Chapter Two

Chapter Two

J ames Halverson read and reread the letters he’d received from Lord Tilney concerning the many road and waterway improvements coming for a vote that season. He arranged them according to topic and filed them away with annotated newspaper clippings. This marked his first year as Lord Halverson, and he would make his late father proud.

The clock chimed, reminding him he was meant to meet his mother for tea. In the drawing room, he settled himself on a settee and opened Cicero's De Republica . Fifteen minutes later, his mother had not yet appeared. He went to the desk and began composing ideas for his first parliamentary speech.

“Darling, it has been an age.” His mother kissed his cheek as she swept into the room, and he caught a whiff of soap and burnt feathers. The clock struck four. She was a full hour late. “I apologize for my delay, but it is quite an effort to tame this hair of mine, and at least I am not wearing that odious wig.”

From between her curls protruded a short, straight tuft of heavily powdered hair.

She waved at it. “It’ll grow soon enough.”

Stepping away from him, she revealed that her gown was askew. The robe secured to the stomacher so that one side hung longer than the other and it gaped at her shoulder. She smiled, gesturing behind her where a young lady stood, hands clasped, stare pinned to the floor.

“This is Miss Louisa Thorpe. She is to serve as my companion.”

The young lady blinked up at him once, seeming to shrink under his scrutiny, before refocusing on his shoes. She curtsied and muttered a greeting, her shoulders drooping and her arms limp. It was not the polished curtsy of a London belle, her clothes and manners revealing an unsophisticated rustic, probably the daughter of a low country gentleman. Another of his mother’s projects.

“Louisa. Do you play?” his mother asked the girl.

Miss Thorpe nodded as if speech were an impossibility and shuffled to the piano forte. She must only be sixteen or seventeen. What could his mother be thinking, taking in this child? Mother was far too tender-hearted and would someday be taken advantage of.

While Miss Thorpe played, if her faltering could be called playing, his mother took him by the wrist and led him to a pair of chairs across the room.

“I want you to befriend Miss Thorpe,” she said.

“Where did you find her?”

“She applied to be a lady’s maid, but I found her out.” She gestured to her hair.

“I hope she makes a better companion.”

“As do I. She has no mother, poor darling. She told me the most pathetic story. I may do her good.”

“I am sure she did, but she is your companion. I am far too busy to attend to her.”

“Tosh. I only want you to take her where you are already going. A walk in the garden. She can ride Daisy when you take out that beast of yours. I want her to feel like she is a member of our family. She’s melancholy, poor dear, and needs a distraction. And she is very charming.”

They both looked at Miss Thorpe as if to test the assertion. His mother shook her head, whether at the amateur playing or the girl’s morose expression, Halverson did not know.

“At least I believe she will be an amiable companion once she is not so devastated by the loss of her mother. Her father tried to arrange her marriage. Very distasteful.” His mother shuttered, drawing attention to the feather-like wisps of hair sticking from her head.

“Be on your guard, Mama. You do not want to meddle in their family affairs.”

“I think she was sent here by providence. She needs us.”

“It is a risk bringing a person into the house that you know nothing about.”

“Time will tell, but I have a very good feeling about her.” She turned her attention to the girl who resembled a lost kitten. “Louisa, come have your tea.”

The playing stopped mid-song and Miss Thorpe ambled over and collapsed in a chair. Like a starved street urchin, she filled her plate, ate, and filled it again. In horrified awe, he watched as she sucked preserves off her finger but missed a red smudge on her cheek.

“You are from Cornwall, my dear? Daughter of a squire?” Lady Halverson asked.

“Yes.” Miss Thorpe answered before she swallowed her food.

“What is it like?”

“Small. With ocean.” Her tongue darted out, seeking the jam on the side of her mouth.

James looked at his mother, who leaned toward him. “We have work to do, my son.”

His mother would polish this girl until she shone in priceless perfection. But he had more important things to do.

H ours later, his mother entered his study and seated herself across from his desk. “Miss Thorpe has just wakened from a nap and is in need of air.”

“Really, Mother. Who is the companion here? Isn’t she to see after your needs?”

“Take her riding. You’ve been in this gloomy study all day and need the exercise, else your heart will weaken, and you will die as your father did.”

He lifted his pen, and a drop of ink marred his notes. With care, he folded a piece of blotting paper and soaked the stain.

“I do apologize for distracting you into making a mess of your notes.” His mother’s apology edged with sarcasm. She probably wanted to dump ink all over his tidy papers.

“I have already taken Goliath out today.” His mother’s rescue held no interest for him. Miss Thorpe was but another stray, the likes of which Mother affectionately collected. The servants’ quarters were full of village children who’d lost one or both parents or were otherwise in dire circumstances and now worked at Lundbrook. But this girl was a gentlewoman.

“So serious. You need recreation.” She stood and began breezing around the room, opening the curtains and fluffing pillows. “Since your father died, you behave as if you’re mid-life instead of at the beginning. Go outside with Miss Thorpe. Both of you need the company of young people.”

The list in front of him had no order and led him no closer to finishing his speech. Ideas swirled and jumbled in his mind without cohesion. Perhaps a break was in order. His father would not approve of his staying indoors all day. If Miss Thorpe was as quiet as she was at tea, he could think over Lord Tilney’s letters and hopefully land on an idea for his debut address in the House of Lords.

“Very well. Tell her I will meet her in the stables.”

