Love Engineered (26 page)

Louise frowned. It had all been orchestrated. Of course it had.

Risinger continued, “I believed I had successfully turned Charles Lucas against you, but it seems he wants to get into your favour again. Beware Louise, he obviously likes you, or rather your money.”

“That always was your problem,” she said moving closer to him, then finally bending low, she placed her face directly in front of his.

The guards moved forward nervously, but she put her hand up to stop them.

He raised an eyebrow in query and she continued, “You always judge people by your own low standards.”

He smiled, “And his brother is your lawyer. Better watch out; they'll take everything from you if you're not careful. I wouldn't want you to make another mistake.” His mouth turned up into a sneer.

“The only mistake I ever made was not having you transported the first time around.” She stood up, placing as much space between them as possible.

He laughed. “Well, I'll get to Australia now. I hear the weather is much more agreeable than here.”

“Oh, they let you outside, do they?” she replied in a light tone.

At her words, his face clouded with fright and uncertainty, giving her a glimpse of the pathetic creature he really was. She decided to bring the interview to an end.

Looking him fearlessly in the eye for the last time, she told him, “May God protect you from others worse than yourself.’

And, with a rustle of satin, she was gone.

. . .

Seven weeks had passed, and Charles searched the newspapers every day to see if the announcement he dreaded the most was inside. He turned, of course, straight to the 'Engagements' section of The Times and looked through for the names of Miss Louise Thomas and Lord Philip Eldon. But days and weeks passed and still nothing.

He returned to work and decided he would dedicate each working day to her alone and concentrate more on those projects in which Robert Adams was an investor. Every detail was checked and checked again. He wouldn't have her lose money even if it was shortly to become the property of another.

One lunch time, as he took a break, he walked out to a nearby park, where he could stop and think away from the four walls in his office. It was a bright day, full of the promise of the season, and it gave him a new optimism. He sat down on the grass and looked around him at the burgeoning trees, and thought back over the last few months. Jane and Boyd had returned from their honeymoon in a buoyant mood and even more in love than when they left. Boyd was to return to the Tamar, taking Jane, and although Charles was getting used to her belonging to another, he felt lonely at times. He missed his sister most in the evenings, when he was too tired to find work a distraction.

As he made his way back to his office half an hour later, he passed a familiar looking young man walking in the opposite direction. He couldn't place him at once, and with a tip of his hat was about to go on, when the young man stopped him.

“Mr Lucas?” he asked. The young man held out his hand. “We met once at dinner in Devon, at Glazebrook, as Miss Thomas's guests.” The young man appeared somewhat unnerved by the recollection.

“Yes! Mr Francis, isn't it? I do apologise, I didn't remember your name until now,” he shook his hand.

“Do not trouble yourself. I didn't expect such an eminent man as yourself to remember me from so many months ago. You must attend many such events.”

The two of them exchanged general conversation, until Mr Francis asked. “Mr Lucas, would you do me the honour of allowing me to introduce you to my wife? We have only been married a month, but I know she would like to meet you. If you remember – you may not – but Lucy, my wife, had returned from a few months in Paris with Miss Thomas, a few days before we dined there.”

Charles was about to refuse on the excuse that he had other more pressing work, but his interest was piqued to meet the woman (or, he surmised, probably a girl) who would be chosen to accompany Miss Thomas to Paris. Why not?

“Thank you, the honour would be mine.”

The arrangements were made for the following evening, and Mr Lucas arrived at the appointed time. The address he was given was in a respectable part of town, and the lodgings were somewhat old but clean and bright.

He found his hosts more than ready to receive him in a small parlour they shared with the other lodgers. No one else was present, and Mr and Mrs Francis appeared pleased to see him.

Mrs Francis was, as he had thought, very young. She didn't at first appear to be the sort of girl Miss Thomas would particularly single out. However, after a short while, he noticed that she spoke exactly what was on her mind and appeared honest and open. Worthy attributes indeed.

