Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

“ W hat?” Daniel stepped back from the venomous blaze in Mary’s eyes. She lied to him . “You didn’t tell me?—”

“You are the man my brother meant for Louisa? You knew all along and chose not to tell me? You allowed me to fall…” Her voice broke, and she stepped away from him.

Daniel could barely heed her words. “You accuse me when you lied about your very identity? How could you not trust me enough to tell me who you are?” Daniel asked.

“That’s why you are upset? If you can think of nothing else, consider your family’s reaction to the news.”

“You lied. Multiple times, without remorse. I do not know who you are.” Her lack of confidence in him robbed him of the opportunity to be proud of her, to praise her achievement and express his awe over her gift. Most of all, he had trusted her, a sentiment of which he had not thought himself capable. Now, she twisted his actions and made him into the ogre.

“I never lied.”

“You did.”

“I parried the questions. You, however, held a secret that made a difference to me and to Louisa. This is about your castle, isn’t it? Just now you remained silent while your family defamed me, never considering you might speak in my defense because you are afraid of losing this heap of stone.”

She was right, and hearing it spoken aloud pulled the anger out of him like slipping a flag from its supporting pole. He did want the castle, but he wanted her, too. When noise and chaos surrounded him, coupled with the news of Mary’s betrayal, he did not know what to think or how to act.

“Mary,” he whispered, reaching for her.

“No.” She swiped his hand away.

He ground his teeth. She wouldn’t listen.

“You knew Louisa was coming,” she said, “and yet you continued our fa?ade of an engagement. Why? Because you feared they would find out about her scandal? Hedging your bets!”

“No. Listen. I have not been so false?—”

She held up her hand. “And no one will have my estate. It pains me that the treasured bit of land Louisa’s mother fought to preserve for her daughter should fall to your grasping parents.”

Daniel shuddered, but he breathed away the tightening in his chest. It was not his doing. He held no responsibility for that, but his ever-honest conscience whispered the reality. He would exchange Louisa’s estate—and Mary’s too—for his castle. Shame lit the back of his neck, and no rebuttal materialized.

Mary inhaled and crossed her arms over herself, but her voice rang with more assurance than ever. “This is what we will do. I am going upstairs to speak with Louisa. You shall have your young bride and this castle, and your parents can take Louisa’s cottage. I hate it, but it is our only choice, since my brother promised her to you. It is the proper thing to do. The only correct way to proceed.”

She was imperious, Proper Mary at her best, raising her voice in favor of decorum. He walked over to the steps and sat down, pressing his palms into his eyes. “There has to be another way.” However precious Mary was to him, he could not lose the castle. His parents must be convinced that Mary was the better choice. But she deceived him. Could he marry her after that?

“There was another way,” she said. “Honesty. Had you told us when we met that you and Louisa were intended for each other, we would have toasted the two of you tonight, and she would not have run away with Savage.” She fisted a handful of her skirt and whispered, “I blame you for that.”

“How can you speak of honesty? I didn’t tell you because I did not think it prudent to discuss a match that may not happen. I did not know if she knew of it or if she would accept it. She showed no fondness for me. What was I to assume?”

“There is nothing more to say. I have a deadline. The publisher awaits my second novel.” She lifted her chin and paused, as if waiting for recrimination.

He battled the thickness that gathered in his throat and the desire to beg her pardon. He couldn’t. Her lies reminded him that he could trust no one. The people he loved betrayed him, and the thought scraped him empty.

She looked down at him. “You have my blessing to marry Louisa. She will be saved from society’s censure, and you will retain your inheritance.” Her flat tone added weight to the growing pressure in his chest.

Daniel opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she disappeared around the bend in the stairs.

Perhaps she was right. A marriage with Louisa solved every problem. He would consign himself to a loveless marriage and keep the castle. Though foolhardy and immature, Louisa possessed many endearing qualities, and her goodness had never been in question. But she was no Lady Mary.

How could he settle for that when he knew what it was to love Mary? If the only option was Louisa, he would take her. Mary was right about it being the correct thing for him to do.

W ith trepidation, Louisa waited for her aunt. She both longed for and dreaded the interview. Most of all, she hoped for the courage to explain her situation. Aunt Mary’s opinion on the matter would determine how she moved forward.

For the past hour, Mrs. Eliot had been sitting at Aunt Mary’s writing desk reading what they presumed was her aunt’s latest novel. She laughed and recited bits aloud while Louisa’s stomach churned in sickening dread of what was to come. Over the past weeks, Louisa had become a lady’s companion with real responsibilities that mattered to her employer, Lady Halverson. Returned to the clutches of her family, who believed her silly and useless, the independence she achieved by gaining Lady Halverson’s trust vanished. She awaited the tribunal, her aunt a magistrate who could send her back to prison.

