With Love, Louisa by Ashtyn Newbold
Chapter 15
She may have been alive, but she was not well.
Louisa listened as Mr. Warwick’s footfalls moved away from the door, her hand still gripping the edge of the lock. She had been surprised to hear the sincerity in his apology. Her heart pounded. She had been holding onto her anger all day, but now she felt it slipping out of her grip. Louisa had always struggled holding onto feelings of resentment, even when she wanted to. There was no good that came from it.
With a sigh, she sat down on the edge of her bed. But now her pride would not allow her to go downstairs for dinner. Her stomach growled. Did she really plan to hide in her room all day? When she considered the alternative, which was facing Mr. Warwick, she decided that yes—she would rather hide in her room, even if it meant she had to be hungry. The last time she had gone wandering that house in search of food had been the start of a disaster.
Louisa looked out the window as the sun set, watching the streaks of orange and blue disappear. A few minutes later, another knock sounded on her door. Louisa jumped a little before rising to her feet slowly.
“Louisa?”
It was Mr. Warwick’s voice again. Her heart hammered. What could he want now? She eased her way closer to the door, biting her lip. Should she open it? Her hand hovered over the lock before a thought made her freeze. Mr. Warwick was her husband, and it was the night of their wedding. Surely he did not expect the proceedings of the evening to be…traditional. No. She shook her head even though he could not see her. No, no, no. She banished the idea from her head. Only a simpleton would have such expectations given their circumstances.
Well, Mr. Warwick was a simpleton at times.
“Louisa, I know you are there.” His voice was low. “Please, open the door.”
“Why?” Her voice was sharp.
He was silent for a long moment. “I’m afraid I cannot tell you.” He paused again. “It is a surprise.”
She frowned, taking a step away from the door. “I do not like being surprised.”
He laughed under his breath. “You will like this surprise. I promise.”
Misgiving flooded her chest, and she almost darted into the far corner of the room. “I had my share of surprises when I fell out of the cart today.”
“Yes, well, I was surprised when you deposited the contents of your stomach on my boots.”
She scoffed. “That was your fault.”
She heard his deep inhale followed by a sigh. “Yes, the entire ordeal was my fault, and I offer my sincerest apology.”
There was nothing flirtatious or remotely romantic about his voice or words, so she gathered the courage to move closer to the door again. With slow movements, she slid the lock, pulling the door open just enough to peek her head out.
Mr. Warwick held a large silver tray, every inch of the surface covered with bowls and plates, each piled high with meat, bread, soup, fruit, and even desserts. “My cook prepared a special meal for us this evening,” he said. “I thought you might like to eat in your room. It would be a shame to miss such a meal.” His eyes met hers, a wry smile pulling on his lips. “And I know what becomes of you when you are hungry.”
Louisa stared at the feast in front of her, too shocked to speak. She glanced up at Mr. Warwick’s face again, noting a certain shyness in his features. She had only seen the pompous smiles or the flirtatious ones. The only sign of vulnerability she had seen in his expression was that day, when she had accused him of nearly killing her. Now, as he looked down at her, he seemed to be searching for something. Was it forgiveness? Approval?
She opened the door wider, propping it open with her leg as she took the tray. “Thank you,” she managed in a quiet voice.
The tray was heavier than she had expected, and she struggled to balance it while keeping the door open with her back. In a swift movement, Mr. Warwick reached behind her, pressing his hand against the door, just above her shoulder. Her breath caught in her lungs, trapped between an inhale and an exhale.
The tray faltered in her hands, but she managed to steady the opposite edge of it against Mr. Warwick’s chest. He tipped his head down to look at her, a small smile flitting across his lips. “That was a near disaster,” he breathed. “May I remind you that you already spilled one meal on me today.”
It took her a moment to catch his meaning, and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Surprisingly though, her anger had faded to a small spark, one she was having trouble igniting. He couldn’t expect that a tray of food would mend a mistake like the one he made that day. “May I remind you that it was entirely your fault?”
He kept his hand planted on the door behind her, the tray wedged between them. He seemed to be leaning closer though, his eyes smiling directly into hers. His expression shifted to one that was much more serious. “May I remind you how very sorry I am?”
Louisa pursed her lips, looking down at the food. Why was her heart racing? She was unaccustomed to seeing him this serious. “If you were as sorry as you say, you might have procured me a pineapple for dinner.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Such exotic fruits do not grow in England.”
