What passed between himself and Miss Bennet had changed things for Theo. By taking his darkest secret in stride, she’d proved herself to be the kind of compassionate person who might be able to love him, warts and all. He could not, therefore, allow her to marry her cousin, even if he must fall on his sword to prevent it. At the same time, the fear of committing himself was still there, whispering in his ear.
If you elope, your chances of being treated like a gentleman will be forever destroyed. People will assume that, through seduction and treachery, you persuaded the lady to marry you in order to elevate your social position. And, let us face facts; such rumors would not be far from the truth.
Was the tiny voice in his head correct? Did some part of him hope to elevate his social status by marrying the daughter of a Baronet? He searched his heart, which answered:
Your wish to help Miss Bennet is sincere, and your reluctance to commit perfectly natural. You hardly know the lady, after all, and cannot be sure her interest in you is motivated by more than a fervent desire to escape an objectionable marriage.
These and similar thoughts plagued Theo for the whole of the night as he tossed and turned in his bed. As dawn approached, he came up with a promising idea. Though the plan had its drawbacks, it would allow them to become better acquainted before he committed himself permanently. Come morning, he would share the scheme with Miss Bennet, who would undoubtedly be pleased.
Eventually, he drifted off, but was awakened shortly thereafter by the noise of an approaching carriage. Rubbing his eyes, he reached for the pendant watch he kept on the bedside table. There was just enough light to see it was too early for anyone to be calling without pressing cause.
Alarm brought him fully awake. Who the devil could it be?—and with what bad news? His overtaxed brain could contrive no answers. Then, it came to him with a gust of relief. It was only Lt. Churchill returning from Portsmouth after a long night on the road.
Theo sat up and dragged a hand down his whiskered face. Badly as he needed a shave, he could not bring himself to disturb his valet so early. Besides, if it was only Churchill, as it must be, his appearance would make no difference. He could not, however, go down without his false leg.
Scooting to the edge of the bed, he lit a candle and reached for his prosthesis. Once it was in place, he tottered to the window overlooking the drive. Morning light rushed in when he threw open the draperies. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the brightness. Then, he saw. The carriage pulling up out front was not his landau. It was a chaise drawn by four black horses—a portent of doom if ever he saw one.
He watched with rising trepidation as the carriage drew to a halt. The driver climbed down and opened the door, from which emerged a young woman in a straw bonnet. He could not see her face, but he knew at once who she was.
When the bell sounded, Theo stepped back from the window. Limping to the armoire, he took out a shirt, waistcoat, and trousers. While he hurriedly dressed, he heard footsteps on the stairs. Curse his bad luck! The young lady had come to take Miss Bennet home before he’d had a chance to speak to her about his plan.
Heart beating hard and fast, he put on his coat and hobbled down the hall. Disappointment threatened to gut him when he saw both the Misses Bennets preparing to descent the staircase. His Miss Bennet was leaning on her crutch, looking about her as if in search of someone.
But whom does she seek?—Winnie or myself?
He got his answer when she spotted him on the overlook. Her eyes visibly brightened and her lips curved into a smile. “There is Captain Raynalds.” She pointed him out to her sister. “Will you excuse me a moment while I say my farewells?”
Miss Louisa Bennet started toward him. His heart beat faster with every awkward hop that brought her closer. When she was near enough to hear him, he said, “Are you leaving us already, Miss Bennet?”
“I fear I must.” Her cheeks were flushed and there were tears in her eyes, which pleased him more than it should have. Clearly, she was as unhappy about going as he was to see her go.
“Have you said good-bye to my sister yet?”
“She is still sleeping,” she explained, “so I slipped a note under her door. I would not want her to feel slighted, after she’s been so kind and attentive toward me.”
“Can you manage the stairs with your crutch? If not, I would be only too happy to assist you.” Too late he realized his own lameness rendered him incapable of providing her the least assistance in descending the stairs.
“While I appreciate your kind offer, Captain, I believe I can manage with my sister’s help.”
The formality of their exchange was unbearable, but he could hardly tell her what he had decided with her sister looking on. For all he knew, the girl was an untrustworthy tattletale.
Still, he must say something. For he would run mad if he let her go without giving her some hint of his intentions. If only he could contrive a way to get her alone, but how to go about it?
Before he could contrive a way, her sister said, “Make haste, Louisa, for Papa is waiting for us at home and will be counting the minutes.”
Her words struck Theo like a blow. In his rush to speak to Miss Bennet, he’d failed to put two and two together. The presence of the carriage meant her father had returned from London—a realization that only added to his distress. “You must meet me somewhere we can speak at length in private.”
Earnestly, she searched his gaze. “Can you not tell me quickly what you have decided?”
He tried to think how to condense his idea into a few scant words. Everything he came up with, though, ran the risk of giving her the wrong impression. Finally, in frustration, he said, “I have made up my mind to help you—but in a way that requires time and explanation. So please do not leap to conclusions until you have heard me out.”
Worry flickered in her eyes. “But, Captain…I shall not be able to meet you until my ankle is strong enough to ride—or perhaps even longer if my father suspects I am up to something. Would you really leave me in suspense until then?”
“I fear I must.”
“Then I will send you word when I’m able to meet you.”
“In the post?”
“No, by messenger.”
“Is that wise?”
“I will send Georgie, who I trust with my life.”
He furrowed his brow. “Georgie?”
Miss Bennet turned toward the stairs and her waiting sister—the young woman he’d seen Churchill dancing with at the ball. “Come, let me introduce you.”
He followed her, and once the introductions were made, the two sisters started down the stairs. The pain he felt as Miss Bennet took her leave made him aware he was more deeply attached to her than he’d realized.
