Louisa Elliott

by Ann Victoria Roberts

  The scene in the hall was exactly as Louisa had described it. All three were sitting on the stairs, with Rachel propped up against the newel post. Darnley was very recently promoted and, at the look on Robert’s face, immediately sprang to his feet.

  ‘Be so good as to escort Miss Bainbridge in to supper, Darnley, and I will escort Miss Tempest.’

  The young man did not question his instructions; only Rachel had the temerity to protest. Between them, however, Robert and Louisa urged her to her feet.

  ‘What will your father say?’ Louisa demanded. ‘If he should see you like this, he’ll never let you out of his sight again, you silly girl.’

  ‘But it was only punch!’

  ‘Laced with wine and brandy,’ Robert assured her.

  ‘Oh, dear – Father will be cross!’ she giggled.

  ‘He will indeed – unless we sober you up,’ Robert muttered grimly. ‘Lots of food – that’s what you need, my girl – so start eating.’ He found her a chair, leaving Louisa in charge while he went to the buffet table. Less than five minutes later he was back with three plates, each substantially filled.

  Under the eyes of two such determined guardians, Rachel did as she was bidden; halfway through her second cup of coffee, she complained of feeling sick.

  ‘Fresh air,’ Robert pronounced, hauling her to her feet once more. ‘Come on, don’t be ill in here, you’ll never be asked again.’

  In the hall, they met Tommy.

  ‘Grab our cloaks, Tommy. We’re in need of some air.’

  He joined them outside, wrapped his evening cloak around Rachel, and handed Robert’s to Louisa. The garments, long on the men, trailed behind the two women as they walked the length of the drive and back towards the house. A narrow path led through the shrubbery, spidery fingers of winter-naked branches forcing them from four abreast into two. Staying by Louisa’s side, Robert dropped back, while Tommy, eager to make amends, tactfully went ahead with Rachel.

  ‘I should have been watching her,’ Louisa said guiltily, ‘not hiding in the conservatory.’

  ‘Were you hiding?’ he asked in some surprise. ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, you know how it is,’ she began, then stopped. She gave a little laugh, then said: ‘Well, no, I don’t suppose you do. To be perfectly honest, I was afraid of feeling out of place.’

  For a moment he said nothing; then, as a sudden gust of wind shook the trees, he slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘You didn’t look out of place, I assure you. In fact, you looked… quite perfect.’

  Suddenly, she could hardly breathe. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘You’re very kind.’

  He slowed and bent his head towards her; in the darkness she could see light in his eyes. ‘I’m not being kind. I mean it.’

  For a long moment, she was half-afraid that he was going to kiss her; and then was sorry that he did not.

  ‘Out of place,’ he mused. ‘I confess I know that feeling well. Sometimes I find myself wondering what on earth I’m doing at parties like this. But one is expected to join in – it’s part and parcel of the job.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. But tonight now,’ he said, squeezing her shoulder, ‘has been quite remarkable. And do you know why? Because you were here – because we talked —because it was...’

  ‘Different?’ she laughed.

  ‘Now don’t be cynical, Miss Elliott. I’m trying to pay you compliments.’

  ‘Why should the truth be cynical?’ she asked lightly. ‘I am different, at least from the company this evening. I’m twenty-five years old, I work for my living, and by and large I’m responsible for my own behaviour. Nobody worries whether I’m escorted or chaperoned each time I set foot outside the house. But if I happened to be the daughter of a wealthy and privileged family, I doubt I’d be here alone with you now!’

  Robert laughed. ‘Touché, Miss Elliott! Most decidedly touché! Did I hear: “Unhand me knave!” in that little speech?’

  ‘If you think you did,’ she said with mock severity, ‘then do!’

  He laughed again. ‘If I thought you were in the least bit concerned, I would. But you’re not, are you?’

  ‘No,’ she lied. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You’re shivering simply because you are cold?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘I thought so,’ he agreed lightly. ‘But won’t you spare a little pity for the wealthy and privileged? Social position isn’t everything, you know.’

  His tone was bantering, but she caught his underlying seriousness. ‘I’m sure it’s not, Captain. But how many people truly understand that?’

