With Love, Louisa by Ashtyn Newbold

Chapter 3

“They are coming to work for me.” Mrs. Millicent Irwin lifted her chin, jowls wobbling. Her grey eyes flashed dangerously, staring down her long pointed nose straight into Jack’s soul. “It was agreed upon while you were too drunk to comprehend it.”

Jack scoffed, watching with complacence from the doorway as Mrs. Irwin stood on the steps of Benham Abbey, explaining why he was still left with only a few servants to run the household. He would have to hire his own after all, it seemed. It had already been a fortnight of the housekeeper pestering him about the matter of her working twice as hard to make up for the lack of servants. It was not his fault she had to actually work to earn her wages.

At any rate, how did Mrs. Irwin even know Jack had been drunk? He was never without his wits about him, not even after he had been drinking. He could recall their conversation fully. He squinted against the sun. Couldn’t he? Perhaps there were a few events in the past his drinking had caused him to forget.

“Very well, take the servants,” Jack said. “It matters little to me.” He waved his hand through the air. “Maids are not so difficult to find.”

“They won’t simply drop themselves on the doorstep.” Mrs. Irwin nearly snarled. “They must come with experience and references.”

“I am letting this house.” Jack raised his eyebrows. “I shall do with it and manage it how I wish. Good day.” With one swift step backward, he threw the front door closed, clearing that vexing woman from his view.

A long, exasperated sigh came from behind him. “Oh, Jack. Could you not be a little kinder to Mrs. Irwin?”

His expression flattened as he turned to face his sister, Cassandra. Her long, ginger hair was arranged in a disorderly pile atop her head, the pile adorned with wild flowers that she had likely found on her walk to his house. Tendrils hung around her face. He had nearly forgotten she had taken the long walk from their family home to see him. Her eyes, a pale brown, bore into him with disapproval. That was the only way people seemed to look at him of late. His heart had once ached in resistance when he was looked at in that manner, but now he was accustomed to it.

“She is a vile, ridiculous, inhospitable woman, and she has taken nearly all of the household staff,” he muttered. “It is women like her, with far too much money than they know how to spend, who vex me greatly.” Mrs. Irwin owned multiple properties, two in Yorkshire alone, one of which she had just purchased within a few miles of Benham Abbey.

Cassandra planted her hands on her hips. “It is quite telling that nearly all the staff would rather work for her than for you, wouldn’t you agree? Perhaps they fear that you will soon gamble away your means to pay their wages.”

Jack ignored the prickle of realization that climbed his skin. He did have a game or two planned for that evening. But he would never stake everything he had; he was not thatfoolish, no matter how much the pompous men at the parties pressured him.

“This home is temporary,” Jack said in a flat voice. “If Father’s health declines soon, as would be expected at his age, then I shall soon not need this place.” He gestured all around the entry hall.

Cassandra gasped. “And are you counting down the days until his death?”

“No, I am counting down the minutes, dear sister.” Jack sauntered toward the cabinet against the wall, surprised to find it empty. He whirled to face his sister, hot anger in his chest. “Where is the port?”

Cassandra lifted her chin. “I disposed of it. You have a severe problem, and since you will not take any action toward fixing it yourself, I have given you a place to start.”

Disposed?He took a step toward her, his jaw tightening. “You—”

“I accept your gratitude most humbly.” She swished her skirts as she turned toward the front door, humming as she passed him.

“I will be purchasing more and locking the cabinet,” he snarled as she reached for the front door.

She gave a thoughtful look, glancing heavenward. “That may be difficult since I have also hidden the key.”

His jaw hung open, fury rising in his throat. It was not Cassandra’s place to mother him, to steal his property as though it belonged to her. She was his elder sister, but only by two years.

Two years that seemed to have given her all the permission she needed to treat him like a child.

His anger continued to rise, and the bottle in his throat that held all his horrible words came unstopped. “It is no wonder you have failed to find a husband. No man in the world would choose to marry a tyrant.”

Cassandra turned on him, a twinge in her brow. His words had struck hard. Perhaps too hard. Guilt stabbed at his heart, but he ignored it. Cassandra was nothing short of a spinster at twenty-six, but she claimed she had no desire to marry. Jack had suspected her declarations of happy spinsterhood were simply a way to cover the pain she felt at the rejections she had faced, but only now did he realize how true his suspicions were.