* * * *
As the chaise shimmied along the uneven road, Georgie leaned forward in her seat and, with a gleam in her eyes, said to Louisa, “So, tell me, sister dear, when am I to wish you joy?”
Louisa smirked. Mr. Darcy was right. Women did have a tendency to leap from interest to matrimony in a heartbeat. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but nothing happened between me and the Captain.”
Technically, this was true. Nothing tangible did occur. She and the Captain had spoken intimately and exchanged longing looks, but never had they kissed or touched in a way that might qualify as “romantic.” Yes, he said he would help her, yet he made no promises or explanations she could count upon.
Still, his promise of help gave her hope, as did a few small signs he was developing feelings for her. Like last night, when he almost kissed her. Would he have been tempted to join his lips to hers if he did not at least like her a little?
Louisa picked a bit of lint off the skirt of her riding habit as she considered what, if anything, to tell her sister. Obviously, she could not keep the truth from Georgie for long, since she needed her sister to act as her go-between. But there was no urgency to share her secret, since her ankle would not be sound enough to ride for at least another week.
Besides, there was little to tell until she’d heard the Captain’s explanation.
As the carriage turned toward home, Louisa’s thoughts followed. Would Papa somehow sense her betrayal? Was he waiting for her return intending to punish her? The possibility that he might be threatened to strangle her. If he found her out, he would probably beat her bloody and lock her in her room.
She turned to Georgie in a near-panic. “Was father angry when he discovered I was convalescing at Greystone?”
“He was cross with Mama, but not with you, insofar as I could ascertain.”
“Did he beat her?”
Georgie nodded grimly.
Louisa’s heart ached for her mother and trembled for herself. “Do you think he will beat me, too?”
“Does he have cause to do so?”
“No, he does not. For I have done nothing wrong.”
“When has that ever stopped him?”
Louisa, weighed down by trepidation, worried her lip for the remainder of the journey. As the chaise pulled up outside the castle, she found it hard to breathe. The front door opened and out came their butler, Carlyle. Papa followed, his thick graying eyebrows heavy with displeasure. At the sight of him, the heaviness in Louisa’s chest became an anvil.
Carlyle came forward, pulled down the folding steps, and opened the door for them. Georgie exited at once, but Louisa took a few moments to get her crutch into a suitable position to manage the descent. As the butler helped her down, her father stayed where he was, wearing his usual stern expression. Upon his rigid frame, he wore a brown-velvet coat over an embroidered yellow waistcoat and ruffled shirt. As always, his boots were polished to a glossy sheen.
He hardly looked at her. This was not unusual, for he rarely looked at his daughters except to find fault. It was as if he blamed them all for his failure to produce a son. And their mother, of course, was even more at fault, as she had birthed four girls to spite him.
Given the choice, Louisa would have gladly been born male. That way, she could marry whomever she pleased and still inherit enough to keep her mother and sisters from being thrown to the wolves. Would Charles look after them after Papa was dead? Though he’d promised to do so, she fully expected him to behave no better than had John Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility.
Louisa limped to where her father stood, with Georgie now at his side. When she reached him, he sneered at her disdainfully. “I trust you behaved yourself, daughter.”
“I did,” said she, her tongue thick, “though I fear I overstayed my welcome.”
“Bah! Devil take him. He should be grateful to have been blessed with a houseguest so far above him in station.” Disgustedly, he added, “Your mother must have been out of her senses to entrust your welfare to such a person—a sailor, for the love of God. For that lapse in judgement, she has paid dearly, I promise you.”
His pride in having beaten his wife made Louisa’s blood run cold. So did his remarks about Capt. Raynalds. As expected, Papa judged the man not by his merits, but by his birth and social station alone. Eager to escape her father’s company, she suggested they retire to the house. “For I feel the need to elevate my ankle.”
“Yes, of course.” Her father offered his arm, which she reluctantly accepted, praying he would not bring up the Captain again.
Happily, he did not. He simply helped her into the house before leaving her to Georgie’s care. With her sister’s help, she sat in her favorite chair by the fire and propped her leg on a needlepoint footstool, relieved to have escaped the switch. Her poor mother, however, was not so fortunate—and for that, Louisa felt horribly guilty.
Georgie, who’d planted herself on the sofa, said, “Pray, what are you thinking about, dear sister?”
Heavy-hearted, Louisa blinked at her. “Poor Mama. If I could manage the stairs with more ease, I would go up and look in on her.”
“You needn’t bother,” her sister returned, “for she has locked the door and refuses to let anyone in.”
Before Louisa could press Georgie for more information, the maid came in with a tray of tea and biscuits. She set the refreshments on a table and poured a cup for each of them.
As she brought Louisa’s to her, she said, “I was sorry to hear about your accident, Miss. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
“While it is kind of you to offer, Margaret, I am perfectly comfortable at the moment.”
“Very good, Miss.” The maid curtsied slightly. “Would you care for some biscuits with your tea?”
Only then did Louisa realize how famished she was. “Please.”
Margaret filled a small plate and brought it to her, after which the maid quit the room. When her footsteps had faded into the distance, Georgie turned a probing gaze on her sister. “Tell me the truth, Louisa. Will you marry Captain Raynalds if he asks you?”
“Truthfully, sister,” Louisa replied, “I will lie, cheat, and steal if I must to avoid marrying Charles. So, yes. I will accept the Captain if he should ask for my hand. Not that I expect him to do anything of the sort.”
A simple proposal, after all, did not require excessive time or explanation. The Captain, therefore, must have something else in mind. But, if not marriage, what form of help did he intend to offer?