With Love, Louisa by Ashtyn Newbold
Chapter 14
Although Louisa had told Cassandra she did not want an elaborate wedding, she hadn’t listened. “I haven’t married, and I may never marry, so your wedding may be the only one I have the opportunity to plan,” Cassandra had said. Louisa had been unable to argue with that, so she had allowed the celebration to be as complete as Cassandra dreamed it would be.
The guests were few. Matthew and the Lovells came, as well as Mr. Warwick’s mother. Cassandra, of course, was there. And so was another man, one with dark hair speckled with grey. She assumed it was the elder Mr. Warwick, Jack’s father.
A common license had been obtained, allowing them to marry in the parish just a few days after she had accepted Mr. Warwick’s proposal. Louisa had been staying with the Lovells, and her back ached from sleeping on the sagging couch.
Louisa watched the cold greeting between father and son just before the wedding began. It wasn’t Mr. Warwick who introduced her to his father, but Cassandra. The elder Mr. Warwick looked very similar to his son, aside from the eyes that had clearly been inherited from his mother.
“I never thought Jack would marry,” The elder Mr. Warwick said to Louisa. His voice was just as gruff as his son’s—perhaps even more so. But there was something more intimidating about it.
Louisa didn’t know how to respond, so she simply nodded. Jack had been avoiding his family, and they seemed to have been avoiding him as well, only attending out of obligation. It seemed no one thought Mr. Warwick was fit for marriage. The thought was not comforting. Louisa’s stomach had been writhing all day, threatening to dispel her breakfast. Only minutes remained before she would become Mrs. Warwick.
The rushed nature of their wedding was likely what exacerbated the elder Mr. Warwick’s dismay. Also the way Louisa refused to look at her betrothed. From the moment she had walked into the church, she had avoided his gaze.
A hand touched her shoulder, sending a string of shivers over her arm. “May I have a moment with my bride?”
Louisa turned, glancing up at Mr. Warwick. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed on his father’s face.
The elder Mr. Warwick nodded, looking away from his son in an instant. Louisa could hardly breathe amid the tension between the two men. What had caused it? She should have found the answers before agreeing to marry Mr. Warwick, but now it was too late. Her heart leaped as he caught her staring up at him.
Her heart hammered in her chest. With his black jacket and white cravat, he was unjustly handsome. She narrowed her eyes, watching as he sauntered a step closer, extending his elbow to her. She paused, noting his unsteady gait.
Had he been drinking?
She took his arm, following him toward the waiting clergyman. Her pulse raced past her ears, her legs shaking beneath her as the ceremony began. It was short, and the clergyman’s words were all muffled in her ears. She didn’t look at Mr. Warwick again until he was pronounced her husband.
He didn’t seem affected by the ceremony, a distant look in his eyes that made her wonder yet again if he had already broken her second stipulation. But whether he had or not didn’t change the fact that they were now married. Jack Warwick was her husband, and she was his wife.
And the only person in the room who smiled was Cassandra.
The cart that would take them back to Jack’s house was decorated with ribbons. Margaret threw Louisa an encouraging smile as she stepped up to her seat. Jack ascended behind her, settling onto the bench by her side. Louisa could not have been the only one to have noticed his unsteady movements. Hot anger was already rising in her chest. Just the day before he had promised not to drink in excess, yet here he was at their wedding, drunk as a wheelbarrow.
He was skilled at hiding it, but not skilled enough.
His leg pressed against hers in the narrow seat, his arm overlapping with her elbow as he took the reins. Matthew stood with his arms crossed, observing with a stoic face as he always did. Louisa found Cassandra in the group, who was watching Jack with a sudden scowl. Surely she noticed that he had been drinking. And by the furrow on her brow, it was clear that she disapproved just as much as Louisa.
Mr. Warwick leaned toward her ear. “Off we go, Mrs. Warwick.”
Louisa ignored the heat that climbed her neck. That was her name now.
“Or may I call you Louisa?” As he asked the question, he waved at Matthew.
Louisa would have preferred to have him call her Miss Rosemeyer, but since that was no longer an option, and Mrs. Warwick was far more unsettling, she nodded. “Yes, I would prefer that.”