“When I lived at Larkhall, Mr. Northcott once had one imported. There was only one small piece of the fruit that was not rotten from the long journey, but it was the most delicious fruit I have ever eaten.”
Mr. Warwick chuckled. “If I ever have the wealth to import a pineapple, I will personally carve out the portion that has not yet rotted and present it to you on a silver platter if it means you will forgive me.”
Louisa held back her smile, but she feared Mr. Warwick caught a glimpse of it—at least based on the victory in his eyes. No. She could not let him have any victory yet.
She put on a stern expression. “I eagerly await that day. Only then will you have my forgiveness.” Louisa pressed against the door, her skin flushing as she backed away from him. He had been standing so close. She hadn’t noticed the ring of green around his irises, nor the dusting of freckles on his cheeks before that night.
His hand fell away from the door as she slipped inside her room. Just when she thought the door was going to close between them, he caught it by the handle, peeking his head inside. He wedged his shoulder inside as well, half his body in her room, half in the hallway. He didn’t seem as though he would enter without permission, so she let her posture relax.
She raised her eyebrows. “What is it?”
“May I remind you that you are now my wife?” he said.
Her eyes rounded.
“And I am your husband?”
Louisa’s throat dried up like an autumn leaf, and she gripped the tray tighter. “I suppose that is true.”
“You realize that it is our wedding night, do you not?” His lips curved into a grin.
Where was the poker when she needed it? Perhaps if she threatened to stab him, he might fall into the hallway and she could lock the door again.
He continued in a slow voice. “Husbands and wives are expected to—”
Louisa cleared her throat in an effort to drown out his words. “How dare—”
“…expected to dine together on the night of their wedding,” Mr. Warwick finished with an innocent smile. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Louisa glared at him as heat flooded her face yet again. He knew exactly what he was doing with his choice of words. He was teasing her relentlessly. A low chuckle escaped him as he observed her reaction from the doorway. “Oh…was there something else you thought I was implying?”
He was infuriating. And tremendously inappropriate.
“No.”
His chuckling continued. “Did you think all that food was for you?”
She looked down at the tray, noticing for the first time that there were at least two servings of every item. She had been hungry enough to overlook that fact. She was still hungry enough to overlook it. And, at the moment, his laugh at her expense was entirely too vexing to tolerate.
She set the tray down on her bed, turning to face him again. She crossed her arms, speaking in a quick voice as she walked toward the door. “One would not expect a woman like myself to eat two servings of an elaborate meal like this, nor would they expect a woman to lock her husband out of her room on the night of their wedding, but my life has never gone according to expectation.” Louisa gave a sweet and rather false smile, taking hold of the door handle.
Mr. Warwick still laughed as he stepped back in surrender. She tried not to notice the lines that stretched out from the corners of his eyes as he smiled. It would not do to let his endearing qualities overshadow his vexing ones.
“Thank you for the food,” she said. “I will enjoy every last bite.” With that, she closed the door between them, sliding the lock firmly into place.
She turned away with a content sigh. Her hands stung from holding onto the tray so tightly. She looked down at the cuts on both her palms. They had turned an angry red. The maid had cleaned the dirt from them earlier that day, but they still stung with every movement. Her shoulder carried a dull ache, and she had seen the start of a bruise forming on her hip…all because Mr. Warwick had been careless.
Yes, indeed, she would enjoy every bite of her meal. Not only that, but she would thoroughly enjoy every bite of his. Better yet, she wouldn’t feel the slightest bit guilty for it.
She laughed softly to herself, the image of his shocked expression as she closed the door still floating through her mind. Pride surged in her chest. She had never known herself to be so bold, but Mr. Warwick had a way of bringing out the lion inside her, one that had been disguised as a lamb her entire life.
She could not be a lamb with Mr. Warwick or she would be eaten alive. The only way to deal with a lion was to become a lioness herself.
She ate the dessert first, enjoying the lack of social rules dictating which coarse she ate first. The sweet blueberry tart flooded her senses, the faint smell of cinnamon wafting up to her nose as she took the first bite. She chewed and swallowed, unsettled by the silence of the house.
Drat it all. She did feel a little guilty.
With careful steps, she walked to the door, peeking one eye between the crack.
Mr. Warwick was gone.
