by Cheryl Holt
“It’s an old story, Oscar. I’m sure Lt. Price isn’t interested.”
At her halting of Blair’s tale, Stephen was so grateful that he could scarcely keep from hugging her.
“It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Merrick.” Stephen nodded at her brother. “Vicar Blair, I appreciate your courtesy.”
He should have invited Mrs. Merrick to the manor for supper—it was the appropriate gesture—but he couldn’t have her as a guest without asking the vicar too, so the invitation wasn’t tendered.
There was an uncomfortable second where they realized they’d been snubbed. Then Mrs. Merrick smiled again and held the door so he could escape.
He hastened to the lane, as the vicar poked his nose out and called, “I’ll need to talk to the earl about his lack of piety.”
Stephen couldn’t think of anything more pointless, and with the wind blowing, he motioned as if he couldn’t hear. He waved and plodded on.
The vicarage was situated next to the church, the cemetery in between the two buildings. He entered through a gate and strolled the paths, reading the aged headstones. When he was positive the vicar couldn’t see him, he went into the church and sat in a rear pew.
It was dim and quiet, and it smelled of polish and prayer. A single candle burned at the front, producing a magical glow.
As a boy, he’d spent a lot of time in churches. The orphanage where he’d been raised was run by a religious organization, so he’d endured his share of services. After he and Nicholas had enlisted, he hadn’t had much occasion to visit one, and he liked having the chance to silently ponder.
On Sunday mornings, the neighbors would fill the seats, dressed in their Sunday best, as they assembled to worship, chat, and socialize. He’d never experienced that sort of life.
He was twenty-eight, and he’d never planted any roots. The decades had passed with him trailing after Nicholas, thwarting his worst schemes, and keeping him out of trouble.
Now that they were at Stafford, Stephen was so happy. Nicholas loathed his inheritance and had no idea what the words home and haven meant, but Stephen knew.
He craved the ties that would bind him to Stafford, where he would settle down, marry, and have a family. He’d already sired a daughter, Annie, who was ten and growing up at a convent in Belgium. Her mother had been a camp follower who’d died in childbirth.
Annie would be brought to Stafford, sooner rather than later, which was the reason he’d sought out Vicar Blair. He’d gone to inquire if there was a kindly widow in the area who might have room for one small girl so Annie could travel to England immediately. Of course, after his encounter with the vicar, he hadn’t asked.
Still, Stephen was eagerly devising a plan of action.
Eventually, he would muster out of the army, and he would join Annie at Stafford. He hadn’t worked up the courage to inform Nicholas, but he would.
Nicholas couldn’t understand Stephen’s desire to belong. Nor could he understand Stephen’s affection for Annie, and Stephen couldn’t explain it to his brother. He’d given up trying.
Off to the side of the altar, a door opened and Josephine Merrick came in, carrying two large vases of flowers. He was hidden in the shadows in the back and didn’t want to startle her.
“Hello, Mrs. Merrick,” he said, announcing himself but startling her anyway.
“Ah!” she shrieked.
The flowers swayed, and he raced up the aisle to assist her before she dropped them.
“Let me help you with those.”
“Lt. Price, it’s you. You scared me.”
He reached for the vases and put them on the floor, as she laughed and patted a hand over her heart.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I was attempting to make my presence known, but I botched it.”
“No need to apologize. I never expect anyone to be in here, but there often is, and when I find I’m not alone, I always jump like a frightened rabbit.” She leaned nearer and whispered, “I’m afraid of the dark.”
“I won’t tell.”
With her being so close, there was a pleasant intimacy surrounding them that he enjoyed. He felt as if they were old friends reunited after a lengthy separation.
She, too, perceived a connection. Her gaze narrowed as if they might have met previously and she couldn’t recollect where or when. She moved away, grabbed the vases, and took them to a table in the vestibule.
He balanced his hips on the rail, watching until she returned. She sat in the front pew and peered up at him.
“Were you praying?” she asked. “Have I interrupted you?”
“I don’t ever pray.”
“Really? How sad. What sustains you in times of despair?”
“I don’t despair,” he blithely said, “so I’m never melancholy.”
“How lucky for you.”
“Yes, I have been lucky.”
Not in his younger years, but definitely in his more recent ones. After all, how frequently did your only sibling inherit an earldom?
“If you’re not overly religious,” she ventured, “I don’t imagine you’ll get on with Oscar.”
“He’s a tad . . . pious for my tastes.”
“He’s very devout.”
“My brother and I aren’t.”
“I’ve heard that Captain Price—I mean, Lord Stafford—is a bit of a heathen.”
He snorted. “You’re too polite.”
“I’ve been wondering how he and Oscar will fare.”
“Badly, I can guarantee. Let’s make a secret pact to keep them apart.”
“That’s a good idea,” she concurred. “I’ll shall keep Oscar silent and at home.”
“And I shall keep Nicholas busy at the manor and far away from the vicarage.”
They grinned a conspiratorial grin, and he was struck again by the impression of fond acquaintance.