Aunt Mary entered, pink-cheeked, straight-backed, and taut.

“Have you turned Mr. Porter away?” Louisa asked.

“If you did, I will drag him back. I forbid you to keep this to yourself,” Mrs. Eliot said. “This is even better than the last.” She turned a page, and Aunt Mary sat on the bed next to Louisa. “But I must go to my room. It is just next to yours, should you need me.” She took the manuscript with her, grinning like a thief. “You don’t mind if I read this?”

Aunt Mary shook her head.

Louisa leaned into her aunt, eyes stinging at the affectionate arm that squeezed her shoulders. She did not deserve such care.

“I am sorry I neglected you for this past hour. I lost my senses when Mr. Porter appeared. How have you been? Tell me everything. Or everything you wish me to know about…” No one seemed to know what to call the elopement.

“My departure from Bath?”

“Precisely.”

No one knew everything, but Louisa would be as honest as she could with Aunt Mary. She would tell her how she had become a lady’s companion, but not that her employer, Lady Halverson, had a son. A handsome one. Besides, she was through with men.

“It was not long after leaving with…that man.” Saying his name nauseated her. She swallowed. “I discovered that he was not what I had thought. He insisted we share a room, so I locked him out of it, and he eventually went away.” She let out a breath. The hardest part was over.

Mary looked with sympathetic eyes and patted her knee. “Oh, my poor girl. But you are very clever. Well done. Are you hurt? Did he…?”

“He did not. But appearance of wrongdoing and the danger I was in…” Her voice caught, and she paused as both her aunt’s arms drew her close.

This was the validation Louisa needed to continue the story. She hoped Aunt Mary’s approbation carried through to the end.

“When I was left alone, I considered returning to my father, but I did not want him to see my disgrace. I am so humiliated. Try to understand—after that man departed, I was liberated, on my own with no one expecting a thing from me. I stayed a day and night with Nellie in the servants’ quarters and saw that, though they worked hard and were constantly at the whim of patrons and innkeeper, they had their freedoms.” Despite herself, Louisa’s nose stung and her eyes burned. She was going to cry.

“There, there, dear.” Aunt Mary produced a handkerchief.

“I longed to be a little girl, when no one cared what I did, when I had the day to myself and a mother tending me.”

“Yes. I forgot what it feels like to be your age…so many expectations. I did not make it easier for you. Widowhood comes with the advantage of liberty, to some extent.”

While observing the servants, Louisa decided to become a lady’s maid, having cared for her mother while she was ill. “But Lady Halverson found me out. Though I had some skills, she noticed I was not accustomed to service. She promoted me to lady’s companion. In another week, I would have written to you and Father. I was on the verge of doing so when Mrs. Eliot appeared.”

“How did she find you?”

“Mr. Porter is a distant relation of Lady Halverson. Their families lived nearby when they were children. Mrs. Eliot was bringing Mr. Porter here to find you, and when they stopped in Stroud, he suggested staying with the Halversons. It was all a great coincidence, and I am sure both Mrs. Eliot and I were near to fainting when we clapped eyes on one another.”

“A lady’s companion? Really!” Aunt Mary said, as if to herself.

“I was there only a week, but Lady Halverson appreciates me.” Louisa had both relished the employment and been embarrassed by it. A lady’s companion was a post for women without money or marriage prospects. Louisa did not fit into that category, yet she loved the position. For the first time since her mother had died, she felt useful. Lady Halverson sought her conversation and her presence when everyone else only wanted rid of her.

Aunt Mary took Louisa’s hand. “I paraded you around Bath, dragged you to this event and that soirée, never considering your feelings. I am sorry. Now, we must mend it. Your father knew what was best for you. He planned for you to marry Dan—Mr. Fletcher, and so you shall.”

Louisa sucked in a breath. “I do not want to. Please, don’t make me do it.”

“Behavior has consequences. This marriage will set you to rights. When you are married, your propriety will never be questioned. This is what your mother would want for you. She would not approve of you becoming a companion, which would be as good as announcing yourself a spinster.”

Louisa felt her chin begin to tremble. There would be no returning to Lady Halverson. The last thread of hope unraveled and left her unsteady. If she stood, she would puddle to the floor, empty and without resolve. She had fought so long for a shred of independence but could not argue against her aunt’s sensible conclusion. Marriage was the only thing that would save her.