Chapter 4

Chapter Four

I t was not that Louisa did not like Aunt Mary. Indeed, she loved her. And she understood what her aunt attempted to do, however misguided her intentions. But Louisa wanted her mother, the one person who understood her. Since Mother’s death, Louisa drifted and bounced, was flung aside and not merely in her own unsettled mind. Father did not know what to do with her. He was the flinger. If she wandered into his study, he cleared his throat repeatedly and glared at her like she was some vermin he must attack before it pounced on him. Her brother Charles knew how to disappear. And disappear he did, into the dark doorways of gaming hells and houses of ill repute only to reappear at home late in the morning to slink off to bed.

John too was flinging her aside. His unsteadiness convinced her that he felt unworthy, which was expected considering their different stations. Despite all of her encouragement, he did not know what to do with his adoration.

If Mother were alive, Father would never have even sought to arrange a marriage for her. She would know how to advise Louisa about John, and there would have been no question of going to Bath. Although, if Mr. Lawrence became overwrought with jealousy and came after her, she would be pleased. Even if he didn’t, the search for love was an unnecessary waste of time. Louisa had found love already, even if John’s humility kept him from admitting his affection.

Tears spilled over her lashes, obstructing the view of the passing countryside as the coach rolled ever farther from her one true love. Her one true love. Yes. That was he. She adored John Lawrence above everything in the world.

Yet, he refused to admit his love for her. When she had explained to him that her father would marry her off to some nameless stranger, John was nonplussed. Worse still, he was distracted. Instead of focusing on the problem and proposing straight away, as she’d expected, he shifted . Where before he inclined toward her, interested in her every word and look, when she told him she would be forced into marriage and hinted that he would make a better match for her, he averted his eyes and stepped back, focused on the sky, the trees, the ground, his fingernails.

“Ugh.” She put her hand over her mouth, not wanting to alert her aunt.

“Darling, are you all right? Am I crowding you?” Aunt Mary edged from Louisa, allowing more room on the narrow seat they shared.

Louisa sucked in a slow breath before responding, hoping emotion would not leak into her words. “I am very comfortable.” She kept herself turned toward the window. “The scenery is breathtaking.”

“If you’re hungry, we have plenty of food. I packed all sorts of things for you in the basket. Hand pies—both strawberry and lamb—cakes, biscuits, and cream filberts. Don’t hesitate, even if I am asleep.”

“Of course.” As if she could eat while galloping away from the bosom of her heart. Aunt Mary pushed food as a cure for everything. No sweetmeat could fix this.

The bulk of their travel was behind them. For two days they’d trekked from morning until dusk, seldom stopping except to change horses, refresh themselves, and eat. Likewise, they departed early this morning and had only three hours until they reached Bath. They would arrive before noon.

The journey wore on, with Aunt Mary sleeping and Louisa reciting her favorite passages from the letters John slipped her, always with a surreptitious wink. He’d lost courage of late and had sent nothing new, so the sweet words were written on paper softened with the passage of a full years’ worth of unfolding and refolding.

“Thou art as radiant and fresh as morning dew. If I was permitted to touch it, the softness of your cheek would rival any fresh-shaved lamb.” He possessed little poetic instinct, but she preferred sincerity. Unaffectedness and kindness were attributes lacking in the young gentlemen of her acquaintance, qualities with which John abounded. Without actually being a gentleman, he was what every young man should endeavor to be.

Louisa dabbed a handkerchief against wet cheeks and pressed her fingers over her throat. It felt swollen inside. Why shouldn’t she marry a tradesman? He had enough money—or would soon, if things went well. But his suitability mattered not at all. He abandoned her in the very hour she most depended on him. More than sorrow, more than a broken heart, more than the pain of separation, Louisa was furious at John and her father. These men little considered how their actions—or lack thereof—affected the females who surrounded them. Well, Louisa had had her fill. She would find a way to be the mistress of her own life. She was not as weak and spineless as her brother often told her she was.

