“Isn’t it, though?”
His gaze narrowed. “You think it is?”
“You are meant to be part of their lives,” she said. “That includes fairs and moments of lightheartedness. That means being willing to do unexpected things if doing so means you are helping them.”
“I do help them.”
“Mrs. Jones could use your help,” Sarah said. “She has recently been delivered of a baby who is struggling. There are other Lampton Park tenants who are concerned about their well-being in the absence of your mother and brother and your sister-in-law’s ailing health. And reiterate your approval to the choir, as they are still unsure of it. And find a way to help at this fair, as it is a rare opportunity to connect with the people you serve while supporting so worthy a cause. Those things, Mr. Jonquil, are decidedly among a vicar’s duties, and they are real and needed now.”
“Let us see what else the festival has to offer,” Scott said quietly, offering his arm.
She accepted it and, holding back an unexpected and entirely unwelcome rush of emotion, walked away.
Chapter Ten
Harold couldn’t think back on that morning’s sermon with anything but misgivings. He hadn’t been so unsure of himself during a sermon since the day he’d first stood at the Collingham pulpit, attempting to deliver a message he was neither prepared for nor, if one were being a stickler, qualified to give. Neither of those things had been true today. Why, then, had he been so shaken with misgivings?
He tried to tell himself his uncertainty arose merely from having worn himself to a thread the day before. The alms fair had been an unmitigated success—he was happy about that—but being around so many people for hours on end, interacting, and constantly reevaluating his efforts had drained every last bit of energy from him. Crowds and gatherings were always that way. But a vicar was expected to be actively involved in such things. It couldn’t be avoided.
And as Sarah had proven, simply being present wasn’t enough. Seeing to the needs of his parishioners, being part of their lives, required he be more outgoing in his interactions, more involved. No matter how hard he tried to perform well his duties, she always managed to make him feel completely inadequate. That had weighed on him as well as he’d stood at the pulpit.
To make matters worse, he was now on his way to Lampton Park, where he would be spending the evening with his brothers. If not for the fact that Mater was at the Park at last and Harold hadn’t seen her in weeks, he might have sent his excuses.
Upon arriving, he assumed what confidence he had as he stepped into the drawing room. It was a very formal space and might have been intimidating, if not for the large family portrait hanging above the fireplace. Father looked just as Harold remembered him, with his legendary quiet smile and a hand set tenderly on Mater’s shoulder. Philip and Layton, no more than seventeen and sixteen years old, stood on either side of him. Jason and Corbin sat on a bench to Mater’s left. Stanley sat in a chair at Mater’s right, one of his hands in hers. Little Charlie sat on her lap, leaning back against her. Harold, a mere ten years old when the portrait was painted, sat on a footstool just in front of Mater, his head resting against her knees.
It was the last portrait ever painted of them, a moment in time Harold so often wished he could reclaim. Father had died not long afterward, and nothing in Harold’s life had been entirely right since. Sorrel had said he was “adrift”; perhaps she wasn’t entirely wrong.
“I suspect he is trying to decide on a topic for sermonizing while we’re all together.” Philip’s voice cut into Harold’s distraction.
He hadn’t the patience at the moment for Philip’s usual mockery. “I know my topic; I’m simply wondering who among you will actually listen.”
Charlie, seated on a settee by the tall windows, laughed. “Philip won’t listen, that’s for certain.”
Philip pressed a hand to his heart. “I am wounded. My tears will utterly ruin my cravat, then my valet will have both your necks.”
“He wouldn’t attack an invalid, would he?” Charlie motioned to his cane.
Harold thought Charlie had all but recovered from his injuries. Had he heard incorrectly?
Philip sighed dramatically. “I have one person in this household who is quite healthy but insists he is not and another who is falling to bits and won’t admit it.”
“Perhaps I should sermonize on patience,” Harold casually suggested.
Philip looked at him, a laugh in his eyes. Had his humor actually met with his brother’s approval? That seldom happened. Then again, a vicar was not meant to engage in the kind of ridiculousness Philip specialized in. Harold reminded himself of that. He wanted to do better.
He turned his attention to the rest of the room. Corbin and Jason were there, though neither brother lived in the area any longer. Their families did not appear to be present. This was not, then, a simple family gathering.
“Will Stanley be joining us?” Harold asked.
Philip shook his head. “He and Marjie are coming at Christmastime. It’s too far a journey to ask him to make twice so close in succession.”
That was sensible. “And Layton? Is his journey too treacherous as well?” Layton’s estate neighbored this one.
Again, Harold received a barely hidden laugh. He’d managed to stay appropriately somber for less than a minute. Philip was not a very good influence, especially when Sorrel was not present.
“I suspect our dear brother’s very persuasive wife has convinced him to bring the entire brood along,” Philip said. “That takes time.”
“And patience,” Harold added with a solemn nod. “Seems he doesn’t need my sermon.” Lud, he’d done it again.
Seize a little solemnity, dunderhead. Act well your part.
“Is Mater not here?” Harold didn’t see her.
