Over the fortnight Theo had been in London, he daily canvassed the favorite haunts of the Haute Ton in the hopes of finding someone acquainted with Lady Hildegarde Hillsworth, if not Louisa herself. In the mornings, he strolled the most fashionable streets and squares; in the afternoons, he rode the bridle paths of Hyde Park and Vauxhall Gardens; and, in the evenings, thanks to Lt. Churchill’s family connections, he attended the private balls hosted by the mavens of high society.
Sadly, the only good to come of this industry and exertion was greater mastery over the steps of the less boisterous dances. He was now able to waltz nearly as well as many of the two-legged gentlemen at these soirees. He did not, however, enjoy himself the way he might have if he’d attended these functions for purely social reasons. Because his sole purpose in being there was to find Louisa before it was too late.
This morning—just now, in fact—he got his first lead. While strolling in Grosvenor Square, he chanced to meet a stylish couple out with their dogs. After striking up a conversation, he discreetly asked if they were acquainted with Lady Hillsworth. Not only did they know her, they informed him, they had dined several times at her townhouse in Mayfair. Telling them he wished to call upon her, he acquired the address.
After bidding them a good day, he hobbled back to his landau and gave the directions to his driver. Within a few minutes, the carriage stopped outside a limestone townhome with a white marble stoop.
Theo climbed out and went to the door. Through the sidelights, he could see down a narrow entry hall to a cantilevered staircase of the same white marble under his feet. He knocked, trusting the right thing to say would come to him if somebody answered.
Somebody did: A plump, rosy-faced woman in a white cap and tucker, who proved to be considerably more friendly and helpful than had been her counterpart at Midsomer Park.
“Madam is not in town at present,” she informed him with a sympathetic smile, “though I will gladly give her your calling card, if you wish to leave it, when next she returns.”
Crushed, Theo hobbled back to the landau and returned to his room. “Pack your things,” he told Churchill, who was reading with his boots on the table. “For we shall be leaving London within the hour.”
The Lieutenant looked up from his book. “Before I pack, may I know where we are going?”
“Back to Much Wenlock, for Louisa and her aunt are not here. My last hope is that she has written to me of her whereabouts while we have been away.”
Within an hour, they were on the road back to Shropshire—though at the laboriously slow pace required to spare the horses undue strain. Frustrated and discouraged, Theo gazed out the window at the passing landscape, praying for a miracle.
Fifteen fatiguing hours and several stops later, the landau drew up outside Greystone Hall. No sooner had Theo’s feet touched the ground than Winnie came flying out the front door.
“Did you find her?”
“No,” he said. “Did she write?”
“I wish I could tell you she had.”
His last hope shattered, Theo shook his head in anguish. There was nothing more he could do. Without some hint of Louisa’s whereabouts, he would never find her in time. He’d already wasted a fortnight on a wild goose chase in London, leaving him only another week before the final reading of the banns. And then, she would be lost to him forever.
Grief overwhelmed him the way the sea overwhelms a drowning man. Its weight was suffocating, its hold inescapable. As it dragged him down into the gloomy depths of heartache and despair, he knew a man did not recover from such a devotion to such a woman. Until now, he’d believed it impossible to hurt more than he had after Edwina jilted him, but this pain was much more severe. It was as if his heart had been cored and left to rot.
Winnie must have read his thoughts in his expression because she said, “Do not give up hope, brother.”
He licked his lips and looked at the ground. “How can I do otherwise under the circumstances?”
And that was when he realized his misery was of his own making. Had he not been so reluctant to trust her, they might have gotten away before her father found them out.
All these years, he had blamed Edwina for his doubts and insecurities. But the truth was, he’d invested his heart too quickly in the wrong woman—and dragged his feet when he finally met the right one. And now, damned fool that he was, he had lost her forever.
* * * *
Tonight, Aunt Hildegarde was taking her nieces to their first public ball in the Upper Assembly Rooms—and Louisa was excited. If Theo had by some miracle traced her as far as Bath (and she prayed to God he had), he might be at the ball tonight looking for her.
Behind where Louisa sat at her dressing table, Aunt Hildegarde was fussing at her and Georgie to be on their best behavior. It would be their first time in the Upper Assembly Rooms and she wanted her nieces to make the best possible impression.
Louisa welcomed the chance to dance. Since she was forbidden novels, letter-writing, solitary walks, and horseback riding, she had passed the last two weeks drinking tea, doing needlework, playing whist, and accompanying her aunt to the pump rooms. The nights, she spent dreaming of Theo and every glorious moment they’d shared before her father tore them apart.
At least that, they could not take away from her.
Meeting Louisa’s gaze in the looking glass, Aunt Hildegarde wagged a finger at her niece. “You especially must look and behave impeccably tonight. For you have done enough to embarrass Charles without making a spectacle of yourself in front of the cream of society.”