There was an unusual attraction between them, and it would be hard to ignore it. He’d quickly grow bored at Stafford and would crave female companionship. He was curious as to how she’d view a dalliance.
She was a widow. Was she missing her husband? Was she a teeming cauldron of unbridled passion that was begging to be assuaged? Or was she chaste as a nun? She was a prim, proper lady, and he’d had scant experience with her type. How did a man suggest an affair to someone like her without having his face slapped?
It was probably impossible. The rules were different in a rural village than they were at an army camp. At Stafford, if he so much as danced with her twice at a neighborhood party, a marriage proposal would be due shortly after.
Rudely, he inquired, “What happened with your husband’s family after he died? How is it that you ended up living with your brother?”
“Why Lt. Price, shame on you for posing such indelicate questions.”
She didn’t look offended. She was still smiling, which he took as permission to continue.
“Would you rather I gossiped about you behind your back? Should I learn of it from the servants?”
“I’m sure you’d hear plenty.”
“If I want to know something, I ask.”
“How refreshingly annoying.” She declared, “It’s a very sordid tale.”
“Will I be shocked?”
“Yes. Your manly self might not be able to bear it.”
“Try me. Let’s see how I hold up.”
They both chuckled.
“I was married for seven years, but I never had any children.” Her courage flagged, and she glanced away. “I oughtn’t to be embarrassed, but I guess I am. It’s still difficult to talk about it.”
“You can tell me,” he coaxed. “I have my own squalid past, so I’m not in a position to judge.”
“He’d filed for divorce, claiming I was barren.”
“What a disloyal ass.”
“Oh, of course not,” he sarcastically agreed. “I’m liking him less and less by the minute.”
“He had the grace to perish before the divorce was finalized.”
“Thank heaven.”
“After he passed away, I hadn’t the funds to stay in London. He wasn’t wealthy, and what little there was to inherit, his mother seized.” She sighed. “I didn’t have anywhere to go.”
“It must have been hard for you to move in with your brother.”
“Very hard,” she admitted. “He’s always blamed me for the debacle. The ‘sins of Eve’ and all that. He says if I’d been a dutiful wife, God would have blessed me with many babies. It’s a constant harangue.”
The words rushed out of her as if it was a confession she’d been yearning to make. Her shoulders drooped, and she appeared smaller, as if she’d been deflated by it.
“My dearest Josephine,” he murmured, improperly using her Christian name, “I’m so very sorry.”
Tears flooded her eyes, and he dawdled like an idiot, knowing he should comment, but perplexed as to what his remark should be. He couldn’t stand to see a woman abused. Should he offer to pound her brother into the ground? To whip him? To have him fired? And then what?
Stephen wasn’t inclined to support her financially, and he wasn’t about to marry her himself, so he was worthless as a defender. Oscar Blair was her elderly male family member, and he had full authority over her. He could beat her or lock her in a closet or starve her, and Stephen couldn’t intervene.
“I can’t believe I told you so much about myself,” she said.
“I’m glad you did.”
“I’m usually so reticent. How could you have pulled it out of me?”
“I inspire confidences.”
“Then I’m in trouble, for there’s very much I’d like you not to discover.”
He walked over and sat down beside her, and he clasped her hand in his, linking their fingers. Her skin was warm and soft, and though it seemed harmless and friendly, it seemed wicked and dangerous too.
For an eternity, they tarried, not speaking. He stared at the altar, while she stared at the floor. Ultimately, she straightened and turned toward him. She studied his mouth, and he was overcome by the strangest notion that she was thinking about kissing him. She didn’t though.
He could have leaned in and done it for her, but he was terribly afraid that he might have mistaken her intent. They remained transfixed, frozen in place.
“I’d better go,” she eventually said. “Oscar will be wondering where I am.”
She stood and went to the door by which she’d originally entered. As she stepped through, her gaze locked on his. To his astonishment, he didn’t have to struggle to decipher her meaning.
Her look was filled with such hot, searing desire that he felt it to the tips of his toes. His balls clenched, his cock stirred, and the holy church nearly sizzled with their untapped passion.
She raised a brow in invitation, but as he rose to chase after her, her burst of bravado fled. In an instant, she vanished like smoke.
“Remember what I told you,” Emeline said to her sisters.
“We’re to be very brave,” Nan answered.
“And very polite,” Nell added.
“Yes. No matter what, we mustn’t let him see that we’re upset.”
Nan and Nell were such good girls, and it broke Emeline’s heart to watch as they were reduced by the slings and arrows life had shot at them.
With each step down society’s ladder, they’d had their world torn into tinier pieces, but they’d weathered the descent better than Emeline. She supposed—as children—they adapted more swiftly. Or perhaps it was because she was older than they were. As an adult, she’d built a larger store of memories and was suffering more over her losses.
When she’d first realized her father’s health was failing, she hadn’t grasped the extent of the calamity that was approaching. They had both assumed the school would continue after his death, that Emeline would teach in his stead. The school had operated at the estate for thirty years, and she’d never imagined that Nicholas Price would refuse to keep it open.
