“I do not have an answer for you.” Madame shrugged. “All I can do is assure you that I do have your father’s happiness at heart, and I care for him as much as I am able.”
Thomas glanced from Madame to Louisa, his heart beating strangely in his chest. Somehow, her words made him both nervous and hopeful. “So, you are not opposed to marriage on principle.” The words tumbled out before he had a chance to check them. He meant them for Louisa, not Madame, but he certainly never planned to say them aloud.
Madame sat back in her chair, eyeing him carefully. Then she glanced at Louisa as she answered his question. “I think marriage is an excellent thing, as long as the two people involved are compatible in every respect. And for me, that includes social status.” She turned and faced Thomas frankly. “You see, Captain, when two young people of comparable means have both love and esteem for one another, I feel most strongly that they should marry.”
Thomas’ face grew heated under Madame’s assessing gaze. This woman, who met his scarcely five minutes ago, knew his secret. It must be obvious to everyone, even someone who just made his acquaintance, that he was falling in love with Louisa. This was disastrous. As a seasoned soldier, he should be well-trained in concealing all his emotions. Madame barely knew him, and already she discerned what he had just awakened to himself. What a spectacular farce he was playing at.
“What is this ridiculous talk of social situations?” Louisa’s voice pierced his embarrassed fog. “Mary, do talk some sense. You are just as refined and elegant as any lady I’ve met. Papa needs a wife.”
Madame sank back against the settee, as though weary of Louisa’s determined questions. “What can I tell you, Louisa? Your father and I have spoken of this already. We are in agreement. We cannot wed.”
A pang of sympathy speared through Thomas. Madame probably wanted marriage to Lord Bradbury—indeed, what woman wouldn’t? The man was wealthy and well-respected in Society, and no decent woman would settle for being a mere paramour when she could be a wife. Madame was, in all likelihood, respecting his lordship’s wishes in the matter.
He could well understand that. After all, he must defer to Louisa’s views on marriage, as much as it was beginning to hurt him to do so. “Perhaps Madame has her career to consider,” he interjected. Louisa’s career was of higher importance to her than matrimony. Since Madame’s work as an opera singer brought her fame, and at least a sizable chunk of her fortune, she could very well take refuge in it if Lord Bradbury refused to wed her.
Madame smiled at him with something like relief sparkling in her blue eyes. “Yes, that is it. I have my career to consider. I’ve worked very hard to achieve my current level of artistry and fame. I would be reluctant indeed to give it up.”
“Surely you can sympathize with that, Louisa,” he responded, carefully avoiding looking in her direction. These words were harder to say than they should be. He must gain control over his emotions. If he glanced in her direction and beheld her looking as pretty as summer rose, he might lose all his resolve. “After all, you value your career as a teacher and don’t want to give it up for a trip to London and your debut.”
He couldn’t bring himself to say that she was giving up on marriage. He might choke on the words as he had done already on his tea, and that would be beyond absurd. He was a soldier. He had been in battle. He had seen his brother slain. There was absolutely no reason to be so overcome because of one pretty, impulsive girl.
“I suppose…” Louisa trailed off, as though she were uncertain. This was odd. Louisa was a decisive young woman. She never dithered about anything.
If they were ever to leave Madame’s apartment, he must act now, while Louisa was feeling unsure. Otherwise, they might be here all afternoon, and he was already worried enough about showing too much emotion around Louisa. He was also still concerned about his reputation and hers. Madame seemed like a very nice, dignified person, but polite society would certainly gossip if they were seen in or around her company. “We really should be going, Madame Catalogna,” he said crisply, rising from his seat. “Thank you so much for the tea. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
Madame rose, her broad smile signaling relief. “Yes, Captain. It was a pleasure to meet you, and Miss Louisa, as well.” She bobbed a curtsy to him, and then to Louisa.
Louisa, for her part, sat a moment longer. “I don’t like this,” she admitted finally. She rose, turning to Madame. “I don’t like it one little bit. I don’t see why you cannot enjoy your career and marriage too.”
“Well, you know.” Madame waved her hand listlessly. “We must learn to accept our limitations in this life.”
Louisa gave a brisk shake of her head, sending her chestnut curls dancing. “I don’t see why.”
Madame shrugged. Surely she could see by now that arguing with Louisa was akin to arguing with a brick wall. “Thank you for coming to see me,” she said, giving Louisa a shy smile. Madame was signaling the end of the interview, and so now they must depart—whether Louisa was satisfied with the result or not. “I did so want to meet his lordship’s daughters.”
“I’ll come to call again, if I may.” Louisa scooped up her bonnet. “I’d like to talk with you more often.”
“Of course.” Madame’s smile hardened slightly, as though she predicted another battle with Louisa in the near future. “I should enjoy your company very much.”
Thomas offered Louisa his arm. There was nothing to do except leave. He nodded once more to Madame and bustled Louisa out, past the butler who handed him his coat, and into the street.
He glanced at Louisa once they reached the pavement. The corners of her mouth were drawn down, and her brow furrowed as though she were perplexed. She said nothing, which was quite unusual for her, and merely allowed him to propel her down the sidewalk.