“And you may call me Jack.” He was leaning so close. Without permission, her stomach fluttered. Why did he have to be so blasted attractive? It would be much easier to be angry with him if he were not. Even so, when she smelled the brandy on his breath, she scooted away, as far to the opposite side of the cart as she could.
“I would prefer to call you Mr. Warwick,” she said through gritted teeth. She had to be patient. Once the horses started moving and they were out of sight, only then could she scold him.
“There is no need for such formality toward your husband,” he said, laughing. He led the horses forward abruptly, causing the cart to jerk into motion. Louisa instinctively gripped his arm to steady herself, pulling her hand away the instant she touched him.
Her heart pounded with dread as the cart raced away from the church and down the road that led to Jack’s house. The road was uneven, causing her to bounce in her seat. With one hand, she held onto the crown of flowers Cassandra had made for her, pinning it against her head to prevent it from blowing away.
“Slow down,” Louisa said, her voice panicked.
He didn’t seem to hear her, continuing forward with his careless driving, flicking the reins as if urging the team of horses to move even faster. They turned the first corner, and the cart barely made the turn without colliding with the short rock wall on the right side of the path.
Mr. Warwick laughed, seemingly thrilled by the experience.
He was mad. She had been right all along. Or at least he was mad when he was drunk. Why had she never learned to drive a cart? If she knew, she could have taken the reins herself.
She held onto the side of the cart, no longer caring what happened to the flowers in her hair. “Please slow down,” she said again, her voice weak. Her stomach had begun turning dangerously. She would cast up her accounts all over Mr. Warwick soon if he did not listen.
Mr. Warwick turned to face her, taking his gaze off the road. He flashed her a cajoling smile. “I cannot hear you.”
She glared at him, vexation gripping in all of her muscles. “Stop! This is dangerous.”
She turned her attention back to the road the same moment he did. Her stomach lurched, no longer able to contain its contents. She hinged at the waist, casting up her accounts all over Mr. Warwick’s boots. He shouted something intelligible, and when Louisa looked up, they were approaching a sharp turn, one that Mr. Warwick had failed to prepare for. As the horses swung around the bend, the cart teetered on one wheel, tipping onto its side with a crash.
The air was knocked from Louisa’s lungs as she hit the ground. She gasped for breath, rolling out of the way as the cart nearly fell on top of her. Mr. Warwick had fallen nearby, also barely evading the cart. Louisa’s head spun, and she finally caught her breath enough to sit up. Her hands stung as she pulled them away from the rocky path. Every part of her timid nature had fled, knocked out of her like the air had been from her lungs. She turned toward Mr. Warwick, who was struggling to sit. His soiled boots were caught under the cart, but he pulled them free, groaning. He turned toward Louisa, half his face covered in dirt. “Are you all right?” He reached for her arm.
“No,” she snarled with disgust, crawling away until she had room to stand. Her white dress was now spattered with dirt. “You’re drunk. You could not go one day without drinking, could you? You put both of our lives in danger!” She stood in front of where he still lay on the ground. This time she would not help him. She would not clean his face or stay by his side until she knew he was well. He could get up, fix the cart, and clean her vomit off his own boots.
Louisa’s legs still shook, her shoulder throbbing from where she had taken the initial fall. “You could have killed me! Do you realize that?”
His gaze grew heavy at those words, his jaw setting. “Louisa—” He staggered, trying to stand, but toppled over again.
She let out an exasperated sigh. Turning on her heel, she marched toward the house. Thankfully it was just over the hill. She touched her head. The flowers Cassandra had given her were gone, and the right sleeve of her dress had torn. Her hands stung, and when she looked down, she saw the tiny cuts the rocks had put in them when she tried to slow her fall. Not only was the groom not what she had imagined, but the wedding day itself was already far from what she had always dreamed of. She should have known Mr. Warwick would not listen to her stipulations. He hadn’t vowed to keep them. He hadn’t signed a paper or given his solemn word. A man like him simply could not be trusted.
Yes, he could provide her with a place to live and food on the table, and for that she would be grateful. But she would not allow herself to hope for anything else. With each step toward the house, she locked her heart up tighter.
