With Love, Louisa by Ashtyn Newbold
Chapter 10
"W-warwick?” Louisa stiffened, her smile freezing on her cheeks.
“Yes.”
Louisa looked around the room, her brow furrowing. “Miss Warwick, you said?”
“Indeed…my name is Cassandra Warwick.” She paused. “Are you still unwell?”
“Oh, no, I am well enough.” Louisa forced a smile. Given the woman’s apparent age, likely in her late twenties, and the fact that she was a miss and shared Jack Warwick’s surname, she could only have been his sister.
Before Louisa could say another word, the drawing room door burst open. A tall woman with ginger hair much like Miss Warwick’s came bustling in, eyes wide. Her eyes, a mixture between blue and grey, were instantly familiar. Mr. Warwick had the same eyes. The woman could only be his—
“Mama!” Cassandra stood, waving her mother forward. “This is Miss Louisa Rosemeyer. I found her all alone in the woods on my way to visit Jack.”
Louisa’s ears perked.
“She was on the cusp of fainting, so I brought her in and she is now recovering quite well.” Cassandra smiled, adjusting the wildflower that was tucked behind her ear. “Miss Rosemeyer, this is my mother, Mrs. Warwick.”
Louisa tried to stand to properly greet the woman, but Cassandra stopped her. “You must rest.”
“Oh, poor girl.” Mrs. Warwick touched a hand to her heart. “I am glad Cassandra was passing by.”
“As am I.” Louisa looked down, suddenly shy from all the attention. “I am most grateful.”
“Are you new to town? I am not familiar with the name Rosemeyer,” Mrs. Warwick said.
“Yes, I am new.”
Both women stared down at her, as if expecting her to elaborate.
“I am only visiting,” Louisa added in a quick voice. “I am visiting my friends, the Lovells.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
Mrs. Warwick pursed her lips. “I’m afraid I have not been acquainted with them either.” It didn’t surprise Louisa, considering the difference in their current social standings. “I suppose you will have to introduce me to them,” Mrs. Warwick added with a cajoling smile.
With so kind a sister and mother, why would Mr. Warwick have left his family behind? The Lovells had told Louisa that he was unwelcome in his childhood home. It didn’t surprise her that he could have behaved in a matter that warranted such circumstances, but Louisa wouldn’t have expected Mrs. Warwick or Cassandra to be at the center of any familial discord.
“It will be wonderful to have a new friend in town for a while,” Mrs. Warwick continued. “How long will you be visiting?”
Louisa’s eyes stung again, but she fought the sudden bout of tears. What had come over her? She had always been quite skilled at keeping her emotions at bay. Mrs. Warwick’s eyes were looking down at her with too much kindness, which Louisa found humorous considering they were almost identical to Mr. Warwick’s eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t know,” Louisa said. “That is yet to be decided.”
“I see.” Mrs. Warwick exchanged a look of concern with her daughter.
“Did you come here alone?” Cassandra asked. “Why were you wandering through the woods by yourself? I gathered that you were quite hungry and thirsty.” She eyed the empty tray on Louisa’s lap.
A disobedient tear escaped her eye, then another. Louisa tightened her lips to keep them from quivering. Blast her lack of sleep. It always made her far too emotional. “I had a very long day yesterday.”
Mrs. Warwick touched a hand to her heart again, her features flooding with concern. “Oh, dear Miss Rosemeyer. We are here to help you now. What might we do to help you feel better?”
“You have already done much to help me, and I thank you very much.” Much more than your son, Louisa added in her mind. Why had he wanted her to go back to his house? Had that been his way of helping her? She shook him from her mind. Mrs. Warwick and Cassandra were very amiable, but Louisa felt far too uncomfortable trespassing on their hospitality a moment longer. If only they knew what had happened the night before. She gulped. The more the story spread, even the innocent version, the more Louisa’s reputation would suffer.
“There must be something more we can do,” Mrs. Warwick said. “May we provide your transportation to the Lovell residence? I should hate to have you walk again.”
Louisa gave a grateful smile, her worry subsiding for a moment. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”
After a few minutes, Mrs. Warwick and Cassandra had made the arrangements for Louisa, and she was on her way again. From the coach window, Louisa waved, hoping her expressions of gratitude had been enough. She would likely never see them again. Unless she found work as a governess nearby, she would have to leave Yorkshire. Her stomach twisted as she thought of all the time and money Matthew had invested into this trip for her. She should have simply let him fund a season for her. Maybe then she would have found a match and been taken care of without burdening Matthew further.