He exhaled. “Cassandra…”

She marched down the first step, her skirts flowing upward with the breeze for a moment, revealing her bare feet. It wasn’t even quirks like that which had caused her to be a spinster. She never wore shoes when walking outside if she could help it, having her skirts hemmed a little longer to hide her feet. But Jack knew the true reason Cassandra had not yet found a match.

It was Jack’s fault.

Reaching back, his sister tugged the door shut, blocking him from her own view just as he had blocked Mrs. Irwin from his.

He raked a hand over his hair, closing his eyes. Cassandra was the only person who could make him feel ashamed. There was a moment—a fleeting one—where his heart pinched with remorse. And then Mrs. Chamberlain’s croaky voice interrupted his brief fit of contrition.

“Where have my scullery maids gone?”

Jack’s eyes shot open. Not only did Mrs. Chamberlain sound like a toad, but she resembled one too, with her wide-set round eyes and small nose and mouth. She was short and broad, frowning up at him in dismay.

“Mrs. Irwin has taken them,” he said with finality.

“Taken?” The housekeeper shuffled closer. “Where are the replacements?”

“I have none.”

She sputtered, glancing about in shock. “I cannot do all the work alone. Please…” she inserted a curtsy, as if to excuse her frank way of speaking, “Please employ a few more hands.”

“You will have assistance eventually.” Jack rubbed his forehead. He did not wish to fret about the matter that day. He had planned on an entertaining evening visiting his favorite gambling party with his friends.

“Eventually?” Her skin paled. “I’m afraid it is a matter of urgency. I—”

Jack raised a hand to silence her. “You will have your maids soon enough. But if you pester me about the matter again, you shall never have maids in this house, nor a position of your own.” Out of habit, he strode toward the cabinet again before remembering Cassandra’s untimely antics. He would have to fill his cups elsewhere. A trip to the market would provide what he needed.

Before Mrs. Chamberlain could say another word, Jack took his beaver from the wall and placed it on his head, keeping his gaze downward as he started out the door.

Clouds rolled across the Yorkshire sky, pale grey, like smoke. The late afternoon sunlight, tinged orange with the sunset, filtered through them like fire.

Louisa had scarcely seen such a colorful landscape as the sky and rolling green hills of Yorkshire. Their coach had been rumbling down the same rugged path for an hour, the scenery finally changing to reveal houses tucked among the hills and what Margaret had pointed out as the River Derwent. Grey stones piled up to create walls on both sides of the path, the sunlight glowing on the rocks, reflecting off of the moisture from the earlier rain.

Even from inside the carriage—if Louisa breathed deeply enough—she could smell the earth, crisp and raw and inviting.

Matthew’s head lolled to one side, resting against the side cushions. His eyes were closed, but Louisa doubted he was asleep. The slightest jolt of the coach would have him alert, sitting straight up.

Margaret shared the same side of the carriage as Louisa, her eyes fixed on the landscape just as Louisa’s had been. What a joy it would have been to grow up in such a lovely area as this. Margaret must have missed it terribly. Even by the way her posture had straightened, Louisa could see that Margaret was in her own territory. Her family was nearby. The thought sent a string of shivers over Louisa’s arms, a smile pulling on her lips. Uncertainty still twisted her own stomach into a knot, but Margaret’s joy was enough to untie it.

Seeing the joy of others could either be a balm for an aching heart, or the root of envy. Though Louisa wished she had a loving family to come home to, she would not wallow in self-pity.

“They will be overjoyed to see you,” Louisa said. She didn’t need to specifically mention Margaret’s family. Surely she was already thinking of them.

Margaret turned, a half-smile on her lips. “I’m afraid they will be more distraught than anything else. Until I find work again.” Her eyes traveled to Matthew, her voice lowering to a whisper. “Do you suppose he will keep his promise? I hope he does not. It is too much kindness for him to stay here until I am employed.”

Before Louisa could reply, Matthew’s eyes opened.

“I am staying until you are both happy and comfortable.” He raised his eyebrows in a way that invited no argument. Seemingly satisfied, he closed his eyes again.

Louisa laughed, covering her mouth to muffle the sound. Margaret did the same, shaking her head as she looked out the window. Her eyes rounded and she pointed. “Look! That’s the market I shopped at often with my family. May we stop for a moment?”

The idea of escaping the stuffy carriage made Louisa sit up eagerly. Her legs were stiffer than the wooden sign to the right of the coach, dangling above the gin shop.

Matthew rapped his knuckles against the roof of the coach, and it began to slow.

