The Lady Next Door (26 page)

His heart contracted within him, a phenomenon he absently noted as a medical man and suffered mutely as a man in love. Abruptly he went to the door into the hall and called for his housekeeper. When she appeared, he said, “Please bring us some coffee and biscuits, Mrs. Thomas.” He left the door open when he returned, and seated himself beside her, with a glance toward the little page, who had found one of the copies of Newberry’s books which he kept on the table and was deeply absorbed with it.

“I think you must understand the position your brother and I are taking, Louisa. We think of nothing but your own good and future happiness. Nothing is more important to me, I promise you.”

“And I must tell you, sir, that I am convinced that I should have a say in my own fate. I am, after all, deeply concerned, as you will admit.” Louisa lowered her eyes to her hands. She had planned very carefully how she would conduct this interview and she could not take a chance that the expressions which appeared on his face would influence her. This was her only opportunity and she had no intention of spoiling it with useless scruples. “Dr. Thorne, do you admit that you have, practically since the moment we met, encouraged me to an affection for you?”

“For God’s sake, Louisa!”

“Do you, Doctor?”

“Yes.” He rubbed a distressed hand over his brow. “God help me, I never meant to make such a muddle of this. I . . .”

“Please Dr. Thorne, if you will be so good as to allow me to continue. . . . Do you also admit that by the way you treated me, you led me to believe that you had a sincere and abiding affection for me?”

He groaned, but she waited patiently for an answer. At length he said, “I did, I do.”

“Thank you, sir. Now I should like to point out to you that as an impressionable young lady, these continued marks of regard led me to the conclusion that you had an honorable course of action in mind. I think any young lady might have thought so,” she said, as if considering the matter, and continuing to study her nervously twining fingers. “I have been raised among those who consider honor a most compelling virtue. There is never any need for a document to be drawn up to bind them to their word, expressed or implied. I had assumed that you, as a gentleman, subscribed to this same code. Do you?”

Dr. Thorne was becoming very uncomfortable and, had she witnessed his countenance, she would not perhaps have continued, but she did not lift her eyes. “Of course."

“And yet you did not propose any honorable action to me.”

“I did not propose any dishonorable action,” he muttered, disgruntled.

“Surely you know that is not the same thing. I was very . . . disappointed to have you fail me.”

“Oh, Lord, Louisa, you know I could not!”

“You led me to believe that you could,” she said inexorably. “There is surely no legal impediment. I have come to give you an opportunity to do so now.”

The housekeeper’s arrival interrupted his shocked protest. When the coffee and biscuits had been set out and Mrs. Thomas had curiously surveyed the girl and the little page in the corner, she withdrew. Louisa poured the cups of coffee and asked, “Do you wish cream and sugar as usual?”

"Please."

There was silence for some time as Louisa forced herself to sip at the hot beverage and nibble on the shortbread. Dr. Thorne made no such attempt, but kept his eyes trained on her in hopes that she would crack under the strain and look at him. If she did, she would not be able to press her advantage. But Louisa refused to meet his eyes.

In desperation he said, “There is a legal impediment. You are not of age.”

“That does not materially affect your honoring your implied word. The end result could be affected, certainly, but it is no excuse.”

“Louisa, why are you doing this to me?”

His agonized question caused her hand to tremble and she set down her coffee cup, but she did not respond. The page was studying them again and she beckoned to him and offered the plate of biscuits. After he had helped himself, he returned to his seat and retrieved the book.

“Please, Louisa, don’t you see it would do no good?”

Her voice was no more than a whisper. “Am I to live my life then never knowing if you cared enough to even ask? Such a simple satisfaction to be denied, and so very unfair. I think . . . I cannot help but wonder if it is that you lack the courage to fight for something you want, and that would horridly disillusion me. To me you have always appeared as the most dedicated of men. You would keep better faith with one of your patients.”

There was a crash as the coffee cup he held dropped from his senseless fingers. Ignoring the broken shards on the floor he grasped her hands and exclaimed, “You wretched girl! Very well, if we must sink, we will do it together. I should have known better than to take the whole burden on myself. Will you marry me, Louisa?”