Like words over a pulpit, the truth resounded in her brain. Louisa was an impotent bystander in her own life. Regardless of her wishes, everyone made decisions for her. Even Aunt Mary would try to control her, dress her up like some doll, drag her to dances, and force her to stand up with plain, respectable gentlemen. She looked forward to the new gowns but could do without the rest. Oh! That she was like Sophia. Two years ago, while she was away at school, her cousin had outwitted Louisa’s conniving father and gained everything she wanted—her land, her farm, and her true love. If Louisa could learn such bravery.

Even Aunt Mary, who wore her widow’s grey with earnest solemnity, was free to do anything she pleased.

Aunt Mary? Could she hear Louisa’s cries? She wept in earnest now, desperation mounting painfully in her chest.

Louisa bit her handkerchief, putting a stop to a rising moan. Aunt Mary did not stir, but the horses did. Louisa was pressed back against her seat as the carriage lurched forward, the speed increasing as it rattled onto cobblestone. They must be close, for the horses, familiar with the road, were eager to reach food and water. If only Louisa carried a whit of their excitement.

At the movement, Aunt Mary sat up, not looking at Louisa, who dabbed away any remaining tears. “Are we arrived? Look!” She pointed out the window at a cluster of buildings. “We haven’t long now. I must have slept.” She rubbed her eyes. “The rocking carriage is so soothing.”

Aunt Mary pointed out building after building. She had attended school just there, down that road. During their courtship, she and Lord Allen had walked down that lane. With her hand over her heart, Aunt Mary prattled about Lord Allen’s fine character. Inwardly, Louisa scoffed. She didn’t know what kind of gentleman took his new bride to the obscurities of Ireland and then died, leaving her alone to rebuild a neglected estate. Alas, this judgement was not entirely fair. Many widows were left in inferior circumstances. Some lived out their lives with their mothers-in-law, for example.

Louisa shuddered as the carriage pulled in front of a fine townhouse. Before she could exit, Aunt Mary put her hand on Louisa’s arm.

“Now, we are staying with Mrs. Eliot. She can be domineering, but you will get on famously if you simply do your best to listen to her and then do whatever you wish afterward.”

Smiling at the strategy, determined to apply it to other relationships, Louisa freed herself from the confines of the carriage and looked up and down the street. She’d never been to Bath and was astonished, not only at the grandness of the place but also at the crowded streets. People, carriages, horses, and sedan chairs, which Louisa had heard about but never seen, littered the street. The houses were so close they could not be distinguished one from another. In her emotional distress, Louisa didn’t know how she would bear the suffocation of it.

The door of the townhouse opened. “Mary! I am delighted you finally accepted the invitation to join me here in Bath.” The intimidating figure of Mrs. Eliot obstructed the door’s opening. “And to bring Miss Louisa. She will add a great deal of interest to the visit.”Mrs. Eliot paid no mind to the army of manservants who removed trunks from the carriage. They waited some moments for her to get out of the way before piling everything outside the door.

“We are pleased to be here. Let us go inside, away from the road.” Aunt Mary took her friend by the arm and led her into the house. Louisa trailed behind, noticing how deftly Aunt Mary had maneuvered Mrs. Eliot out of the way so the men could do their work. Her aunt was observant, yes, but not keen enough to understand Louisa.

Perhaps her expectations rose too high. Louisa hardly knew what she wanted herself. The thought of being in Bath had at first distressed because it would take her farther from Mr. Lawrence. But it also seemed the only thing to do, for how could she face him? Was it a mistake to leave him to forget about her or a grand idea that would force him to miss her?