Mr Francis told him he was working in London for a few months, but would be moving back to Manchester shortly, where they would look for a suitable house. In the meantime, Lucy was enjoying London and insisted that her husband take her to concerts, assemblies and other such amusements. Finally, the most obvious subjects of conversation appeared to have been exhausted.

“My husband tells me you met at Glazebrook,” Lucy said, after an awkward silence.

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you that Miss Thomas is a particular friend of mine? I went to Paris with her for three months last year,” she announced proudly.

“So I hear. Did you enjoy your time there?”

“Immensely. I would love to return one day. We stayed in the most luxurious apartment. It belongs to her cousin Lord Philip. Have you been to Paris, Mr Lucas?”

Upon hearing that name, Charles cringed inwardly, but managed to say, “No. I haven't had the pleasure of visiting Paris.”

“There is much talk of Miss Thomas marrying Lord Philip Eldon,” Mr Francis remarked.

“Why, that will never happen, my dear!” Lucy exclaimed.

“How so, dearest? You cannot know who Miss Thomas shall or shan't marry.”

“But I do. Miss Thomas told me so herself not two weeks ago when we visited Devon. She told me that she could only ever marry one man, and that he, alas, does not love her. And I know it's not Lord Philip.”

Charles stared at Lucy, unable to think of which question to ask her first.

Luckily her husband continued. “Did she mention who the gentleman was?” he asked.

“No. But it was a little strange what she said. It was the day before we were to leave for London and I said to her, “Louise, if only you could find someone to love as much as I love Mr Francis,” and she said, “Oh but I have, I love a man as you love your husband, but alas he does not love me in return.” Of course, I enquired who this man was, and how she knew that he does not love her. But she wouldn't say much. All she said was that he told her once that she was furthest in his mind from what constitutes a wife and that he had told her once he considered her conduct more male than female.”

Charles instantly recognised his own words, spoken such a long time ago. His heart leapt.

“What a terrible thing to say to poor Miss Thomas,” Mr Francis commented.

“Isn't it?” Lucy said. They both looked at Charles, so he could give his opinion.

“Er, yes, a terrible thing to say. Unforgivable in fact.”

Charles felt a surge of hope rising within him.

Mrs Francis continued. “Of course, I cannot begin to comprehend what sort of man could say such a thing to Miss Thomas, or how she could still love him after saying that to her! But she was adamant that she still loved him and that she lived in fear of him marrying someone much more worthy than her.”

“That is a tragic tale indeed!” cried Mr Francis. “Poor Miss Thomas. She has been so uncommonly kind to us; her wedding gift was most generous. I would hate to think that she wouldn't find her partner in life. I do wonder who this man could be. I would like to give him a piece of my mind!”

“I too,” Lucy stated.

After a moment, Mr Francis asked, “Are you sure she wasn't talking about Lord Philip?”

“Oh yes,” Lucy said, “She told me that I had never met the gentleman and I have met Lord Philip. Besides, they are good friends. He wouldn't say such a dreadful thing to her.”

Mr Lucas could hardly find words as he sat and comprehended what he heard, but he managed to ask, “She said all this two weeks ago?”

“Yes. Well, actually it was probably about two and half weeks ago.”

A slow smile spread across his face. She still loved him.

Looking back, Charles couldn't recall much more of the conversation he shared that evening with Mr and Mrs Francis, which was rather unfortunate because he stayed a further forty-five minutes. He seemed to remember them talking about his work, but his replies were vexing and vague, according to his hosts. Though they commented to each other after he left that he was a pleasant man. He shook both Mr Francis's hands in such a grateful way that they were sure he had enjoyed his time with them and that they would see him again soon.

He walked home at double speed, his heart swelling with passionate love as he thought of Louise. He didn't notice the slight drizzle of rain, or the other people on the street. She still loved him! That was all that mattered.

He had to go to her. He would have gone that night if there had been a train to take him.

When he arrived home he sent word to Ashton that he had urgent business that would take him away for a few days. The servants were given instructions to pack clothes for a short trip and he was ready to travel on the first train to leave London for Axminster the next morning.