Once her feet were on solid ground, Louisa scanned her surroundings, pressing her hands against her lower back and stretching as she did. The market square was lined with rows of shops, as well as booths at the center with food and costermongers.

“Shall we take a quick turn about the square?” Margaret asked, looping her arm through Louisa’s.

Louisa nodded, grateful for the opportunity to exercise for a minute or two. Matthew remained by the coach as they walked, apparently unaffected by the cramped carriage seating, despite the fact that his legs were the longest by far.

“Perhaps my favorite shopkeeper will still be here,” Margaret said. “She used to slip me a sweet each time I came to the market with my mother.”

Louisa laughed, surveying the many faces that passed them. “Is that why you wished to take a walk? Perchance she has another sweet for you?”

Margaret’s smile grew, a giggle escaping her. Had Louisa ever heard her laugh before? If Margaret felt so free here, perhaps Louisa would too. The sense of lightheartedness was contagious, and Louisa’s own smile grew, unreserved and wide as they walked across the cobblestones. The stiffness in her legs had already faded, and a new sense of hope expanded in her chest. She adjusted her straw bonnet as a light breeze made it tilt to one side. The peach ribbons under her chin billowed as another gust passed over them. Just as Louisa grasped for the ribbons, she realized she had untied them in the carriage. In her haste to step outside, she had forgotten to tie them again. The wind pushed under the brim of her bonnet, sending it spiraling off her head.

“Oh, drat,” she muttered through a laugh, stopping abruptly. “My bonnet!”

Margaret pressed a hand against her own head, preventing her bonnet from flying away as Louisa’s had. “It didn’t seem so breezy only moments ago.”

Louisa turned, searching the ground for her bonnet. Despite it being worn and old, it was one of the only ones she had. How had it disappeared so quickly? Had someone snatched it? She couldn’t imagine why anyone would wish to steal such a worthless old thing. Her brow furrowed as she walked, scanning every inch of the cobblestones. Was she missing something? Perhaps Margaret had seen it. Turning fast, she opened her mouth to speak. “Margaret, did you see—” She stopped, glancing up at the person in front of her.

It was most certainly not Margaret.

Margaret was not a broad-shouldered, finely dressed, dark-haired, shockingly handsome man. Louisa stared up at the man in front of her, her mouth buttoning itself closed.

Where had he come from?

She studied his dark brows, deep set blue eyes— crowded with lines as though he had spent many hours of his life smiling—a perfectly straight nose and full, rather serious lips. The lower half of his face showed the result of what must have been at least a week without shaving, but for a strange reason, it suited him.

Heaven. That was where he had come from.

She blinked, tearing her gaze away from his face for long enough to notice what he held in his hand. Her bonnet.

“I presume this belongs to you?” His voice was deep and slightly gruff, like he had made a habit of swallowing jagged stones or glass.

Or fire.

Drat it all, Louisa, she scolded herself. The sight of a handsome man would not set every lady into a fit of shyness and wonder—only a true romantic like herself. She let out a breath and straightened her arms at her sides before pulling them back in, crossing them in front of her. The motion helped gather her wits about her like a hen gathering her chicks.

And she would need her wits conversing with a man with a face like his.

“Yes,” she said in a quiet voice. She willed her voice to sound more confident. “I lost it to the wind.”

Margaret stood a few paces behind the man, wringing her hands together as she watched the exchange. What did she have to be nervous about? Louisa was the one whose bonnet had been retrieved by a gallant young gentleman, one who was now staring down at her with his deep blue eyes. She shrugged away the unease that crept over her shoulders at Margaret’s expression.

Hmm. Despite what the creases at the corners of the man’s eyes suggested, he seemed to have lost his habit of smiling. He stared down at her with that same serious look as before, saying nothing, making no move to return her bonnet to her.

Louisa rocked on her feet. “I thank you for fetching it for me.” She reached for the headpiece. A jolt of surprise struck her stomach as he lifted the bonnet upward, away from her extended hand.

Was he? —no. He was not intentionally keeping it from her. Her gaze flitted up to his face.

He was grinning.

It was not any ordinary grin, but one almost undetectable. Louisa only recognized it because of how it contrasted with his previously brooding expression.

Her confusion must have played out clearly on her own features. Words lodged in her throat as she frowned up at him.

“If your gratitude is genuine, you must allow me another moment or two,” he said in a low voice. “It is not common to see a face as bewitching as your own. I would prefer it uncovered by the wide brim of a hat.”