  ‘Not many,’ he agreed. ‘But I do.’

  Silenced by his tone, she felt suddenly awkward, wondering again about those scars, about his life, so different from hers. There were depths here she didn’t understand, was not even sure that she should try.

  Tommy and Rachel were already some distance ahead. Occasional giggles, carried back by the wind, signified a return to her earlier buoyant spirits.

  ‘Ah, the resilience of youth,’ Robert observed. ‘Which reminds me – I haven’t asked after your mother. How is Mrs Elliott?’

  ‘Much better, thank heavens. Quite her old self, in fact.’

  ‘I’m glad. I must call on her again, to thank her properly, this time.’

  ‘I’m sure she’d appreciate that.’

  After a moment, he said, ‘I would like to be able to see you too.’

  She stiffened, and knew from the sudden relaxing of his arm that he was aware of it. She wanted to see him again, longed to share more of that light-hearted banter and his sudden, disconcerting moments of seriousness. He was attractive, and so very charming, and she knew she was more than flattered by his interest; but he belonged to a different class. With a great effort, Louisa told herself that it was futile. She could never be part of his world; and he would never be truly accepted in hers.

  She found it hard to speak. ‘Is that a good idea?’ she managed at last.

  ‘Probably not,’ he admitted. ‘But I have to say it: I want to see you again.’

  Their tour of the garden over, Tommy and Rachel stopped on the drive in front of the house. As they looked back, Robert dropped his arm.

  ‘I feel much better now,’ Rachel announced, ‘but I think I’d like to go in and sit quietly for a while.’

  ‘Try the conservatory, Tommy,’ Robert advised. ‘Miss Elliott and I will join you directly.’ As they went inside he cut across Louisa’s protests. ‘She doesn’t need you for the moment — she’s enjoying Tommy’s company, and he’ll see no harm comes to her, I promise you.’

  He turned to face her, pulling the cloak closer around her shoulders; she could feel his fingers in her hair and against her jaw. Beneath the flickering portico light, his blue eyes were smiling as they scanned her face.

  ‘You are so lovely, Louisa. And I very much want to kiss you.’

  Beneath tight-laced stays, her heart skipped several beats. Suddenly shy, she had to look away. In an attempt at lightness, she said: ‘Do you think you ought to?’

  With a quirky little smile, Robert shook his head. ‘I’m sure I shouldn’t — it’s most improper. But I do so want to.’

  Impulsively, she reached up on tiptoe, lightly brushing her lips against his cheek. It was intended as a diversion, a gesture of thanks for an evening she would never forget. But before she could draw away, his arms encircled her.

  He responded to the butterfly touch of her kiss with gentleness, and his kiss lingered on her lips like honey. The temptation she had sought to avoid was suddenly there in all its sweetness, calling to emotions she had tried so hard to suppress. In sudden confusion, she did not pull away, but stood transfixed, eyes wide and questioning, lips parted in silent supplication.

  Then his mouth closed on hers, and she was aware of relief, and blossoming warmth, an overwhelming response which cried out for the submission of self to greater and more urgent demands. As tenderness gave way
to passion, her very soul seemed to swell and soar, exploding in a dazzling and deafening cascade. Stunned and dizzy, she clung to him, aware of nothing beyond that transitory and unforgettable sense of union.

  For Robert, the experience was equally shattering. Having longed for her all evening, he had intended nothing more than a brief taste of those tantalizing lips; yet while he held her in his arms, the world was forgotten. That surge of desire, so intense and unexpected, caught him like a tidal wave. Aware only of a desperate need to take her there and then, he forced himself to stop, kissed her face and hair, held her away from him.

  Angry with himself, he apologized; and was afraid his apology had been too abrupt. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, more gently this time.

  Her eyes looked hurt. He tried to draw her back, but she pulled away, slipped the cloak from her shoulders and handed it to him. ‘No – please – I must go in now.’

  Holding the cloak to his lips, he watched her go. Slowly, he climbed the steps and leaned against one of the pillars. With trembling fingers he lit a much-needed cigar. Dragging the blessed smoke into his lungs, he exhaled on a shuddering breath, wondering whether anyone had seen them at the foot of the steps, locked in that all-consuming embrace.