Once they had achieved a respectable distance, Thomas exhaled deeply. The entire matter was over and done with, and they had not seen his lordship or anyone else on the sparsely populated sidewalk who might know either of them. It was not a fashionable hour to be out walking, and thus they had eluded any kind of reputation-damaging—or in his case, heightening—scenario.
Still, Louisa’s silence was troubling. It was difficult to celebrate a sidestepped social disaster when someone so pretty and vivacious was taciturn and grim.
“Louisa, I know the interview didn’t go precisely as you planned, but think of how much you were able to do in such a short amount of time,” he began. “You met Madame and convinced yourself that she is a good sort of person, not at all the kind of woman who would be after your father for material reasons.”
“True,” she murmured quietly. She turned her head away, so he could not read her expression.
“Are you feeling morose? You shouldn’t, you know. Not one woman in a thousand would have displayed the courage you showed today.” Warmth rose within him as he remembered her determined stride as she made her way up Madame’s steps. She was such a fearless young woman. In fact, he’d defy any soldier to show as much pluck and determination. He certainly hadn’t, when his time came.
“I am not particularly brave.” She spoke the words so quietly that he had to bow his head to hear her better. “I am a know-it-all, and I rushed in to give my opinion without having any knowledge of the situation. Lucy would be appalled.” Her shoulders slumped, and the grasp of her fingers on his arm loosened. “I just don’t understand. I really don’t.”
The impulse to take her in his arms and hold her until she felt better was well-nigh overpowering. Louisa should never feel this low. She was a creature of sunshine, and this matter between her father and Madame Catalogna was affecting her far too deeply. He must direct their conversation away from her virtues, and toward the facts. Otherwise, he was coming dangerously close to admitting an affection she surely wouldn’t want. “Tell me what you don’t understand.”
“I cannot comprehend the limits of our class,” she admitted, halting beside him, her words pouring forth as though she wer
e letting the floodgates loose. “Why are there so many rules about whom one can marry, and how, and why? I cannot fathom why a woman must stop working when she does marry. What if her life’s calling embraces the hearth as well as a school?”
“A school?” He repeated her words just so he could make certain she said them. A wild, faint hopefulness grew in his chest. “Madame doesn’t run a school, Louisa.”
“Oh, bother the details. Fine, her singing career, then. What difference does it make?” Louisa tugged her arm away from his hold, turning to face him directly. “There should be no reason why any of this should be happening. If Madame and my papa are in love—let them marry. If she wishes to continue singing—let her! This whole situation is as ridiculous as Papa making me end my teaching career simply to have a London season. Why couldn’t I teach even after I married?”
He must choose his words carefully. If he let her see the fierce hope her words had kindled within him, she might shrink back. After all, he loved her. If she married him, he would be perfectly content for her to continue teaching. But he had no idea if she thought of him as anything beyond a satisfactory walking companion. If he said something now, and she didn’t love him, wouldn’t that show his own stunning mediocrity once more?
Louisa was extraordinary. While he…he was merely ordinary.
“You should be able to do whatever you wish, Louisa.” He spoke the words as calmly as he could manage. “No man in his rightful mind would make you give up on your dreams.”
Chapter 8
Louisa stared up at her ceiling. In the guttering candlelight, the shadows above her loomed in a menacing fashion. Oh, if only she weren’t so lost and alone. She had been tossing and turning for hours now, until she finally gave up any pretense of sleeping. If Lucy were still here, she’d simply walk down the hall to Lucy’s room and wake her governess up to keep her company. If Amelia were here, she’d wake Amelia up and ask her to read aloud or talk until she fell back asleep.
There was nothing to do now except lie awake and look at the ceiling. Everyone was gone from the house, except her.
She rolled over and placed her chin in her hands. Thomas’ words would not leave her mind. They echoed over and over again. “No man in his rightful mind would make you give up on your dreams.” Did he mean that?
No, of course he didn’t. It was just a polite thing to say. He knew how much her school meant to her, and he was trying to encourage her.
His eyes were very intense as he said it, and his voice even shook a little. Louisa sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. She was shivering because it was cold, and not at all because the force and strength of his declaration kindled something treacherous within her. She was devoted to her students, and would never give up teaching. No matter what Papa planned, one trip to London would never change her dedication to her career. Thomas was a wonderful young man—smart, handsome, and adept at handling strange situations. He would acquit himself well as head of his family, and in time, he would marry some nice debutante who would do him credit.
Her heart would not lurch as she thought of him squiring his future bride about Bath.
That simply would not do.
Louisa threw off her blanket and leapt out of bed, cringing as her bare feet touched the wooden floor. No wonder she was shivering. The weather had turned decidedly cooler. She grabbed her wrap from the bed and swathed herself in it. There was no fire in the fireplace, for it was supposed to be a balmy summer evening. Too bad she couldn’t simply stir up the fire to ward off the chill.
Carriage wheels sounded on the pavement, the horses’ hooves ringing hollowly through the surely-empty street. The sound halted outside her front door.
A wild, strange hope caused her heart to pound. Surely it wasn’t Thomas? It was terribly late, of course, but he’d made a habit of showing up to walk with her when she needed his help the most. She scurried over to the window and pressed her face against the frosty glass.