“Yes, thank you. Stephen, if . . . if I cannot get Press’s permission, will you wait for me, until I am old enough?”

“You know I will.” Mrs. Thomas appeared at the hall door with every intention of sweeping away the broken coffee cup, but he waved her away. "When shall I talk to him?”

“This evening. I will speak with him in the meantime. You . . . you really do want to marry me, don’t you? Nothing would be more repugnant to me than to force you. You have only to say.”.

.He regarded the vulnerable little face with a despairing shake of his head. “Where was this compliant miss when I needed her? Ah, my love, I want to marry you more than anything in the world.”

“That’s all right then,” she replied with a shaky smile. “I really must go. Mama thinks I’m shopping.”

“I think we should seal our bargain,” he protested, but Louisa pointed to the patient page, grinned and said, “Later.”

Chapter Nineteen

Lady Latteridge was in a quandary, not being able to decide which was the greater of two evils and not sure, either, that her son would carry out his threat. Since he had brought her home the previous evening against her protest, she supposed that he would, but she was placing some dependence on his not having considered the chaperonage of Louisa. Surely he would not wish to be burdened with the girl, and only by her remaining could he have any freedom. The Dowager wished to stay in York, but she would find it almost impossible to write the suggested letter of apology.

A few minutes before he was due at Miss Findlay’s, the earl tracked his mother down to the back parlor where he found her idly staring out the window at the small garden. “Good morning, Mother. I trust you are feeling well. Have you decided which it is to be?”

Her face was a cold mask. “I intend to stay in York and I have no intention of apologizing for my behavior.”

Latteridge languidly seated himself in a chair opposite her, pressing his hands together meditatively. “My responsibilities as head of the family are a matter I do not take lightly. I think, even aside from my own involvement in the matter, I would find your treatment of Miss Findlay disgraceful. But let me clarify something for you, Mother. I am going now to ask her to marry me.” Two bright spots of angry color appeared on his mother’s cheeks but she said nothing. “You have put Miss Findlay in a position where she may not accept my offer. Her scruples are a great deal finer than they ought to be, I fear. But if she will have me, there is no question that we will marry, and that, I have no need to tell you, will put you in a very awkward position.”

“You’re mad! I wouldn’t live in the same house with her for thirty seconds.”

“I wouldn’t let you, Mother. I doubt even the dower house is far enough removed to protect her from your scorching hatred. The estate in Dorset would seem a natural choice for your comfort, or even a town house in London. I regret the necessity, but you leave me very little choice.”

“What about Louisa? I am just beginning to bring her to Lord Bowland’s notice.”

“Oh, I think there was no need for you and Miss Horton to work so hard at that. He would have heard the size of her dowry in time.”

“Are you saying the man is a fortune hunter?”

“Certainly. One has only to watch his nose quiver when he’s in the vicinity of an heiress.”

“Well, what are you going to do about Louisa?”

“I really don’t know. It will depend on what Miss Findlay has to say, and what Louisa wishes. I’m perfectly happy to see to her care.”

“So I am to be driven out of my home and deprived of my daughter so that you can marry a ruined woman! Is that how you see your responsibility as head of the family?” Her voice rose to a pitch of fury matched by the hammering of her fist on the chair arm.

“Mother, you know perfectly well that you would have to move to the dower house, no matter who I took as a wife. And as for Louisa, there is no reason you should not see as much of her as she wishes.” A long, exasperated sigh escaped him. “Why must you persist in this fruitless persecution of Miss Findlay? Is it so very difficult to acknowledge that you were wrong?”

“I am never wrong."

Latteridge rose and sadly regarded her implacable countenance. “Very well, Mother. When I return, I will escort you to Ackton Towers, where you can wallow in self-righteousness from morning to night without causing the innocent any grief.”

“I am not leaving York.”

"Then you had best look for lodgings. You are not staying in my house, and I think your acquaintances here would find that very strange.”

