encouraging this man . . . of himself, with only his memories for consolation . . .
His fortune privileged him over most other men in London, but how did he compete with all the “butchers, greengrocers, and the like”?
Slowly he retracted the walking stick. “You will certainly eat well, if nothing else.”
He’d meant to project a certain levity, but he sounded caustic.
“One must look to the silver linings,” she said quietly.
“I am sure you will manage very well.”
“Yes,” she said, with a grave solemnity. “I will always manage, somehow.”
The carriage door opening startled them both. He had not realized that they had arrived before Lady Balfour’s house. Suddenly Miss Cantwell was smiling sweetly and thanking him for his kindness in seeing her home. He, too, became all courtesy and gallantry, assuring her that he would have moved far greater mountains to ensure her ease and comfort.
As his coach pulled away once more from the curb, however, it was not their naughtier interaction that dominated his thoughts, but the determination—and melancholy—with which she assured him that she would survive marriage to just about any able-bodied man.
His entire plan had depended upon her failure to secure a man of her social station. But he had not counted on her willingnessto marry beneath her. A butcher was an upstanding member of any community, but by becoming the wife of one, she could count on never again calling on Lady Balfour or the Tenwhestles.
Or friends she had made during her time in London. Or just about anyone else she knew from home. It was cruel, but until the world changed, the gentry would always hold themselves apart from butchers, greengrocers, and the like.
He imagined her in this new life, always making sure she appeared extra cheerful, because she never wanted her husband, her epileptic sister, or her new friends and in-laws to think her less than content. He imagined her coming occasionally across an old acquaintance and the awkward conversation that would ensue, especially if she happened to be accompanied by her husband. He imagined her reaching for a sheet of stationery, the beginning of a letter on her mind, and then hesitating, and finally giving up the idea altogether—she would not want to agonize the recipient with the decision whether to respond; nor would she want to anticipate a reply and then finally have to admit to herself one was never coming.
Not to mention the stars. The girl who wanted a telescope of that particular description wasn’t content merely to view the craters of the moon or the rings of Saturn. She wanted to see the mountains of Mars. The very outer reaches of the solar system.
Why would she deprive herself of everything that mattered to her, when she could easily—
He stopped his thoughts from going any further in that direction.
Instead, he hurled his walking stick onto the seat she had vacated and cursed her obduracy and stupidity.
CHAPTER 6
L ouisa had not told Lord Wrenworth everything about Mr. Charles, the butcher who fancied her.
Mr. Charles was indeed a good man and an excellent butcher, but he had a brother who drank and gambled and often came to him with one hand outstretched. He also had a widowed sister who depended heavily upon him to support her and her two young children. So even if he were desperate to marry Louisa, he would have to think twice—thrice—about taking on an invalid sister-in-law who needed looking after round the clock.
And suppose Mr. Charles somehow overcame his own qualms—could Louisa really marry him? There was an enormous difference between marrying a man one did not love wildly and marrying a man while wildly in love with someone else.
Who’d have thought, at the beginning of the year, that she had such a capacity for trouble? Everyone, herself included, had believed her the most placid, most levelheaded girl on earth, or at least in their part of the Cotswold. Had anyone toldher that she would be
His fortune privileged him over most other men in London, but how did he compete with all the “butchers, greengrocers, and the like”?
Slowly he retracted the walking stick. “You will certainly eat well, if nothing else.”
He’d meant to project a certain levity, but he sounded caustic.
“One must look to the silver linings,” she said quietly.
“I am sure you will manage very well.”
“Yes,” she said, with a grave solemnity. “I will always manage, somehow.”
The carriage door opening startled them both. He had not realized that they had arrived before Lady Balfour’s house. Suddenly Miss Cantwell was smiling sweetly and thanking him for his kindness in seeing her home. He, too, became all courtesy and gallantry, assuring her that he would have moved far greater mountains to ensure her ease and comfort.
As his coach pulled away once more from the curb, however, it was not their naughtier interaction that dominated his thoughts, but the determination—and melancholy—with which she assured him that she would survive marriage to just about any able-bodied man.
His entire plan had depended upon her failure to secure a man of her social station. But he had not counted on her willingnessto marry beneath her. A butcher was an upstanding member of any community, but by becoming the wife of one, she could count on never again calling on Lady Balfour or the Tenwhestles.
Or friends she had made during her time in London. Or just about anyone else she knew from home. It was cruel, but until the world changed, the gentry would always hold themselves apart from butchers, greengrocers, and the like.
He imagined her in this new life, always making sure she appeared extra cheerful, because she never wanted her husband, her epileptic sister, or her new friends and in-laws to think her less than content. He imagined her coming occasionally across an old acquaintance and the awkward conversation that would ensue, especially if she happened to be accompanied by her husband. He imagined her reaching for a sheet of stationery, the beginning of a letter on her mind, and then hesitating, and finally giving up the idea altogether—she would not want to agonize the recipient with the decision whether to respond; nor would she want to anticipate a reply and then finally have to admit to herself one was never coming.
Not to mention the stars. The girl who wanted a telescope of that particular description wasn’t content merely to view the craters of the moon or the rings of Saturn. She wanted to see the mountains of Mars. The very outer reaches of the solar system.
Why would she deprive herself of everything that mattered to her, when she could easily—
He stopped his thoughts from going any further in that direction.
Instead, he hurled his walking stick onto the seat she had vacated and cursed her obduracy and stupidity.
CHAPTER 6
L ouisa had not told Lord Wrenworth everything about Mr. Charles, the butcher who fancied her.
Mr. Charles was indeed a good man and an excellent butcher, but he had a brother who drank and gambled and often came to him with one hand outstretched. He also had a widowed sister who depended heavily upon him to support her and her two young children. So even if he were desperate to marry Louisa, he would have to think twice—thrice—about taking on an invalid sister-in-law who needed looking after round the clock.
And suppose Mr. Charles somehow overcame his own qualms—could Louisa really marry him? There was an enormous difference between marrying a man one did not love wildly and marrying a man while wildly in love with someone else.
Who’d have thought, at the beginning of the year, that she had such a capacity for trouble? Everyone, herself included, had believed her the most placid, most levelheaded girl on earth, or at least in their part of the Cotswold. Had anyone toldher that she would be
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