Mrs. Eliot took her guests into the salon to partake of refreshments while their trunks were brought to their rooms. The airy and beautiful apartment made a pleasant contrast to the bustle of the outdoors and in opposition to her own home, where if one wanted peace and fresh air, one must find it in nature. The Thorpe manor, complete with scuffed floors, wood-paneled walls, and what felt like medieval furniture, stifled compared to Mrs. Eliot’s fashionable townhome. The blue ceiling floated above with sweeping puffs of painted clouds. Trimmed in elaborate gold molding, the walls were dressed in soft green brocade while a carpet in reds and pinks anchored the room. The colors, the swirling embellishments, and the tall windows echoed by mirrors on the opposite wall presented an ambience both effortless and sumptuous.

Louisa balanced on one foot and then another while Mrs. Eliot planned the day for them all. “There is so much you haven’t seen, Mary. Countless additions to this town, which I know you love as I do. We will go to the Pump Room directly after you’ve rested an hour. No one will be there this late in the day, but you must read the rules posted there…” And on and on schemed Mrs. Eliot until Louisa’s head ached in anticipation of a full day’s activity. She waited for her aunt to object, but that did not happen.

After Mrs. Eliot’s five-minute soliloquy, Aunt Mary said, “We shall see. Louisa is quite exhausted. The inn was not what one would hope for by way of comfort. Let us rest, and then we will decide how to spend the afternoon.” Mary nudged Louisa, who took the cue and expressed her fatigue.

Mrs. Eliot blinked at them. “Yes, of course. Let me show you to your rooms.”

Louisa found the same luxury in her chamber as in the rest of the house. She washed with the water provided in a China basin, was undressed by Nellie, Aunt Mary’s maid, and made her way to her bed where, after a few minutes of indulgent weeping, she fell deeply asleep.

“Darling, I hate to disturb you. You’ve slept only twenty minutes, but I’ve just convinced Agnes to write to her son. We must make our escape while she is occupied, and you will find so much delight here in Bath. It cannot wait.” Aunt Mary’s words were full of an enthusiasm that Louisa had never heard in her aunt. She agreed to be ready in an hour. At the door, Aunt Mary turned to Louisa. “Wear your walking dress and be sure to put something comfortable on your feet.”

Louisa made haste to prepare herself for going out, though she considered it the height of rudeness for Aunt Mary to have wakened her after a long, exhausting journey. Louisa schooled herself into the docile girl she had been created to be and dressed in less than half an hour.

They did not go directly to the Pump Room as Mrs. Eliot suggested. Indeed, Mrs. Eliot did not accompany them at all. In her contemplative mood, Louisa welcomed the near solitude, not wanting the company of a stranger who might force her into conversation.

They made their way to a shop-lined street where milliners, drapers, haberdasheries, bakers, grocers, and shoemakers assembled in an endless parade of merchandise. Despite her melancholy, Louisa found herself cooing over kid gloves, a plumed bergère hat, and a burgundy beaded reticule. Never having experienced such a plethora of options, Louisa’s heart forgot to ache and began beating with tranquility. Using the money her father had allowed her for the visit, she would outfit herself with new gowns and accessories. The excursion to Bath would not be a waste after all.

By the end of the afternoon, she and her aunt walked back to the townhouse, burdened with parcels and a calendar bookmarked with various fittings at the dressmaker’s. Aunt Mary stopped. The abrupt action caused the person behind them to bump into her. No damage was done, but Aunt Mary did not seem to notice the near disastrous collision. She stood before the window of a bookshop. Louisa followed her aunt’s gaze to the display, which featured a novel covered in deep pink canvas. Gold lettering announced its title: A Woman Who Loves . Louisa turned to her aunt to urge them on. The packages were cumbersome. However, a smile teased the corner of Aunt Mary’s mouth, and a certain brilliance shone in her face.

“We may go in, if you like. I’ll take your things so you might peruse the store,” Louisa offered.

Aunt Mary turned abruptly, her eyes shifting to the ground as she secured the packages in her arms with an air of efficiency. “Not at all. We must be on our way.”

Louisa must remember to purchase that book.