A carriage had stopped before her home, true, but it was the family’s carriage, and Papa was alighting from it. No doubt he had spent the evening at the Club, or the Opera, or at a ball, or possibly in Madame’s company.
No, not Madame. Madame’s name was Mary. Here she was, thinking only of herself and her problems. She should have been trying to think of a way to unite Mary and Papa.
She scooted, on her hands and knees, across the chilly floor and felt around for her bedroom slippers. After putting them on, she stood and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. When Papa came in at night, he usually went to the library or the study. On a cool night like this, he would probably be in his study. It was a smaller room, and much easier to warm.
She moved silently down the back staircase, trying to plan what to say to Papa. This was not going to be an easy conversation, to say the least. It was, however, a conversation that must be had. In her haste, she skimmed down the staircase, her shawl flapping about her like the wings of a bird. How many times had she pretended to be an owl or a sparrow, fluttering up and down the staircases as a child? Times had certainly changed. Now she was headed to tell Papa to marry, after he had demanded the same of her. No child’s play any longer.
A pool of light spilled out on the hallway, pouring out through the threshold of Papa’s study. Should she knock or just burst in? In younger days, she would have simply burst in, heedless of anything Papa might be doing or saying. Now, however, a strange sense of formality overcame her. She would knock properly, as a young lady should, so that when she spoke to Papa he remembered that she was growing older and wiser.
She raised her hand and knocked softly at the door.
“Enter, Ryland,” Papa said.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, resting for a moment against the smooth oak panel.
Papa had poured himself a drink and sat behind his desk, a large stack of books before him. In all likelihood, he was planning to read until dawn.
“LouLou, darling, what are you doing out of bed at this hour? I thought Ryland had come in to check on me.” Papa beckoned her over, waving to a seat beside the hearth. “You’ll catch your death, wandering about the house when it’s this chilly outside. Such strange weather we’re having. Almost like autumn rather than summer. I kindled a fire just to ward off the cold.”
She sank gratefully into the velvet chair, holding her feet and her hands out toward the blaze. Ryland was Papa’s valet, and he would likely make an appearance soon. She must come to the point of her visit, and quickly. “I couldn’t sleep, and I heard you come in. I wanted to have a chat.”
“A chat? What would you like to chat about, pray tell?” Papa eyed her warily over the rim of his glass. Obviously, he knew she had a purpose in coming to see him. Trying to hide the purpose of her visit would benefit no one, and would merely belabor the inevitable. She must come clean.
“Papa, I want you to know that I paid a call upon Madame Catalogna today.”
Her father paused, mid-drink, and coughed. “I beg your pardon, Louisa?”
“Madame Catalogna. Mary. Your lady friend. I saw her today.” She studiously avoided Papa’s gaze and turned her full attention to the flames crackling in the hearth. “I thought that since she is such an important part of your life, that I should meet her. She’s very nice, you know.”
“Louisa.” Papa rose from his place at the desk and came to stand before her at the hearth. “I absolutely forbid you to—“
“Oh, Papa.” As if any heavy-handed tactics would work on her now. One could almost pity Papa and his blustering ways at times. “Do stop thundering. You’ve been my father for eighteen years. Surely by now you know that I am a determined person. Once I saw you with her, did you really think I would simply let the matter drop?”
Papa shrugged his shoulders. “What am I going to do with you, LouLou? Amelia is so docile, so willing to do what is required of her. Why do you insist on turning left when I beg you to go right?”
Louisa suppressed a smile.
In the past—in fact, up until this very moment—a tactic like this would have disrupted the entire purpose of the discussion. If she allowed Papa to continue down this path, they would be arguing about their bargain regarding her debutante season and it would all end in tears. Her tears, anyway. Papa would be rather sanguine about the whole thing.
She was her father’s daughter. He was a master at negotiation, and she learned well by watching him over the years. Time to put childish temper tantrums aside, and use the skills her father shared so willingly.
She sighed, rolling her eyes with an exaggerated gesture. “Oh, I daresay you are right, Papa. I am certain Mary would agree with you. As a matter of fact, she seemed very keen on the idea of marriage between like-minded adults. So I know she would be quite taken with your argument that I should stop teaching and find a nice young fellow to marry.”
Papa leaned against the mantle, sizing her up as though for the first time ever, he might think of her as a worthy opponent instead of a precocious child. “You had no business going to see her, Louisa.”
“On the contrary, I had every right to meet her. She is a fine singer, a prodigious talent. I wanted to meet her to tell her how much I enjoy her work.” She paused for a moment. No, it wouldn’t do. As much as she wanted to win the battle, she couldn’t do so by lying. “Actually, that’s not true. I went to her in high dudgeon, ready to take her to task for being your paramour.”
All the color drained from Papa’s face. In the flickering firelight, gray hairs glinted through his still-enviable-for-his-age mane. Dark circles ringed his eyes. Louisa’s heart lurched with sudden love and pity. Papa was growing old.
“Once I got there, and actually met her and spoke to her, I realized what a nice person she is,” she rushed on. “She’s graceful, clever, and witty. I think you should marry her.”
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