Fifteen minutes later he inhaled the comforting aroma of hay, leather, and horses, reminding him of the hours he’d spent with his father, who’d been an exceptional horseman. The late Lord Halverson’s tack hung against the wall as it always had. Halverson pulled it down and carried it toward Goliath in a fitting symbol of his taking his father’s seat.

“I can do that, my lord.” The groom tried to take the saddle from Halverson.

“Let me. You prepare Daisy. My mother’s companion is joining me.”

Daisy was an old nag and would not keep pace with Goliath, but Halverson felt no compunction to remain with the young lady, who just then entered the stable. She curtsied and greeted Halverson wearing an ill-fitting habit, but she seemed refreshed.

“It’s your mother’s.”

“I see. Jones,” he called out to the groom, “Miss Thorpe is ready to mount.”

Miss Thorpe’s eyes widened when Daisy was brought out. “She is tall.”

She was barely large enough to be called a horse.

When the groom handed Miss Thorpe into the saddle, she blanched and clung to Daisy’s mane, the riding crop across her lap. Daisy skittered from side to side, and Miss Thorpe’s fingers dug deeper into the hair.

“She doesn’t like your hands on her. Here, take the reins.” The girl had no idea what she was about. Mother tricked him, and he didn’t have the patience for it. “You do ride?”

“Yes.” She glanced at her skirt. “But I fell.” Her voice was determined though her hands balled around the reins. There was something endearingly fragile about her. He could see why his mother had taken to her.

With an inward sigh that bid farewell to his plan of taking Goliath for a brisk ride, he said, “I will lead Daisy around the yard. She’ll move no faster than I walk.” A few circles around the green and he would be back in his study in a quarter of an hour.

Miss Thorpe nodded, a spark of gratitude entering her terrified eyes. He took the bridle.

“How long ago was this fall?”

“Oh, years and years. I was perhaps eight?”

“I see.”

“Your mother says it is a necessary skill, but it has never been before. When one has a carriage—” She gazed into the distance, her jaw tightening beneath soft pink cheeks. Blonde curls rested against the nape of her neck.

“I am weary of being afraid.” She whispered so quietly that he understood only because he was staring at her lips. He looked away, and when his eyes found her again, she seemed different. Older and more capable, though her eyes were too wide, her mouth too straight, her body so tight that any release might cause her to fall apart. He was projecting his own feelings onto her, but her posture and expression echoed into the darkness of his own insecurity.

“Pick up the reins and the crop. Now, you must use your heel and the crop to urge the horse. Relax your grip.”

“Don’t let go.”

He wouldn’t until she was ready. “You are doing fine. Keep your shoulders back. Just so.” He told her how to guide the horse and within ten minutes, she relaxed enough to ride unassisted. “I shall let go now.”

She nodded and moved away at a snail’s pace.

He shouted across the yard. “The horse can sense your unease. Keep your…er…limbs tight on the pommel. Very good.” She leaned a little to the right and he put his hands in the air as if to straighten her, his pulse hitching. “Hold yourself straight.”

“Not so easy when my legs are all to one side.”

Legs? Limbs? The improper conversation seemed to distress Miss Thorpe not at all.

He continued shouting instructions as she took a wide circle around him. She pulled Daisy to a stop in front of him.

“Well done, Miss Thorpe.” He approached to help her onto the mounting block.

“Oh! I am not finished.Will you tell me how to move into a trot?” She smiled, but it wavered. Was she trying to prove something?

“I am not sure you are ready, but in theory, urge the horse on with your heel and the crop while loosening the reins. Remember to grip the pommel and hold your spine in line with her mane. Once she speeds up, keep your body in rhythm with the horse’s gait. If it begins to feel as if…”

She was smiling down at him, biting her full lower lip.

“You are mocking me.”

She widened her eyes. “Never! Your instruction is superb.” With a swift thrust of her heel, Daisy advanced into a trot.

“Wait! No, no… Do not lean…” But she was already gone, her laughter echoing like a faerie spell, both irresistible and dangerous. If she fell, he would be responsible. “Pull up!” Miss Thorpe’s crop came down on Daisy’s side with an enthusiasm that would have sent any other horse into a canter. Thank goodness Daisy’s age prevented that disaster. Miss Thorpe waivered to one side then overcorrected to the other. “Tighten your middle!” he shouted, knowing she could not hear. He held his breath until she came to a halt in front of him.

Too relieved to scold her, he helped her down. She hopped from the mounting block and skipped in a little circle. “I didn’t think I could ride again, but I did it.”

“You rode very well.”

“Yes, the irony. I am more capable with a horse than your mother’s hair.”

Surprised, he laughed, and she joined him. Her laughter was loud and unguarded, making him feel he did not have to hold back. Her manners left something to be desired, but he was grateful for her authenticity.

“I have never been so humiliated. Well, almost never.” She became serious.

“I’m sorry to hear you’ve had it worse.” He smiled, hoping she would laugh again, but her face became drawn.

“I must apologize for my behavior,” she said, looking directly into his face for the first time, blue eyes piercing his.

“No need, but if you kick another horse as hard as you kicked Daisy, it will bolt. Next time?—”

“Oh, I don’t mean that. I mean earlier, in the drawing room. It’s just, I was so tired and nearly starved from—well, never mind. But you must think me very ill-mannered.”

“Not at all.” Kindness prevented honesty, but her awkward confession did nothing to change his opinion of her conduct.

“I should find your mother,” she said.

“Of course. Same time tomorrow?” Why did he ask her that? He did not wish to ride with her.

“Thank you. I should like that.”