Trepidation tied a knot in Louisa’s stomach. The one good thing about being in Bath was that she’d not seen her cousin since arriving. “Do you mean to tell me Charles will be at the ball tonight?”
“Of course he will,” her aunt returned. “I expect him at any moment and, after the ball, he will remain here with us until the two of you depart on your honeymoon. After the wedding, he is taking you to Weymouth. Is that not generous of him?”
Louisa, too distressed to speak, forced a smile. If Theo did appear, would Charles make trouble? The thought was too upsetting to entertain, so she flung it away.
After the maid applied the crowning touch—a tiara adorned with cameos and pearls—Louisa rose from the chair and, in a swish of silk, turned about. “How do I look?”
The sound of a carriage stopping in the street out front drew all eyes to the window. Georgie hurried over, drew back the drapery, and looked out. “It is Cousin Charles in a barouche.”
“Come, ladies,” Aunt Hildegarde said as she herded her nieces toward the door. “We must not keep him waiting.”
Louisa was the last to descend the staircase. When Charles came into view, she stared at him in surprise. The last time she saw her cousin, he was gangly and pimple-faced. Now he was tall, well-knit, and clear-skinned. Moreover, with his wavy dark hair, striking hazel eyes, and square jaw, he had turned out much better than anticipated.
That he was vain about his good looks was evident in his evening attire. His collar was especially high, his neckcloth elaborately knotted, his cravat ruffled, his breeches almost indecently tight, and his waistcoat far too flashy for her taste.
He was, in short, the Pink of the Pink—and proud of it.
“Cousin Charles.” She dipped slightly. “How well you look. I daresay I would not have known you had we met again in a crowded ballroom.”
He offered her a dazzling smile along with his arm. “I, on the other hand, would have known you anywhere, my dearest cousin, for you were always the fairest of creatures…and have only become more so with the passage of years.”
The graciousness of his compliment lit a tiny flame of hope in her bosom. Had he changed as much on the inside as he had on the outside? What a blessing it would be if that were so, for she might well be stuck with him if Theo failed to appear.
No! She mustn’t think such thoughts. She mustn’t lose faith. Theo would come because she would die if he did not.
Reluctantly, she took Charles’s arm, whereupon he escorted her to the carriage ahead of the rest of their party. When they were out of earshot, he leaned in and whispered, “Are you looking forward to our honeymoon as much as I am?”
“I am indeed,” she lied, “for I have always wanted to see Weymouth.”
He laughed rather scathingly. “That is not what I meant, as you well know, you filthy little slut.”
“I know nothing of the sort,” she said, reviled by his vulgarity. “I will do what I must to give you an heir, but I shall neither look forward to my marital duties nor derive the least enjoyment from them.”
He laughed again, even more nastily. “If you think your repugnance will discourage me, you are grossly mistaken. For I intend to prevail upon you to satisfy my needs as often as I am able—and whether or not you enjoy my use of you will make no difference whatsoever.”
Biting back her retort, she climbed into the carriage, surprised to find Miss Nicholson inside. Georgie followed, claiming the seat beside her sister. Charles helped his mother up the steps before entering himself. Rather than take the empty seat, he turned a hard glare on Georgie.
“I’ll thank you to take the seat beside your aunt.”
With a begrudging harrumph, Georgie moved.
When Charles came down beside Louisa, he seized her gloved hand and squeezed until she cried out in pain. Then, he brought his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “That was but a taste of what is to come, my darling, if you dare to defy me once we are wed.”
Louisa was mortified. She had been right to fear being his wife. Clearly, he meant to be as cruel to her as Papa was to Mama, if not more so.
When their party entered the ballroom, the orchestra was playing Lady Nelson’s Waltz Cotillion, a cruel reminder that only exacerbated Louisa’s despair. After Charles headed off to the card room (to Louisa’s enormous relief), Aunt Hildegarde and Miss Nicholson led the way to the dance floor through the crush. She could see no faces; only fancy cravats and bulging cleavage and garish necklaces of all sorts.
After Charles headed off to the card room (good riddance), the four ladies squeezed into the teeming mass of well-dressed bodies as well as they could. With more care for her gown than the welfare of her companions, Aunt Hildegarde led the way with Miss Nicholson close at her side. Louisa and Georgie, linking arms to prevent being separated, did their best to keep up.
The room, to Louisa’s dismay, only grew more packed and stuffy as they pushed their way toward the center, making it impossible to see anyone’s face. Worry beset her. How would she ever find Theo in this crush—or he, her?
She had imagined things much differently, thinking they would find seats from where she could watch the dancers and search for Theo. This, however, was far from the case, and though by dogged persistence they reached the dance floor, their view remained unchanged. Waistcoats, bodices, necklaces, hairstyles, fans, and the faces of those of her height were all she could make out.
