“If you say so,” she said stiffly. “Either way, I’m joining my uncle. I’m called to medicine, to helping others and treating their ills. Not—” she waved a hand “—this.”
“This?” His mouth flattened.
“You know...making money. Living off the labor of others. Wearing expensive clothing. God has a higher plan for me.” Her mouth was running away with her. This never happened. She swallowed hard, but it didn’t take the coarse rebuke of her words from her mouth.
“And here I thought that maybe God might want me to take me responsibilities as an earl seriously. As an uncle, even. You are saying that what I do is frivolousness.” He stepped forward, closing the space between them.
If anyone saw, they could misconstrue this situation. She moved backward.
“Quite arrogant, Miss Gordon, and perhaps the first time I’ve ever heard you sound exactly like a privileged member of the ton.”
“I must get inside. This heat is overwhelming.”
His brows crinkled. “It is not hot. Perhaps your guilt stains your conscience and makes you oversensitive.”
“I feel guilty about nothing,” she retorted.
“Do not come running back to us when your uncle refuses you,” he said darkly, his eyes pinpointing her into feeling like a tiny, terrible speck of humankind.
“He will not refuse me.” She would not allow it. Not if she had to follow him about like Smiles after Louise’s tarts.
He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even more. She wanted to smooth it down, to give it order. She could not, however. It was bad enough they had stood talking alone for so long in broad daylight, but to touch him could forever tatter her reputation.
“You must not tell anyone about our kiss,” she said.
If possible, his face darkened even more, became stormy and irritated. How well she read his emotions, when she had never before bothered to be attuned to how someone felt. Feelings were not facts. They did not bring a solution. They only muddied a situation.
“Very well,” he answered.
She blinked, her legs turning weak and sorrow invading her senses.
His jaw jutted upward. He backed away from her. “I shall write you a letter of recommendation on the chance that your uncle turns you away.”
She forced her head to nod, her lips to say thank you, but as he walked away, his figure wrinkled and blurred. For the best, she told herself.
If only she could believe that.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dominic slapped his palm against his desk. Too many bills, not enough income. Another, more insistent demand from Old John. That missed payment must have upset the crook. Dominic penned a terse reply, sealed it and set it in the basket for outgoing mail.
Pressure weighted down his shoulders, even though just this afternoon his steward had assured him that in time, their new methods and machines would produce a greater harvest.
He sighed, resting his head on his knuckles.
Henrietta’s two week absence hurt.
The dog, mangy little mutt, scampered into his office, sliding on his hairy paws. He jumped on Dominic’s leg, yipping. He patted his head. The dog yapped louder.
Sighing, Dominic pushed to his feet. This had happened almost every day since Henrietta had left for London. Two letters from Henrietta had arrived in that time, both for Louise.
He had gone over everything in his head a million times, and could not see a different path. Henrietta had been determined to go. She didn’t think they were worth staying for. Who was he to argue with God’s calling?
Yet, he wanted to argue. An immense sense of helplessness grasped him. He pushed to his feet, following Smiles out of the office. Smart pup. He was leading him to a crying Louise.
Anger surged. His jaw pulsed with pain, and he realized he was clenching it. He strode after the dog, who swished and slid all over the shining hallway floors.
He was struck with how much had changed since he’d decided to become responsible. To care. It was painful and inconvenient, just as he’d always suspected it would be.
The dog careened around the corner and he hurried after him.
He found Louise hunched on a bench in the garden. Beneath a rose trellis. Henrietta often smelled like roses. Ruthlessly, he pushed away the memory. She was gone from their lives now. It was for the best.
“I’m here to rescue you from your daily cry.” He sat beside her, patting her back and feeling less awkward than he had felt previous days. A week of back patting helped with that.
She straightened, and he realized she held a letter in her hand. No, an invitation embossed with gold filigree.
His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing with my mail?”
“I saw it on the tray and took it.”
Not a tear in her eye, but she sounded perky and an unnatural brightness lit her green irises.
“Where is your governess?”
“She’s taking tea in her room. A megrim took hold.” She said the last with entirely too much satisfaction, and a matching smirk.
At least she hadn’t run this one off. Then again, the woman had just arrived yesterday.
He took the invitation from her and read it. “I hardly know Lord Astley. I’ve seen him a bit during sessions in the House, but that’s all.”
“I also received a letter from Henrietta.” Louise kicked her legs up, stretching them out beneath the sunshine. Her shoes, he noticed, were more scuffed than he expected to see on a twelve-year-old girl.
Was he supposed to buy her a new wardrobe? Perhaps, but he had no idea how to go about it. He could ask Barbara, but it would only give her leave to press about taking Louise for the remainder of her life. He’d just had a letter from his sister yesterday, asking him if he really felt fit to raise Louise.
“Louise.” He cleared his throat. “There is something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
“Can we discuss it later? I’ve a much more important matter at hand.”
He noted her mussed hair, the flush on her cheeks. Tawny freckles sprinkled in haphazard fashion