“She is at the dower house,” Philip said. “She’ll come over in a bit. We have some business to see to first.”
“We do?” Jason joined the conversation for the first time. Though Harold was a vicar and ought to have been more staid than the others, Jason was of a more serious nature than anyone else, though the happiness he’d found in marriage had lightened him considerably. “Has something happened?”
“This is more of a preparatory discussion,” Philip said. “Father always said planning ahead was key to avoiding disaster.”
Disaster? Every brother present was watching Philip closely.
“We should retire to the library,” he said. “That seems the best place to undertake this.”
“This sounds serious,” Jason said, moving to Philip’s side.
Philip didn’t contradict the assessment.
Corbin stood as well, moving toward the door. Charlie struggled a little but was on his feet after a moment.
“You needn’t strain yourself, Charlie,” Philip said. “You don’t have to join us.”
Charlie didn’t manage to entirely hide his disappointment.
Harold could clearly hear Sorrel’s voice in his memory. The youngest of the brothers, in her assessment, was lonely. Leaving him out of whatever Philip wished to discuss would only add to that. Certainly, his presence wouldn’t hurt.
“If this concerns the family, it concerns Charlie,” Harold said.
They all looked at him, surprised. Was it so odd that he would speak up on behalf of the youngest of them?
In a turn of events more shocking even than Harold’s interjection, Corbin spoke up. “Charlie should come.”
Philip eyed Charlie with both surprise and amusement. “It seems you have finally reached adulthood.”
“It’s about blasted time.” Charlie all but marched from the room, slowed only by the need for his cane. “To the library, brothers.”
“He jumped from grown-up to in charge rather quickly, didn’t he?” Philip observed.
Corbin laughed quietly and followe
d in the youngest’s wake. Jason shrugged to Philip and did the same.
Philip met Harold’s eye. “Are you seeing this? You might need to preach on the topic of humility. Charlie seems to have lost every bit of his.”
“It’s about blasted time,” Harold tossed back.
Philip laughed out loud, making no attempt to hide his amusement as he had a moment earlier. “Are vicars allowed to say ‘blasted’? Should I be drafting a letter to the archbishop?”
“Don’t worry about that. Sarah Sarvol has likely already sent several letters of complaint.”
Philip tossed him a curious look. “Has she criticized your efforts?”
“She insists she would make a better vicar than I.” Harold wished he could say she was wrong. “She actually issued a challenge.”
“She declared war?”
Harold shrugged. “In a way.”
Philip grinned as they walked down the corridor toward the library. “Did you know, when I first met Sorrel during that house party at Kinnley, she declared war on me?”
“She did?” He hadn’t heard this. “Over what?”
“I was, in her estimation, a poor excuse for a gentleman. Truth be told, going head-to-head with her made those weeks some of the very best of my entire life. A gentleman needs a challenge and a chance to reexamine himself.”
All Harold seemed to be doing lately was reexamining. He didn’t particularly care for what he was finding. “Did you learn anything in your reexamination?”
Philip nodded. “I learned she was right, and I learned my life was infinitely better with her in it.”
The others were waiting when Harold and Philip stepped into the library.
“Thank you for informing me of the Joneses’ struggles,” Philip said as they crossed the room. “Mater means to check on them regularly, and I will make certain they have all they need.”
Harold had looked in on the Joneses himself. He’d also sent word to Philip of the difficulties there. He was glad to hear that family would be looked after.
“And that seems a point in your favor in your war with Miss Sarvol.”
“Except, she was the one who told me about the situation. So she wins again.”
Philip barely kept his grin tucked away.
Harold sat on a high-backed chair near the fireplace. Philip sat on the sofa. There was only barely enough room for all of them. Layton would have to pull a chair over. Had Stanley been able to attend this informal meeting, they’d have been hard-pressed to find a spot for him.
“Layton and I have already discussed much of this,” Philip said, “so I think we can begin without him.” He turned to Charlie. “If that meets with your approval, of course.”
“I’ll allow it,” Charlie said with a smirk.
Philip smiled, but the look of amusement didn’t last. “Thanks to Harold’s efforts, Sorrel agreed to be seen by Dr. Scorseby while I was away. He has given her strict instructions to remain off her feet for the remainder of her pregnancy. Should things not improve, she will be confined entirely to bed. This is not unexpected; we have experienced this twice before.”
The bantering tone of a moment earlier was gone entirely. Everyone knew how the previous walks down this difficult path had ended. All their hearts had broken for Philip and Sorrel.
“Sorrel herself is not doing well this time around,” he continued. “Scorseby fears for her well-being as well as the child’s.” Philip leaned forward, elbows on his legs, hands clasped in front of him.
“Being off her feet will help though?” Jason pressed.
“We are hopeful that it will preserve her health and strength.”
“But not the baby’s?” Corbin asked.
Philip shook his head. “There is no reason to believe anything will be different on that score than the last two times.” He took a heavy breath. “We will see Sorrel through this; I refuse to believe otherwise. But we cannot do this a fourth time. Neither of us can bear it again. It is time I began planning for the reality that I will not have an heir.”