Moving on with continued exertion and industry, they eventually found themselves on a landing overlooking the ballroom. From here, Louisa could see all the company beneath her. She searched for her Captain among the horde, but still had not found him by the time the bell rang for tea. Instantly, they were swept up in the current as the company surged toward the dining room.
Louisa was discouraged, but not yet defeated. For she knew the tea service would expose her to many people she had not yet seen.
Just inside the dining room, Aunt Hildegarde stopped to scan the crowded tables for those of her acquaintance. Spotting someone worthy of her notice, she led the way to a large group of what looked to be mothers and daughters…or perhaps aunts and nieces, as in their case.
As introductions were made all around, Louisa realized that Miss Nicholson was no longer with them. Had she been caught up in the crowd? Since there was no dancing at present, it seemed the probable reason for her absence.
After joining the party of ladies, Louisa had a good look around. She did not see Theo—or Miss Nicholson, for that matter—anywhere in the room. Neither did she spy Charles—not that she mourned his absence in the least.
Miss Nicholson’s, however, concerned her. Might some mishap have befallen her? She might not like the woman, but that did not mean she would rejoice if she’d been trampled in the crush. Louisa rose from her chair and said to her aunt, “Miss Nicholson has not joined us, which concerns me, so I thought to go and look for her.”
The dowager shifted her gaze to Georgie. “You go, Georgianna…but do be quick about it or you will find your refreshments cold upon your return.”
Georgie went and Louisa swept into her chair in a swish of silk. After a few silent minutes of watching the door, she turned to the homely young woman beside her. “What brings you to Bath, Miss Walpole?—or do you reside here year-round?”
“I live in London,” the young lady replied. “Near Grosvenor Square. And I am here for the same reason as you and your sister…or so I presume.”
Louisa smirked. “To find a husband?”
“To be sure. For what else have we to do but marry well?”
“Very true,” Louisa agreed with distaste, “though I have not come to make a match, as I am already engaged.” She saw no need to mention that she was in fact betrothed to two different men about whom she felt very differently.
“Pray, is your intended anyone I might know?”
Louisa tried very hard to keep her countenance as she made her reply. “Are you at all acquainted with Lord Charles Hillsworth, the Earl of Glastonbury?”
The girl’s eyes brightened. “I am indeed…and, if I may say so, you have made an excellent catch. For he is to inherit his uncle’s estate as well as his late father’s, is he not?”
“His uncle is my father,” Louisa told her, “who has arranged our marriage against my objections.”
Confusion overtook Miss Walpole’s features. “But what is there to object to? For Lord Hillsworth is not only rich, but also handsome and charming—in a roguish kind of way, admittedly—but is that not the best way possible? For it is common knowledge that reformed rogues make the very best sort of husbands.”
“If such a belief indeed exists,” Louisa said curtly, “I have never heard of it. Nor do I agree with the notion that a bad man’s character can be improved through wedlock, especially when it is the husband, not the wife, who holds the whip hand in marriage.”
“You are right, of course…but I still should like to know how it feels to be seduced by a knave the likes of Mr. Willoughby in Sense and Sensibility. How charming he was—until he broke poor Marianne’s heart, of course. After that, I did not like him at all. What say you, Miss Bennet?—or have you not read the book of which I speak?”
This started a discussion of the book that lasted until Georgie returned from her hunt for Miss Nicholson. The bloodlessness of her sister’s face and the fact she’d come back alone made Louisa fear her sister had found Miss Nicholson broken and bleeding at the foot of the stairs.
As soon as Georgie reclaimed the seat beside her, Louisa, forgetting Miss Walpole, asked very hushedly, “What has happened, dearest, to make you so discomposed?”
“I will tell you later,” Georgie whispered hoarsely in reply. “Somewhere we cannot be overheard.”
When tea was over, the dancing resumed. As the hour grew late, the company began to disperse. Finally, Louisa had sufficient space to resume her search for Theo. Arm-in-arm with Georgie, she circled the ballroom, losing more hope with every new turn.
By the time Charles appeared to claim the last dance, Louisa had given up all hope of being rescued tonight. The final set was a waltz, which her cousin performed admirably—though not without his hands wandering to areas she would have preferred they did not.
On the ride home, he insisted upon sitting so close to her he wrinkled her new dress, which had miraculously survived the crowded ball unmolested. At one point, he kissed her cheek and then said, to Miss Nicholson of all people, “Have I not caught a pretty bride for myself?”
The secretary, who had reappeared after tea with no explanation for her absence, looked exceedingly put out. Louisa understood her reaction no better than she did the point of her cousin’s taunt.
