloves and stockings, coats, spencers, pelisses, and redingotes; in short, everything she'd left in London. Another trunk contained the finest of linen and tablecloths, and a third with silverware. Then there were boxes full of ribbons, laces, fans, furs, and jewellery. This was her trousseau, her stepmother Sarah explained in a letter, everything a newly married woman needed, and more. But they would discuss all this when they arrived, for Sarah was to accompany her father to their supper party.

"I must say, I was never so relieved when I realised your husband's true identity, Louisa. I would've had such sleepless nights, imagining you in the rookery! Cruel wretches, both of them, to play such a trick on us! But how glad I am that you have made such a favourable match after all, my dear, to the hero of Vitoria no less …" Sarah had written.

Celeste arrived from the vicarage later that day.

Louisa had told Celeste that Robert was a knighted officer, but not that he was Will. Will hadn't wanted her to tell anyone about his identity just yet, because he wanted to do that himself. Therefore, she had left out that piece of information. Celeste hadn't been surprised in the least. She'd known by the time of the accident with the carriages on the road that Robert must have been an officer in the military.

Louisa made her try on all her dresses, and they settled on a high-waisted dress of cornflower blue silk, which emphasised the colour of her eyes.

"It's perfect," Louisa proclaimed. "You'll turn the heads of the lieutenants who will join us tonight."

Celeste blushed.

A short time later, a carriage drove up the house, revealing it to be Louisa's parents. Her father's loud voice boomed in the hallway.

Louisa hurried down the stairs with mixed feelings.

"Papa." It sounded reproachful.

"There she is." Her father took off his hat and handed it to the butler. "Come and give me a hug, daughter."

"I'm very cross with you, Papa," she said with a wobbly voice and walked into his arms.

"Come, now, did you really think I'd marry my precious girl off to a horrible costermonger?" He patted her back awkwardly. "You know me better than that."

She had a lump of tears in her throat.

"It was a naughty trick we played on you, daughter, granted. But he was rather insistent, that Sir Robert. He'd overheard me ranting at the club, for I admit I was rather furious then, after that trick you pulled at Almack's and how you'd said you'd marry the first man who'd cross your path. He took me aside and told me not to shout it to the entire world, for then our house would surely be overrun with suitors from the lowest gutter. By Jove, he was right. He proposed a plan to me, a plan I liked. It was daring, yes. But also cheeky. He'd already asked for my permission to pay you his addresses, and I'd given it, and a mull you made of it, you did! Yet I confess of the entire lot of grovelling swells, he'd always been my favourite. A well-decorated major, a knight to boot, with his own inheritance waiting for him, so he had no need of yours; young, handsome, reliable, and brave. He was the son-in-law I wanted. I therefore went along with his plan on the condition that you had to choose him."

He rubbed his hands. "And you did. Things went well, indeed. Like clockwork. Look at you now! I see you are well and healthy. Though why the deuce I am back here in this house, where I swore never to set my foot again, eludes me. Where is he? Our hero of Vitoria?"

Louisa did not know. He'd gone out with his steward to inspect the estate and would no doubt return soon. She greeted Sarah, who drew her into her arms.

"Are you happy, Louisa?" She studied her face carefully while adjusting the shawl on her shoulders.

"Yes. I am," Louisa replied with a gentle smile.

"I believe you are indeed. You radiate a contentment that is entirely new to you. I am glad." Sarah smiled back. Then her gaze swept around the room. "How strange to be back here. The house certainly saw better days when Lord Milford was still alive."

"The house still needs much renovation," Louisa said. "Lord Milford's daughter is here and will join us for the supper," she added as they turned to greet Celeste, who shyly stepped down the stairs. She had been a young girl the last time they'd seen her.

"It's going to be a splendid evening," her father said, rubbing his hands. "I look forward to meeting the other guests."

Louisa wondered for the hundredth time who else might be coming.

Then, as the door opened, Louisa's heart jumped, and she turned with a smile.

Will had returned.