“Perhaps I shall go to France,” she said defiantly.

“We are at war with France, Mother.”

The proudly erect head bowed and Latteridge went to put his arm about her shoulders. “Poor Mother. Do you know that we all love you, that my father loved you? You don’t have to be perfect for your family to be attached to you. We can accept your mistakes, if you are willing to own them. Lord knows we all have enough we have to forgive ourselves. You have been the solid foundation of our family, the permanent fixture we could all rely on to be there when Father was away. But you have never admitted that it was your Jacobite sympathies which drove him into exile, and you will not confess that you treated Miss Findlay most shamefully.”

“She could never forgive me now.”

“Perhaps not, but that is not to say you should not offer an apology. Strangely enough, Mother, it becomes simpler after the first.”

“I haven’t so many errors to confess.”

“Haven’t you?” He grinned and pressed her hand. “Do you feel you could write a note to Miss Findlay?”

“I suppose so,” she grumbled. “Will you want to read it?”

Latteridge pursed his lips. “No, I shall depend on you not to disgrace me."

* * * *

As the minutes ticked away and it became a quarter past twelve, Marianne began to have doubts as to his coming after all. He was invariably prompt, not a minute late for any of their scheduled rides. Perhaps it was for the best, though she would have liked to speak with him about Louisa, at least. Mr. Deighton was detailing for Aunt Effie the characters and locations of his dispersed children, but Marianne could not seem to pay any attention to the conversation which so absorbed her aunt.

The knocker sounded at precisely twelve-thirty, when Marianne had long since given up hope, and it occurred to her that it might not be the earl at all, but one of their other friends. When the tall, handsome figure strolled into the room and his gray eyes met hers, she swallowed painfully and stepped forward without thinking to offer her hand.

“Forgive me for being late, Miss Findlay. I was delayed at the last moment, but hopefully to good purpose.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, something he had never done before. After a few words of greeting to Miss Effington and Mr. Deighton, he said, “I should like to speak alone with you, if I might. Shall we take a walk?”

Marianne was not at all sure that her legs would support her through such an interview and, to her aunt’s astonishment, suggested that they talk in the dining parlor. If Aunt Effie had intended to protest, one glance at Mr. Deighton determined her otherwise. “Oh, very well. We’ll be right here.”

The sun was streaming through the windows onto the polished mahogany table, and the last of the autumn flowers made colorful patches in the garden beyond. It was the only one of their rooms which was completely furnished, with a full set of matching chairs, newly covered, a sideboard flanked by two pedestals, a knife box, and a wine waiter. Marianne motioned him to the chair at the head of the table.

“I would prefer the window seat, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, if you wish.” Glancing skeptically at the minimal seat, she thought for both of them to sit there it would be almost impossible not to be touching. She found that it was impossible.

“As I said in my note, there are several matters I would like to discuss with you. Are you uncomfortable?” he asked as she tried vainly to squeeze further away.

“Not at all.”

“Good. Let’s dispose of the simpler matter first. Louisa intimated that you supported her wish to marry Dr. Thorne. She said she had confided in you. I had hoped she would give me an opportunity to explain my reasons for separating them, but I suppose she could very well imagine them, as I am sure you do. Do you indeed think it would be wise for her to marry him?”

“Perhaps not from your point of view, but, yes, I think it would. You see, Lady Louisa explained to me not only how she feels about him as a man, but as a doctor. She’s not like most girls her age, looking for a comfortable position, financially and socially. I think that would not be quite enough for her. Of course one can never fully comprehend the sacrifices involved until one has experienced them, but Lady Louisa is fired with an enthusiasm to be a part of Dr. Thorne’s dedication to his work” Marianne made a futile gesture. “I’m no better at explaining it than she was, I’m afraid. She feels that Dr. Thorne is a missing part of her, necessary to make her whole, and she finds his work a benefit rather than a drawback. I don’t think that particular attitude will change as she grows older and sees more of society. She is only likely to become more confirmed in it as she witnesses the trivialities of a social life.”