She’d staggered to the end, which had finally and fully arrived. She would face it down boldly, unwavering in her defense of her sisters and unafraid of the future and what it might bring.
Horse’s hooves clopped out on the dirt track leading to their cottage. They glanced over to observe Mr. Mason riding up on one of the earl’s mares. There were men behind him in a wagon, their axes at the ready, a torch ablaze so the fire could be quickly ignited after their home was demolished.
Mason halted in front of Emeline, and as he dismounted, she studied him. At age forty, he wasn’t unattractive, but there was a cruel gleam in his eye. When she stared at him, she always had to fight off a shudder.
The smartest thing she’d ever done was decline his courtship, but it was the stupidest thing too. After she’d spurned him, he’d put her on his vengeance list, and once a person was on it, he or she could never get off.
“Miss Wilson,” he said, “why are you still here? You were to vacate the premises by eight o’clock.”
“I’m asking one last time—for my sisters. Have mercy on them, Mr. Mason. We have nowhere to go. Please let us stay.”
“I spoke to the earl about you,” he replied. “In light of your recent rebellion, you won’t be surprised to learn that he’s declined to intervene in your case. He advises that I proceed with the eviction. He won’t support a troublemaker.”
Emeline shouldn’t have been hurt, but she was. She’d convinced herself that Nicholas Price would show some compassion, that he wouldn’t throw three vulnerable females out on the road. She had to stop imbuing him with traits he didn’t possess. He didn’t care about the estate. He’d admitted it, so why would she expect any sympathy?
Yet she couldn’t keep herself from sneering. “The earl said that? Really?”
“Yes, sorry.”
He didn’t look sorry. He looked arrogantly satisfied with what he’d wrought.
“I don’t believe you,” Nan suddenly blurted out. “We met the earl. He was kind.”
“He wouldn’t make us leave,” Nell declared.
“Hush,” Emeline counseled, terrified as to how Mr. Mason might react.
“I want to talk to the earl myself,” Nan demanded.
“What would you say to such an important man?” Mason snidely asked her. “Would you beg and plead like the common child you are?”
“Mr. Mason,” Emeline scolded, “there’s no need to be spiteful.”
“No, there’s not,” he agreed. “My apology. Besides, the earl went back to London.”
“He’s gone?” Emeline foolishly asked. Apparently, a silly part of her feminine brain was living in a fantasy where he might canter up and rescue her.
“As he was getting on his horse,” Mr. Mason said, “I explained your situation. He was unmoved. So you see, Missy”—he glared at Nan—“even if you had the courage to speak with him, you couldn’t.”
“Thank you for letting us know,” Emeline tightly responded. “It’s better to hear the truth than to hold out hope.”
“Yes, it is.”
The wagon had lumbered up, the men stoic, but prepared to commence. They would chop down Emeline’s house, then burn the rotted lumber, and she couldn’t bear to watch. She urged the girls down the road.
They’d taken what they could carry, packing three pillowcases and an old satchel. The rest, they’d left behind. Her mother’s embroidery. Her father’s pipe. Their bedding and dishes and utensils. The last of her father’s books.
It was the saddest day in a long string of sad days,
and Emeline forced one foot in front of the other, determined that her sisters not realize the depth of her despair.
They reached the end of their narrow lane, and Nell asked, “Where shall we go, Emeline?”
“Let’s try the village,” she said. “It’s market day, so it will be busy. We might stumble on a forgotten acquaintance who’ll offer to assist us.”
“I have the penny the earl gave me,” Nan mentioned. “Maybe it will bring us some good luck.”
“Maybe it will,” Emeline concurred.
She was silent as they walked, listening to her sisters’ chatter.
A farmer came by, and they caught a ride in his cart. He took them all the way to the village square where local craftsmen were doing a brisk trade.
They scrambled down and to Emeline’s dismay, the first person they encountered was Vicar Blair.
In his view, people created their own difficulties, either from sloth or sin. Since her father’s demise, she’d received numerous lectures where he considered her guilty of a combination of both.
“Miss Wilson,” he snapped, cutting off any chance to evade him, “I would have a word with you.”
He bellowed in his too-loud preacher’s voice so others would hear. To her chagrin, bystanders turned to witness her chastisement.
Behind him, his sister, Jo, ruefully shrugged her shoulders, wishing she could intervene, but knowing she couldn’t. During Emeline’s tribulations, Jo had tried to be a friend, but she was allowed limited opportunities for socializing. Emeline couldn’t figure out how such a sweet soul could be related to such a nasty boor.
“Hello, Vicar Blair.”
“Mr. Mason informs me that you were cast out and your hovel raised.”
“Yes, we were, and yes, it was.”
“Let this be a lesson to you.”
It was pointless to argue with him, but she did it anyway. “What lesson would that be? That we’re poor and could use some Christian charity?”
“By pestering Lord Stafford, you have meddled in the business affairs of men. I warned you to be humble and circumspect, but your vanity controlled you. As usual.”
