"That is so," Louisa agreed, though she sounded skeptical.
"If I go… If I see her… "
How would I feel? Angry? Petulant? Happy that she was happy? Was I ready to release her? I had lectured Grenville to let Marianne be, but could I do the same with Carlotta? I had let her go, when she first fled me, but had I ever let go in my heart?
"Perhaps you ought to see her," Louisa said, "if only to say good-bye."
I ceased pacing. "It is still like a knife in my heart, Louisa."
"Why? Because she had the gall to leave you? Or because you loved her?"
I opened my mouth for a sharp retort, then closed it. Louisa's words were harsh, but they were also shrewd.
"If it were only Carlotta, I would not even consider," I said. "But I long to see my daughter. I want to see how she has grown and whether she is happy. Damn it, Louisa, she is mine."
"And what if she does not know you?"
"I will tell her who I am."
Louisa held my gaze. "And what if she does not know that Gabriel Lacey, and not the French officer, is her father?"
I stopped. "Do you think Carlotta would have kept that from her? Would she have been that cruel?"
Louisa nodded. "Yes, I think she would have been."
I studied her a moment. "Do you know, I believe that when she left, you were as angry as I was. But you had never much liked Carlotta."
"I believed her a fool," she answered crisply. "She never understood your true worth."
"She understood well enough. I was worth nothing beyond my pay packet and my overblown sense of honor."
"No," Louisa said in a hard voice. "She never did understand. Never appreciated what you were, and what she had."
Our gazes met. Louisa's eyes were a steely gray, her cheeks flushed. I held her gaze for a long moment, while thoughts flew by that went unsaid.
At last I turned away. "Well, she is gone now," I said softly.
"If you go to France, Gabriel, I will go with you."
She sat very primly on my armchair, her tone matter-of-fact. For one heady moment I pictured us traveling side by side, chattering away as we liked, her golden head on my shoulder as she rested in our traveling coach.
The vision shattered at once as I realized that if she came with me, her husband would accompany us. Colonel Brandon would never allow his wife to travel alone with me to the Continent as long as he was alive. I thought of his stiff-necked silence on the days and days of the journey through France and shuddered.
"I will think on it," I said. "Thank you."
We spoke further, trying to turn to neutral topics, but nothing interested us much.
At last Louisa rose to take her leave. I kissed her good-bye, let my hands linger in her cool ones just a moment too long, then I let her go.
That night I sat in Lady Breckenridge's drawing room with Lady Aline Carrington and Lucius Grenville and others of the ton and listened to a rather young poet read beautiful and moving words. My heart was still heavy, but I allowed myself to be soothed by his verses.
When we broke for refreshment, I found myself with Lady Breckenridge in an unoccupied corner.
"Your eyes are tired, Captain," she said. "Did you not enjoy the poetry?"
"I did like it," I answered with sincerity. "The young gentleman shows great promise. I admit, however, to liking the company still more. An evening spent with friends is refreshing."
One corner of her mouth turned up in a half-smile. "Dare I be flattered? Or did you refer to Mr. Grenville and Lady Aline, your dear friends?"
I smiled. "I referred to Mr. Grenville and Lady Aline and Lady Breckenridge."
She took this attempt at a compliment with a cool nod, but looked pleased. "I am happy that we have drawn you back from the country, then."
"The city also has its joys," I said. "I meant to once again thank you for the gift of the walking stick. It became most useful."
Her smile deepened. "I was certain it would."
We shared a look, her dark blue eyes holding something warm and intriguing.
I decided then and there that I preferred her conversation to that of Jeanne Lanier. Jeanne knew how to flatter, how to draw a man out, how to put him at his ease. She could smile and laugh as expected and make a gentleman feel that he was exceptional.
Lady Breckenridge spoke her mind and did not always soften her barbs. But she would always be sincere. A flattering word from her was well earned and well meant.
She slid her hand beneath my arm. "Shall we return? Mr. Tibbet will recite lines he composed while staying in an ancient castle in Scotland. Very atmospheric."
I smiled down at her as she led me away. I found the warmth of her slender fingers in the crook of my arm quite satisfactory.