The journey to Devon the next day was as frustrating as it was slow. There were several delays, though the train departed London on time. All the way, Charles was filled with nervous anticipation. For although he knew his proposal would be accepted (surely he could now be certain of that), he knew she deserved a proper and worthy explanation of his change of heart. When the train pulled in at Axminster, there was the added frustration of a heavy shower of rain, as well as an hour's wait for a hired carriage. At least, he reflected ruefully, he had plenty of time to compose a suitable address to her.

Finally, at three in the afternoon, he found himself at Glazebrook, his heart pounding as loudly as his knock on the front door.

The servant showed Charles straight to a room at the back of the house, a room he recognised as the library. He felt strange being back in her house again, almost at home, but he had no right to be there. Not yet.

“Miss Thomas is expecting you,” the servant said, ushering him in.

Expecting him? But how could she know he was coming to see her? He had told no one.

He stood uncertainly inside the elegantly furnished room and wondered where she was. He could see no sign of her. The servant withdrew, closing the door with a loud click. This must have roused her, because he heard movement behind one of the many bookshelves. He followed the noise and there she was, standing on a small stool, reaching up for a book. Her red patterned dress of chiffon made her look like a butterfly. In an instant all his fears magnified.

“Come in my dear,” she said in a bright tone and without looking around. “I was trying to find that volume of poetry we spoke about the other day. Ah, here it is. I knew it was here somewhere!” She took a large book off the shelf, stepped off the stool and dusted the cover with her hand, a soft smile on her lips.

Finally she looked up.

“Mr Lucas!”

She moved back in astonishment, unable to comprehend who was before her. Then, after a few seconds, she forcibly composed herself and curtsied. “How do you do?”

“Very well, thank you,” he returned her greeting with a stiff bow. How formal they were. How he longed to be more familiar.

“What a surprise! You're the last person I expected to see today.”

“I'm sorry to intrude on you without prior notice.”

“That is no matter. Would you like to sit down?” she said, indicating the sofa near them.

He turned towards it and they sat awkwardly at opposite ends.

Silence ensued as she waited for him to explain what he wanted from her.

Then, remembering herself and imagining that he was no doubt waiting for her to dispense with the civilities she asked, “How are your family? They are well?”

“Yes, thank you, they are all well.” He gave a small nervous laugh.

“Of course, how stupid of me to ask. I have frequent correspondence with your brother and sister. And you. You're well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I'm glad.”

They descended into silence once again. He looked about the room, packed full of volumes.

“Is there something in particular I can do for you, Mr Lucas?”

“Yes!” he said immediately and sat forwards. Yet he didn't speak. His courage, so strong before he was in her presence, now failed him. He stood up and walked about, paused to look at her, then moving to the window, looked out.

“There was rain earlier, it took some time to get a cab here,” he said.

“You travelled here from London today, then?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Yesterday I saw Mr Francis and had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Francis.”

“I'm glad. I only saw them a few weeks ago, but are they well?”

“Yes. Yes they are.”

Silence again.

She shifted in her seat. “Mr Lucas, if you have come to give me bad news on behalf of your brother, then pray, please speak it now. Do not keep me in suspense any longer.”

He turned around. “I didn't come to give you bad news. Far from it! Is that why you think I'm here?”

“I do not know why you're here. You haven't said. Perhaps you came to speak to Robert Adams? Is more funding needed in Plymouth?”

“No, Louise.” He shook his head and walked over to her, surprised but delighted at his own use of her Christian name. He seated himself as near to her as possible. A footstool beside her rudely blocked her from him, but he pushed it aside and knelt in front of her. He gently detached from her hands the book she was still holding and placed it to one side, then took her hands in his.

“I have been trying to think of the words to say to you all the way here. Yet still I cannot find them.” He gave a small laugh. “I'm no poet. I'm an engineer and my only grasp of words is in the field in which I work. I never thought I would wish to possess the ability to speak words that you deserve. Then I could explain in a fitting manner.”