Heat climbed Louisa’s neck, but she refused to let any color reach her cheeks. Who was this gentleman and how could he be so…shamelessly flirtatious? She thought back to all the times she had observed her friend Bridget at parties and gatherings as gentlemen had attempted to flirt with her. With all her practice, Bridget had become quite skilled at deterring unwelcome suitors.

But was this man’s attention…unwelcome? It was unexpected, certainly. And Louisa hadn’t the slightest idea of how to react.

Rather than increase her confidence, his words only made her wish to hide her face from his view even more. She was accustomed to being ignored by gentlemen, hiding behind her elder sister or Bridget. Impulsively, Louisa lowered her chin. “I am rather in a hurry, sir.”

“Jack Warwick,” he said, shifting her bonnet from one of his hands to the other. She glanced up as he tipped his head to one side. “And who might you be?”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Warwick.” She kept her voice polite. She would not forget her manners nor propriety, even if this man did. “I am Louisa Rosemeyer.”

“Ah. Only a lady so lovely could be called Rosemeyer.”

A man so confident in his compliments could only be well-practiced. The romantic in her swooned, but the wit that remained in her brain protested his attention. It was likely that he had already exhausted his flirting on every other lady in town, and Louisa was new to Folkswich. That was the only explanation for why a man like Jack Warwick, as he had called himself, would be so attentive to her at first glance.

She remained silent, still too shocked to speak.

“What brings you to Folkswich, Miss Rosemeyer?”

“I am visiting my aunt.”

“Well, I hope your visit will not be too brief.” That gruff, deep voice could make even the reading of a recipe for roasted pigeon sound flirtatious. His words were not excessively flirtatious, but his manner of speaking made them so. “Who is your aunt?”

Louisa grew impatient, watching him pass her bonnet from one hand to the other, all while drowning in the discomfort of knowing he was enjoying his view of her face. Or so he had said. “Mrs. Irwin. Perhaps you know her.”

The bonnet stopped, halfway toward his other hand. “Mrs. Irwin has invited you to stay with her?” A smile of disbelief passed over his lips. “I would never have imagined her to be hospitable toward anyone.”

Louisa’s face fell, dread landing heavily in the pit of her stomach. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “She is perhaps the most disagreeable woman of my acquaintance. She disapproves of everything and everyone, and I am fairly certain she has never loved anything but her own achievements.” He chuckled.

Oh, no. This was not a laughing matter. Louisa had only just begun to feel calm about her situation, but now worry had begun spiraling through her once again. Her mind rattled with the reassurance that her aunt had accepted her request. She had written back inviting Louisa there, hadn’t she? So Mrs. Irwin could not be entirely disagreeable. And who was this man to share his opinions of Louisa’s relative so freely and without remorse?

“I am sorry to hear you have formed such opinions of my aunt,” Louisa said.

“They are not opinions.” He laughed under his breath. “They are facts.”

She studied his face. He was not quite so handsome as he was before, not even as he smiled down at her, still chuckling at the thought of her aunt taking her in. He had misjudged Mrs. Irwin, and Louisa had misjudged him. He was not a hero from one of the novels she read, gallant and romantic, retrieving her bonnet for her.

He was quite possibly the villain.

She looked him squarely in the eye, providing him a clear view of her face. Perhaps she could bewitch him into giving her bonnet back to her.

“I must be going.” She extended her hand, taking hold of the brim of her bonnet. With one swift motion, she snatched it from his grip.

He stepped back in surprise, his chuckling persisting. Whether he was still chuckling about Mrs. Irwin, or about Louisa’s abrupt bonnet-snatching, she didn’t care. Anger bubbled beneath her skin, and she was rarely angry. Although he didn’t know it, he was crushing her hopes for a happy life here in Yorkshire. She shunned her unpleasant thoughts. Why should she trust this Jack Warwick and his opinions of Mrs. Irwin?

“Good day.” Her face burned as she turned around, and an overwhelming sense of pride enveloped her. She was never so bold as that. A smile tugged on her lips as she approached Margaret, returning the bonnet to her head. Glancing back at the disagreeable man—for what else could possibly be his new name in her mind? —she tied the ribbons under her chin with one quick tug. He cast her an amused smile before sauntering toward the doors of the nearby gin shop. When he was out of sight, Louisa turned to Margaret, letting out a huffed breath.

“At first I thought he was quite handsome,” Louisa whispered. “But I do not like him. Not one bit.”