When she reached the front doors, the butler watched with shock as she marched up the stairs. Her belongings had been moved to Benham Abbey the day before, so all she had to do was find which room had been prepared for her. After checking three different doors, she found one with her trunks on the floor. At least Mr. Warwick had listened to her first stipulation. This room was on the opposite end of the hall from his. Perfect.
Louisa rang the bellpull, hoping there was at least one maid in the sparsely staffed house who could come assist her. Mr. Warwick, however, was on his own. As she waited for the maid to arrive, she walked to the window. If she leaned far enough to the right, it afforded her the perfect view of Mr. Warwick as he untied the horses, one by one, walking them back to the stables. His gait was even more unsteady than it had been before. Perhaps he had injured his leg in the crash.
She watched as he enlisted the help of two grooms. With a huffed breath, she turned away from the window, examining the room more closely. She had a feeling these four walls would become very familiar. She was too angry with Mr. Warwick to have any wish to leave for the rest of the day. Perhaps for the rest of her life.
Jack stared at his reflection, sitting alone in front of the mirror in his bedchamber. His hair was mussed, his eyelids heavy. His nose was still slightly swollen, discoloration from the bruising spreading under both his eyes. He let out a long sigh, dragging his fingers down his face and neck as he looked up at the ceiling. He could hardly look at himself. Not because of the bruises, but for countless other reasons.
He stood, throwing the chair back into place. It had been one day and he had already lost his wife’s trust. He had been so determined to follow her stipulations, but he had disregarded them that morning. When Cassandra had told him his father would be attending the wedding, he had started with one drink. And then it had turned into far more than that.
He hadn’t even tried to face Louisa. He was too ashamed, and he knew with complete certainty that she was happier without him nearby. Her words had been echoing in his ears all day, slicing him to pieces. You could have killed me.
It could have been another deadly accident that was his fault. The outcome could have been so much worse. He had gotten away with a few scratches and a bruised ankle, but he still didn’t know if Louisa was injured or not. She had been hiding in her room all day, and he couldn’t blame her. He had almost reached for his bottle again that night, but he had refrained, hiding himself away in his own room instead. He was such a fool. Weak. Despicable.
He paced the border of his room, stopping by the wardrobe. He stared at it, remembering all the details of that night when Louisa had hidden inside. She had been so confused and frightened then, and she likely felt even more so now. Guilt drove its blade deeper into his heart. He needed to do something other than continue wallowing. He couldn’t undo the past, but he could try to be better in the future. That was all he could do. Try.
The determination in his stride distracted him from the pain in his ankle as he marched to every cabinet in the house and kitchen, gathering up every purchase he had made at the gin shop. If he worked too slowly, he might change his mind. One by one, he did as Cassandra had done and disposed of them. When they were all emptied, Jack found a tray, instructing the cook to fill it with each of the courses she was preparing for dinner. He didn’t suspect Louisa would care to join him in the dining room, so he would bring the food up to her room when it was ready. He would give her a chance to join him for dinner, but if she declined, then he was prepared.
When it came time for dinner, he paced the hallway three times before gathering the fortitude to knock on her door. He waited several seconds with no reply. He knocked again, listening to his own heartbeat as he waited.
“Louisa?” He was certain she was inside, even if she didn’t answer. He leaned his forehead against the wood, closing his eyes. “Would you like to come to dinner?”
Silence.
He took a deep breath. “I—I understand if you do not. I’m sorry. I truly am.” He waited a few more seconds. “Are you…injured? Are you alive? Please answer me so I know you are well. I will not walk away until you make a noise, even stomping your foot on the floor or cursing my name will suffice.”
He listened to a slight rustle of fabric. It grew closer, and so did her quiet footfalls. He took a step away from the door. Was she going to let him in?
The door shifted as she slid the lock into place, the metal making a loud screech against the wood.
Ah. She was locking him out.
He fought the smile that tugged on his mouth. Louisa was far more stubborn than she appeared. It would take no small amount of effort to win her trust.
“Thank you,” Jack said. “I am glad to hear you are alive and well.”