This was a heavy topic of discussion, for certain.
“A family of seven brothers ought to have no worries on the matter of inheritance,” Philip acknowledged, “but our situation is not so simple as most. There is the matter of the Farland title and estate.”
“Layton is inheriting that.” Charlie’s brows pulled in concentration.
“Not if he is my heir,” Philip said. “Father and Mater’s marriage arrangement stipulated that the two titles not be folded into one another. The oldest son would inherit all of Father’s lands and titles. The oldest child who was not heir to Father would inherit Mater’s land and title.”
Very few titles in the kingdom were eligible to be inherited by a woman. Indeed, they could likely be counted on one’s fingers. Mater happened to hold one of them: the Farland Meadows barony. Had the eldest Jonquil sibling or even the second been a daughter, she would have inherited Mater’s title and the Farland estate. That had fallen to Layton.
“If Layton inherits from Philip, he loses his claim to the Farland title and lands,” Jason said, wearing what the brothers had always called his “barrister’s face.” “It would pass to the next in line.”
Corbin shook his head firmly, repeatedly.
Jason’s tone grew firmer but somehow kinder as well. “You are older than I am.”
“By ten minutes.” Corbin sounded more than a little anxious.
“The law puts a lot of store by those ten minutes,” Jason said.
“I suspected Corbin does not wish to inherit Farland,” Philip said, “and Layton and I don’t particularly want to push it on him if it will make him miserable. But we don’t know what choice there might be.”
Everyone watched Jason. He had the better grasp of these things. “Most likely, there is nothing that can be done. He can refuse to use the title or assume possession of the estate, but I don’t know that anyone else could take it up in his stead. It is marginally possible he would be permitted to abdicate, depending on the exact details of the letters patent. I won’t know until I’ve looked it over.”
“If he is able to refuse, that would leave the estate to you,” Philip pointed out.
“And you suspect I don’t want it either.”
Philip raised an eyebrow.
Jason dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Mariposa inherited land here in England as well as in Spain. Her brother has an estate I am helping him see to. I have my barrister’s practice I don’t particularly wish to give up. If abdicating is an option, I’d consider it as well.”
“This wouldn’t come into play until after I stick my spoon in the wall,” Philip said. “You’d be quite old and worn down by then, and young Santiago would not be so young anymore. He would have full control of his estate.”
Jason didn’t appear entirely convinced. “Should relinquishing our claim on the Farland inheritance prove possible, and should both Corbin and I choose to do so, that brings us to Stanley.”
It was Philip’s turn to shake his head in dismissal. “Stanley is finally happy, ensconced as he is in such a quiet and remote corner of the kingdom. Assuming the Farland title would mean regular trips to Town to take his seat in the House of Lords. It would mean being a gentleman of significance and influence in the neighborhood. He would have no peace. I cannot imagine he would be the least bit happy in that role.”
This was growing complicated.
“Harold, then?” Jason said.
Everyone looked at him. Panic surged, but he pushed it down. He steepled his fingers, a strategy he employed whenever feelings of panic or being overwhelmed threatened to make his hands shake. “My aspirations lie with the church. I cannot even imagine relinquishing that.” Indeed, no effort had ever been made to train him in the running of a vast land holding or to make governing decisions as a member of Parliament.<
br />
“A seventh son and we’re discussing my position as heir.” Charlie shook his head. “This ought to be the headline for the Times. I don’t imagine this has ever happened in the history of England.”
“I don’t know about that,” Harold said. “Our ancestors were more fond of fratricide than we are.”
“This will end in murder, will it?” Charlie laughed.
“There is your Times headline,” Philip said with a grin.
Even Corbin laughed, something he seldom did out loud.
The feeling in the room lightened. Though Harold wasn’t certain Charlie’s comment would have met with the scrutiny of either of the archbishops, he couldn’t help thinking breaking the tension had been needed.
“Jason, will you look into the letters patent?” Philip asked.
“Of course.”
“And, Corbin.” Philip turned and faced him. “You don’t have to make any decision anytime soon. Think on it. I know you are perfectly happy at Havenworth, and I would never ask you to leave that behind. But your little William would inherit from you, and that might not be a bad thing. Edmund will certainly carry on with Havenworth, and happily.”
“I’ll consider it,” Corbin said.
“The chances are very slim of abdication being possible,” Jason said, “but I will consider my position should Corbin be permitted to relinquish his.”
“And we all know Holy Harry never stops considering his role in the church,” Philip said.
His first inclination was to object to the hated nickname, but seeing smiles pop up around the room, he decided to let it go. They were all worried and their minds heavy. Having reason for levity was a blessing in that moment, even if it meant being the target of their humor.
“Can we do anything for Sorrel while we are here?” Jason asked, motioning to both himself and Corbin. They had often acted as one entity over the years.
“Drop in to her bedchamber before you go and chat with her a bit,” Philip said. “She doesn’t enjoy being isolated, and the worry is taking a toll.”
“Is it taking a toll on you as well?” Harold suspected he already knew the answer.
The Heart of a Vicar Page 10