She leaned her head back against the seat, watching the hills pass by. She would still need to return to Mrs. Irwin’s house to fetch her hidden trunks, but for now, she had her valise on her lap. Opening the clasp, she withdrew Mr. Warwick’s letter that he had left at her door that morning. What a strange man. Selfish and arrogant. He must have given his sweet mother and sister a great deal of trouble. Certainly they were as happy to be rid of him as Louisa was. She read over his words again, her eyes settling on the line at the end. Do refrain from hiding in men’s wardrobes in the future; it is a disagreeable habit to have, you know.
She found herself staring at the words, not at what they meant, but at the formation of each line. He had terrible penmanship.
Her eyes narrowed. Where had she seen that dreadful hand before?
Her heart picked up speed as she rifled through her valise to withdraw the crumpled letter Mrs. Irwin had denied she had written.
Dear Miss Louisa,
Do come as soon as you wish. I will be most eagerly anticipating your arrival.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Irwin
Louisa’s jaw dropped as she looked down at the two letters. There was no doubt they had been written by the same person.
Jack had received many threats in his life, but never had he received one from a lady. He crossed his arms, casting his coachman a look of disbelief.
“That’s wha’ she said, master. Ye must know I don’t mince words.”
Jack had difficulty believing that Miss Rosemeyer had used the exact wording that his coachman, Giles, had used, but the idea was amusing to say the least.
“I think ye ought not to pursue her any longer. She didn’t seem interested.”
Jack frowned. “Pursue her?” He scoffed. “I was simply trying to help her. But it seems she does not want my help.”
“No, indeed.” Giles chuckled. “She wants nothin’ to do with ye.”
Jack’s frown only deepened. Why did that vex him so greatly? He touched a hand to his nose—the swelling had only decreased a little. Were his looks all he had? He shook his head in an effort to clear it. He shouldn’t be caring one bit about what Miss Rosemeyer thought of him. But given the situation with his housekeeper and the rumors she was sure to spread, Jack felt some measure of responsibility to ensure Miss Rosemeyer hadn’t been impacted too severely.
“Where did you leave her?” Jack asked.
“Mrs. Irwin’s house. She ‘ad three trunks to carry, so I ‘spect she’d still be there.”
Jack squinted up at the sky. It was a hot day to be outside for such a long time. He strode to the stables, taking the first horse that could be saddled. He mounted, starting in the direction of Mrs. Irwin’s new house. Before he made it far, he stopped, circling back. He dismounted and ran to the kitchen, remembering how hungry Miss Rosemeyer had been the night before. He packed a basket of fruit, ham, and bread. He doubted she had dared go to his kitchens that morning. Based on the coachman’s description of where he had left Miss Rosemeyer—outside, Jack knew his prediction had been correct. Mrs. Irwin hadn’t been willing to take her in.
He let out a sigh as his horse sprang into action, trotting faster along the road. Jack’s conscience had been bothering him all morning; less now that Miss Rosemeyer had refused to take the coach back to his house so he could offer her further assistance. What had he done to deserve her dislike? She had been the one to break into his house. Had she found that Matthew whom she had spoken of to help her instead?
He spotted a coach up ahead, its path about to intersect with his own. He urged his horse along faster. Was that his family’s coach? His heart pounded. He recognized the horses as well as the conveyance. Cassandra preferred to walk everywhere she went, and his mother rarely left the house during the day. Could it be his father? Jack’s throat went dry as he watched the horses' approach where he had stopped. He was in their way, but he didn’t want to move until he glimpsed who was inside.
As it drew closer, he tipped his head to see into the window.
Two round brown eyes peeked out from beneath the brim of a bonnet, staring at him with shock through the glass. Miss Rosemeyer?
Jack must have hit his head harder than he had first thought the night before. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. It was indeed her.
“Aye!” He called to the coachman, waving his hands wildly above his head. “Stop!”
The coachman would recognize Jack as heir to the estate he worked at, so he wouldn’t question his request. The moment the man saw him, he pulled the horses to a stop. Jack led his horse close to the window, staring into it for long enough to make Miss Rosemeyer uncomfortable enough as to open it.
Unobscured by the glass, he could see the hint of color on her cheeks.
“Mr. Warwick.” She lowered her head in greeting, eyes remaining wide with shock.