  With the calming of mind and body, he cursed himself, hoping she had not returned to Rachel bearing signs of distress.

  Whatever her demeanour, Tommy would know; or make a very good guess. With a sigh of resignation, Robert crushed his cigar-butt and hoped his friend’s tact was still in force.

  No one remarked upon his absence. As he walked through the crowded drawing room, all were laughing and talking. Darnley was playing the piano while Sophie sang to a small circle of admirers; not one accusing eye turned in Robert’s direction. The ormolu clock on the mantelpiece registered a quarter before eleven.

  In the conservatory, Tommy was regaling the two ladies with a fund of anecdotes. Apart from one raised, eloquent eyebrow, he made no comment. Rachel was pale but cheerful, too flattered by Tommy’s practised charm to notice that anything might have been amiss; and Louisa, by the look of things, was eager not to distract either of them.

  She stood a little apart, amongst the ferns, pale green tendrils softening the stark black elegance of her gown. Her cheeks seemed paler, her lips rosier than before, and her eyes when she looked up at him were so infinitely vulnerable, he was stabbed to the heart.

  Forgive me, he silently begged, holding her gaze. I want you, all that you are. I want you more than anyone I’ve ever known.

  And then he thought of Charlotte.

  He looked away, afraid that Louisa would see too much.

  Ten

  The following day Rachel complained of a headache and stayed in bed. As usual, Louisa accompanied Albert Tempest and his younger daughter to morning service at the chapel on Priory Street.

  The vast, galleried building was almost full, the visiting preacher no doubt inspired, but Louisa’s mind closed itself to the endless prayers. Her mind was full of Robert Duncannon: sitting beside her; standing with Rachel; leaning against the conservatory door, impeccably-tailored form reflected in the glass. She saw his face, animated, appealing, eyes intent upon hers; laughter wrinkling that long, straight nose, exposing strong white teeth beneath the curling black moustache. Her body echoed the feel of him, her lips burned as she recalled his kisses. But her heart twisted as she felt his hands, hard on her shoulders, holding her away. Why? Had she given herself too willingly? All she wanted was to hold him close.

  Afterwards, he had seemed so sad, and it tore her apart because she did not understand it.

  With no further chance to talk, at eleven-thirty Louisa had ushered Rachel towards the carriage, reassured only at the last moment by the lingering pressure of Robert’s hand as they said their goodbyes.

  Thankfully, Rachel had been too full of her own success to ask embarrassing questions. Happy to relate every compliment, and the looks she had intercepted from young Arthur Bainbridge, she had given her companion only one difficult moment. Apparently, Robert Duncannon had intrigued her. But Rachel’s impressions were so ill-formed, Louisa had been grateful for the darkness of the carriage.

  Mrs Petty’s Yorkshire puddings were good, and Sunday dinner was normally enjoyable, but Louisa was overfaced by so much food. And clearly, so was Rachel. Across his mountain of roast beef, sprouts, potatoes and mashed turnips, Albert Tempest surveyed their plates and feeble appetites with stern disapproval.

  ‘Now I see what social gallivanting does for you. The pair of you make an excellent match for the tablecloth.’

  ‘It was a lovely evening, Father. But I had a vast amount to eat last night, and I’m not very hungry today.’

  ‘God’s good food is not to be wasted. It’s a wicked sin. Make sure you clear those plates, both of you — I’ll not have waste in this house. More meat, Victoria? Sprouts, my dear?’ He heaped more food onto the child’s plate and emptied the turnip tureen onto his own.

  Rachel looked distinctly ill, but she obeyed her father and ate her dinner, asking permission to visit the Bainbridges that afternoon. She explained that they would think it impolite otherwise. Struggling with his belief that Sunday was the Lord’s day, to be spent in worship and Bible-reading, her father finally agreed. He could not afford to have it said that his daughter was ill-mannered, that she had delayed her thanks for hospitality received. The need to do it on a Sunday, however, was another black mark against the Bainbridges.