When they arrived back at The Paragon, Louisa tried to exit with the other ladies, but Charles kept a tight hold on her wrist. Pulling her back down beside him, he waited until the others had gone inside before pushing her down on the seat. Bringing his mouth very close to hers, he said, “Kiss me, my dear cousin, or I shall chuck your mother and sisters out on the street the moment your father drops dead.”
Appalled and afraid, she turned her face away in refusal “I will grant you no such liberty, as I strongly suspect you have every intention of chucking them out whatever I do.”
Charles, angered by her rebuff, gripped her face between his fingers and forcefully pressed his lips against hers.
“Get off me,” she cried, beating her fists against him. “Get off me before I scream.”
He withdrew his lips, but kept his face very close. “You clicketed that low-life sailor, didn’t you? That’s right, I know all about your sordid affair, you cuckolding whore. I shall marry you anyway—because I am determined to have the whip hand over you—but know this: if you bear his bastard, I shall drown the brat in the horse trough and throw its carcass to my hounds.” He released a chilling laugh before adding, “It seems my dogs have developed a fondness for human flesh, having lately had a taste of your lover’s.”
His remark set Louisa’s heart and mind to racing. Charles made it sound as if he’d set his dogs on Theo—but, in her frantic state of mind, she could not work out how or where such an attack might have occurred. Rather than ask, she spit in her cousin’s face. “I hate you, you swine. I have always hated you. And I would rather marry a beggar with no more to his name than the rags on his back than a heartless monster like you!”
Charles clamped his hands around her throat and forced her head into the crack between the seat and window. “But it is not up to you, is it? It is up to me—and I care no more about your feelings than those of the animals I used to torture in front of you. In a week, you shall be mine to do with as I please—even share you with my friends. I have invited some of them to join us on our wedding night. Would you like to know what I have in mind?”
Having read Fanny Hill, she could guess well enough. “I have no wish to hear anything you have to say on any subject.”
The second he let her go, she bolted from the carriage and into the house. Heart hammering, she ran up the stairs as fast as her satin slippers permitted. Upon reaching the semi-safety of her bedchamber, she slammed and locked the door before dissolving into a puddle of silk and sorrow.
She could not, would not marry Charles whether Theo came for her or not. She just needed to come up with a plan that included where she might go and how she might survive. Perhaps she could find work as a seamstress, milliner, or plaiter of straw hats and bonnets—provided those who employed such people would overlook her lack of experience.
Georgie, already in her dressing gown, ran to where Louisa had collapsed on the carpet. Dropping to her knees, she wrapped her arms around her sister’s shoulders. “Dearest Lou-Lou, whatever is the matter? Why are you crying? What has happened to upset you so?”
“Ch-Ch-Charles,” was all Louisa could manage to get out between sobs.
Georgie held her tighter. “What did he say? What did he do?”
Much as Louisa wanted to bare her soul, she thought better of burdening her sister with the sordid details of the exchange. It would only upset her to know what Charles was like when there was naught she could do to help her. Nobody could help her now but Theo, wherever he might be.
Sniffing back her tears, Louisa said, “We quarreled in the carriage. About nothing of importance. And I am just behaving like an over-emotional bride-to-be.”
“You forget, sister, how well I know your disposition,” Georgie told her. “You rarely shed a tear over anything—let alone matters of no importance. But take heart, dearest Louisa, for your Captain will come. Of that, I have no doubt.”
“I only wish I could be as sure,” Louisa said with a sigh. “I had so hoped to see him at the ball tonight…which reminds me, what happened to unnerve you so while you were hunting for Miss Nicholson?”
Her sister inhaled deeply, as if to gather her courage, peaking Louisa’s curiosity all the more. “I found her…but not alone. She was with Charles, discussing their agreement to install her as his mistress after he marries you.”
Georgie covered her eyes and woefully cried, “Oh, Louisa, it was all so ghastly and so shocking, I knew not what to think—except that what they were discussing was wrong. So very, very wrong and wicked.”
So, Charles had been clicketing Miss Nicolson. And that explained why she so often sang his praises and gave him longing looks when she believed herself unobserved. It also accounted for his teasing in the carriage. Clearly, he exploited her attachment to cause her pain and amuse himself.
Just as he will do to me after we are married—if it comes to that. And how dearly I pray it will not!
Louisa drew a deep breath and blew it out. However hard she tried to evict from her mind the threats her cousin made in the carriage, she could not seem to block them out. Neither could she forget his odd aside about his dogs acquiring a taste for human flesh.
Now that she was in a better state of mind to reason out his remark, she could see only two ways Charles’s dogs could have bitten her Captain. The first was that Charles took his dogs to Greystone Hall to confront his rival; the second, that her cousin’s dogs bit Theo when he came looking for her at Midsomer Park.
And if Theo had been to Somerset, he must have gone there looking for her, which meant he might yet find her in time.