“Miss Rosemeyer, I see you have found…an alternative method of transportation.”
Her thick lashes hid her eyes from his view. She cleared her throat. “I met your sister Cassandra when I was passing through the woods. She and your mother kindly offered to convey me to my destination.”
What were the odds of that? He shook the surprise from his face. “Is that so? As I recall from what my coachman told me, you have two legs perfectly capable of walking. There was something else they were capable of as well, but I cannot quite recall…” he tapped his chin, “did it involve kicking, perhaps?”
Her cheeks darkened yet another shade.
Jack concealed his smile. She was very endearing when she blushed.
He paused, examining the furrow in her brow and the tightness of her jaw. Oh. It seemed that anger was the cause of the color on her cheeks, not embarrassment.
In one swift motion, she lifted her hand out the window, extending a paper to him. “Did you write this?”
He frowned, reading over the words. “This is signed from Mrs. Irwin.”
“She denied writing it, and when I compared the note you left me this morning, the writing looked the same.” Louisa handed him another letter, gesturing for him to compare them side by side. He held the reins tight in one hand, fanning the two letters out in his other. He couldn’t deny that the writing looked eerily similar.
“It would explain everything,” Miss Rosemeyer said, her voice quiet as always, but firm. “That is why Mrs. Irwin doesn’t recall inviting me here. That is why I arrived at the wrong address. You sent me that letter, pretending to be my aunt.” She let out a huffed breath. “The only question that remains is why on earth you would have done such a thing.”
Jack shook his head, scowling down at the paper. A faint memory burned in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp onto it. “I don’t recall writing this. I—” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I suppose it is possible that I could have been—er—drinking at the time.”
Miss Rosemeyer’s nostrils flared. “That is a disagreeable habit to have, you know.”
His defenses rose. “So is kicking a man where he does not wish to be kicked.”
She gasped, her cheeks turning red. “That is not how I phrased it.”
“As I said before, so is hiding in wardrobes in the middle of the night.”
“Something that only occurred because you sent me this letter and invited me to come to your house.”
She did have a point. Jack’s stomach twisted with guilt. It was all his fault. It could have been any number of evenings when he was drunk as a wheelbarrow and the letter from Miss Rosemeyer was handed to him. Now that she mentioned it and he was holding the letter in his hand, he did vaguely recall writing a letter that, at the time, seemed vastly amusing to him. He groaned. What had he done?
The fire in her eyes had extinguished, leaving a look of empty defeat in its place. “If not for you, I would never have taken this long journey and my reputation would not be ruined.” She exhaled sharply, rubbing her forehead. “Now your housekeeper is spreading rumors around town. The gossip of servants never takes long to spread. I have no place to go.”
Jack knew better than anyone how people could blather falsehoods. Especially servants. No man in town would be willing to marry Miss Rosemeyer once they heard the rumors. Just like no one in town would ever invite Jack to a party again after the things Evan Whitby had said about him and his uncle’s death. His stomach turned over with guilt. It was his fault Miss Rosemeyer was here at all, and it was his fault she had been turned away by Mrs. Irwin. The entire mess was his responsibility to clean up.
A sinking sensation started in Jack’s chest, followed by one sobering, yet intriguing thought.
He bit the inside of his cheek, tipping his head to one side as he let the idea sink into his mind. There was only one thing he could offer to make Miss Rosemeyer’s situation better, and his honor, what little of it he had left, bound him to it.
He dismounted in one sudden motion, handing the reins to the waiting coachman to hold. Miss Rosemeyer’s brow furrowed, and he thought she might shriek in terror again as he tugged open the carriage door and stepped inside.
The entire contraption rocked from his sudden movements, and Miss Rosemeyer cowered in the corner of the coach like a frightened mouse.
He removed his hat, sitting on the seat across from her, leaning his elbows onto his knees. He snapped the door closed behind him.
Miss Rosemeyer finally found her voice, and it cracked. “What on earth are you doing?”
He ought to act quickly before she began searching for the coach pistol. He met her gaze, putting on an expression of complete sincerity. He had never planned on doing this, but at the moment, it seemed like the correct course of action. If he thought too much about things, he often convinced his mind to change.
He took a deep breath. “I am offering you a place to go. It is my fault you are in this plight, so I will help you out of it. If you will accept my offer.” He cringed inwardly. He had never rehearsed how he would phrase something like this.
“Your offer?” Her eyes flew open wider.
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I am offering to marry you.”