  ‘Be sure you get back before dark,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t want you passing the Barracks when the riff-raff are heading into town.’

  Wearing her new black dress, but with her own cloak this time, Louisa accompanied Rachel to the tram stop across Blossom Street. The horse-drawn vehicle proceeded down Micklegate, across Ouse Bridge, along Clifford Street and past the Castle, picking up passengers along the way. Being Sunday, they were few, most of them alighting at the cemetery. A young woman, no more than Louisa’s age, struggled past them with a baby in her arms and a grimy toddler hanging onto her skirts. Rachel drew her knees aside as they brushed past, her face expressing distaste. The young woman saw it and hung her head, her cheeks aflame as she stepped off the tram.

  ‘Miss Rachel, that was most unkind of you.’

  ‘I don’t care – they were dirty. Couldn’t you smell them?’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ Louisa said coldly. ‘If you were young and widowed, and poor through no fault of your own, would you like to be despised?’

  Rachel flushed angrily and tossed her head. ‘I really do wish, Louisa, that you would remember your position. You are my companion, not my governess. I do not want to be reprimanded like a child again — do you understand?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ Louisa said quietly, and with some relief noticed the terminus ahead. They walked the rest of the way to the Bainbridge house in silence.

  It seemed more imposing by daylight, with rhododendrons lining the drive, and ivy softening the harsh red brick of the east wall. As she climbed the portico steps to ring the bell, Louisa found herself wondering, as had Robert the night before, whether anyone had witnessed that brief display of impropriety. Acutely embarrassed, she lowered her eyes as the same manservant admitted them.

  She was aware of Robert as soon as they were shown into the drawing room, but in the first flush of greetings and rearranged seats, she was able to avoid his gaze.

  The gathered company acted like a tonic; her spirits thoroughly recovered, Rachel proffered pretty thanks for the party, was fussed over by Mrs Bainbridge, and laughingly shook her head at Sophie’s whispered questions. Young Captain Darnley offered her his apologies, which she accepted, and even Sophie’s brother asked solicitously after her health.

  Having nodded politely to Louisa, Robert continued his conversation with the Major, while Louisa found interest in a series of hunting prints and tried to preserve an attitude of calm.

  Mrs Bainbridge sent for more tea, and with its arrival turned to Louisa, exchanging
small talk about the previous evening. In an undertone, she referred obliquely to Rachel’s misdemeanour with the punch.

  ‘Such a responsibility for one as young as yourself, to act in loco parentis, as it were.’

  ‘Really, Mrs Bainbridge, Miss Rachel was quite well again by the time we left,’ Louisa insisted. ‘A slight headache this morning, but that was probably due to the excitement.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. But these young girls are so silly — and Sophie’s no better. As for Lily…’ She rolled her eyes and sighed eloquently. ‘She’s a different problem, of course. I can’t prise her away from the stables, which is where she is at the moment. I couldn’t persuade her to stay and receive our guests, I’m sorry to say.’

  Louisa perceived that Mrs Bainbridge was not in complete control of her household, but she did not condemn her for it. She was kind, and Louisa could feel her generosity in the relaxed atmosphere of the house. It was so much pleasanter than Blossom Street. ‘Please don’t worry on Miss Rachel’s account.’

  ‘Oh, but I do. Ah well, I must not bore you with our little difficulties. Tell me – are you a York girl?’

  Louisa said that she was.

  ‘And your father?’

  With practised ease, Louisa explained that her mother was a widow and that she had two sisters.

  ‘And do they also earn their own livings?’

  ‘My younger sister is still at home, but Blanche is employed by Miss Devine.’

  ‘Ah,’ Mrs Bainbridge interjected with a knowing smile. ‘I thought I detected style in the cut of your dress. It really is most elegant – did your sister make it for you?’

  ‘Well – almost,’ she said dryly.

  ‘And, tell me, have you been long acquainted with Captain Duncannon?’

  Warmth rose into Louisa’s cheeks, provoking a conspiratorial smile from the older woman. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, patting Louisa’s hand gently, ‘your secret is safe with me. Such a charming man, but something of a lone wolf, I fear.’