Page 50 of Wager for a Wife

He already knew what he must do, may his cursed father rot in Hades for all eternity. “Do you have a paper and ink I may use?” he asked Heslop. “I’m afraid I have a letter to write to my betrothed, informing her I will not be seeing her this afternoon after all. And then I will be escorting Miss Purnell and her children to Farleigh Manor. God help me.”

How he was to explain any of this to Louisa, he had no idea. He’d promised her an afternoon dedicated to candid answers to all her questions. Now he would not only be canceling their afternoon plans, but he would also be dashing off to Buckinghamshire once again—this time with a secret he felt unable to share regardless of his promise of honesty to her. For it was Miss Purnell’s secret to tell, not William’s, and the poor woman needed time to sort out her life and settle her children into a safe home before concerning herself with the scandal and humiliation brought upon her by her bigamous fraud of a husband.

William’s father.

He loathed even acknowledging the familial connection to the man.

He would find a way to be back for the second reading of the banns. He would find the words to reassure Louisa that his travel to Buckinghamshire—for the second time in less than a week—was reasonable and necessary and not suspicious in the least. Without telling her the reason for it, no less.

He doubted she would believe him. Of course she wouldn’t believe him—it was ludicrous to think otherwise. Oh, but he should take her in his arms and explain what a bad choice of a husband he was. He came with a family and a past that would be unfair to any young lady but particularly to Lady Louisa Hargreaves, who could have any suitor she chose and, in fact, still had an offer from one of the most eligible and high-ranking gentlemen in England. She was open and artless and loving. One only had to witness her interactions with her brothers or see her face light up when chatting with friends to know this. William was drawn to that light like a moth to flame. He longed for her warmth and brightness.

He dashed off a note, explaining that once again he’d been summoned to Buckinghamshire. He apologized, assuring her he would be at the church for the banns on Sunday, and vowed that he would dedicate his time upon his return to answering all her questions. They would get better acquainted, he promised. He would allay her worries. He wanted to know her better just as she claimed she wanted to know him.

It sounded like drivel, but it was the best he could do on short notice, especially with his mind scrambling to come up with a solution for these people—including children, for heaven’s sake. With Wilcox’s assurances that he would deliver the note directly into Lady Louisa’s hands, William rejoined Heslop and Miss Purnell.

* * *

Louisa had been struggling ever since Lord Kerridge had approached her at the theater night before last. At the time, she’d been taken aback by his remarks about her decision, and then she had been embarrassed by them. That embarrassment had turned to bitterness that had manifested itself in angry words flung at William, who had caused all of this to occur. Her words to him had not been ladylike at all, and her mother would have taken her to task over her lack of propriety if she’d been present, despite the unique circumstances involved.

Oh, but it had felt good to say those words.

She woke up the following morning and decided to stay in bed for a few minutes, propping herself up with pillows. She wanted time alone to think before her day began. It had dawned on her at some point that despite her lashing out at William at Vauxhall, he had been solicitous and understanding. He’d urged her to speak her mind. No one had ever really done that for her before. Her brothers tended to tease her about her excessive wordiness—never out of meanness, certainly, even if it had occasionally stung. But William had understood her innate need to express herself, and he had comforted her and held her in his arms until she’d regained her composure, even though most of her vitriol had been directed at him.

Unlike herself, however, William was not an open book. He always replied to her questions with the fewest words possible. He rarely even smiled—in point of fact, he gave away little by way of expression. But yesterday, Louisa had learned that he was kind. Considering his unwillingness to free her from the vowel, the discovery had surprised her.

The man was a paradox.

“Oh, good, milady, you’re awake now,” Tibbetts said, peeking through the doorway. “Here’s your chocolate and toast.” She set the tray on the table next to Louisa’s bed and poured her a steaming cup. Louisa took it gratefully from her and breathed in its aroma before taking a careful sip. “Mm, thank you, Tibbetts.”

“We’ve finally got us some English weather for once.” She went back into Louisa’s dressing room and brought out one of Louisa’s favorites, a pale-blue muslin dress and a matching shawl. “It’s cloudy and threatening rain.”

“Rain? Are my brothers still at home?” Louisa asked, taking a bite of toast. If they were here, they’d be calling her Lady Cumulus again, regardless of the different dress, and accusing her of causing the rainy weather. “So far, we’ve had a London spring filled with very un-English blue skies.” She took another nibble of toast.

“That’s to be sure, milady. Oh, I nearly forgot. You need to dress quickly, as there’s a gentleman downstairs says he won’t leave until he’s delivered a letter into your very hands. He wouldn’t give it to Gibbs, and he wouldn’t give it to me either, even after I told him I was your personal maid. I told him you were asleep and I had no intention of waking you, and he said he’d wait until you did.”

“Who is it, Tibbetts? Did the man give his name?” She was sure the staff would recognize William and Lord Kerridge both. It was odd that the man insisted on staying to deliver the letter only to her. She set her cup aside and got out of bed, allowing Tibbetts to assist her in removing her nightgown and stepping into the dress.

“It’s a Mr. Wilcox,” Tibbetts said as she buttoned up the back of Louisa’s bodice. “That’s all he said: Mr. Wilcox, and that he’d come to personally deliver a letter to you and wasn’t leaving until he put it directly into your hands. Gibbs put him in the small parlor, he was that annoyed.”

“Hmm,” Louisa remarked. “I’ve never heard of a Mr. Wilcox.” She sat in front of her dressing table and began unbraiding her hair. “Do something simple, Tibbetts. I’m curious to find out who this letter is from and what it contains.”

There were really only two people who could have sent Mr. Wilcox here. He was either one of Lord Kerridge’s servants, Lord Kerridge perhaps feeling it beneath himself to request an answer to his marriage offer this time around. Or it might be someone acting on behalf of William; however, she couldn’t imagine why since she was seeing him this afternoon. He’d promised her last night that they would finally spend time together and that he would answer her questions openly.

Tibbetts fashioned Louisa’s hair into a simple knot at the back of her head, and after a quick check of herself in the mirror, Louisa left her bedroom and descended the stairs, her heart beating a bit faster than usual in anticipation.

She found Mr. Wilcox in the small parlor, where he was pacing back and forth.

“Mr. Wilcox,” she said.

The man immediately stopped pacing and turned to face her.

“I am Lady Louisa Hargreaves. I understand you are here to see me.”

“Lady Louisa,” the man said, bowing politely.

“I was only just informed that you were here,” she said, crossing the room to sit in one of the upholstered chairs in front of the fireplace. “I’m sorry if it caused you any inconvenience. Would you care for tea?”

“No, thank you kindly, milady. No inconvenience at all. I don’t mean to take up your time, only to give you the letter I was asked to place into your hands.” He reached inside his coat and removed the letter in question.

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