Margaret shook her head ruefully. “I should have helped you escape him sooner.”

“You know him?”

“Everyone in town knows Mr. Jack Warwick.” Margaret cast her gaze upward, sunlight glinting off the blonde strands on her forehead. “Especially the young ladies and every owner of every gin establishment within fifty miles. I have heard a rumor that he recently moved away from his family…that they forced him out. My mother writes to me all the gossip she hears of their neighbors,” Margaret explained, laughing. “If his father could disinherit him, he surely would. He gambles. Steals hearts he has no intention of keeping. And then he drinks it all away.”

Louisa grimaced. What was the purpose of such a dreadful man being born so handsome? Was it a disguise to mask the monster within? “Is his family wealthy?”

“Oh, yes. He has wanted for nothing his entire life. That is the problem. He is quite the eligible bachelor by all opinions of society, but will he ever marry?” Margaret wagged her finger. “Not unless his bride is a bottle of brandy.”

Louisa let out a loud laugh, slapping her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Margaret.”

She threw her hand in the air. “It is true.”

Louisa’s nerves began to dwindle with her laughter. She didn’t even feel guilty laughing at Mr. Warwick’s expense. He had been amused at the fact that Louisa was about to go live with a woman he called ‘the most disagreeable woman of his acquaintance.’ So she had a right to be amused at the thought of him marrying a bottle of brandy.

“I wonder if the modiste would make a wedding gown so small,” Margaret mused.

“Oh, I am certain she would, for Mr. Warwick would be willing to pay a large sum so his beloved bride could be presentable on their special day.”

The image of Mr. Warwick gazing lovingly at a bottle dressed in a white gown made another laugh bubble from Louisa’s chest. Perhaps he had been drunk during their exchange today and that was why he had spoken so freely. Did people remember what they said and did when they were drunk? It was an experience she never wished to have. With any luck, Mr. Warwick would forget their conversation that day. He would forget her ‘bewitching face.’ She would do all she could to forget his.

With any luck, she would never see him again. If he despised Mrs. Irwin so much, he wasn’t likely to come near Benham Abbey.

Margaret made another jest at Mr. Warwick’s expense as they approached Matthew and the waiting coach, whispering so Matthew wouldn’t overhear. Louisa threw her head back in laughter. Her heart felt lighter now, floating on her laughter like a ship atop a calm sea.

“What joke have I missed?” Matthew asked, raising one eyebrow.

“We were discussing the likelihood of a man choosing to wed a bottle of brandy over a woman. Would you make such a choice?”

The crease between Matthew’s eyebrows deepened. It was a ridiculous question, and the half-smile on his lips betrayed his amusement. “I would choose not to wed at all.”

Of course that was Matthew’s answer. From what his sister Bridget had told Louisa, he was quite determined never to marry, despite how eligible of a bachelor he was. He pretended his lack of motivation to marry was his own choice, but Louisa suspected it was the result of his fear of being hurt. Love had scarred him once before, though he never spoke of it.

“What prompted such an odd topic of discussion?” Matthew asked as he opened the coach door. He extended his hand to help Louisa up, then Margaret, before stepping inside and closing the door.

“I met a most vexing man just now.” Louisa gazed out the window. “Margaret knows him and can attest to his disagreeable character.”

Matthew’s eyes narrowed.

Oh, drat. She should have known not to tell him.

“Was he pestering you? I would have come to your aid had I known.”

“He told me my face was bewitching.”

Margaret gasped. “You did not tell me that part.”

Louisa shook her head, feeling a blush climb her cheeks. “It was ridiculous.”

“You must take care around such men,” Matthew grumbled, shaking his head. “Will being under your aunt’s protection be enough? It would be a greater comfort to me if you were married to a good man before I leave Yorkshire.”

“No, no, no.” Louisa laughed. “Please do not begin searching for a suitor for me as you did for Bridget.”

He shrugged. “She found a good man to marry and I now have little to worry about on her behalf.”

“And she found him without your assistance.” Louisa was again surprised at how bold her words were. Was there some sort of magic in the grey Yorkshire sky? Or was she simply tired?

“Very well.” Matthew sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “So long as you do not marry that disagreeable man you met today, I shall be content.”

Louisa laughed. “You may rest assured on that matter.”

One of Matthew’s eyes opened as he smiled. “Good.”

Her thoughts traveled back to Mr. Warwick’s pompous smile and glinting blue eyes. He and his bottle of brandy would live happily ever after indeed.