“. . . of Jezebel. One must always be on guard against the insidious sin of pride and vanity.”
Confusion took hold of Marina, because the Vicar seemed to look up from his notes and fix his gaze upon her as he spoke these words.
Frowning slightly, she tried to pick up the thread of the sermon and could make out some of what he seemed to be getting at—the folly of pride and vanity. Common enough. However, Marina’s alarm grew as the Vicar looked in her direction every time he said words like vanity, pride, and flattery.
As much as she tried to dismiss the notion as her wayward imagination, after the fourth or fifth time he did it, she could not deny the Vicar’s odd behavior. What could he be about? He spoke in clear, measured tones, and just when she was prepared to dismiss his regard as a fluke of her imagination, he would look in her direction again as he mentioned being humble and modest as a virtue to be cultivated.
During all this, she kept her posture tall and her expression serene, even as she felt some of the other parishioners sending questioning glances her way.
With her alarm and confusion growing, she wished herself anywhere else, and focused on keeping her dignity until the Vicar had finished his bizarre sermon.
After the Vicar left the pulpit, and the choir sang the last hymn, she and Deirdre rose to leave. Deirdre started to rush down the aisle, causing Marina to put a cautioning hand on her arm. No matter the meaning of the Vicar’s unprecedented behavior, she refused to turn tail and run.
Following Marina’s unspoken direction, Deirdre took her time walking next to Marina down the aisle and out of the church.
Out on the steps, the Vicar greeted each parishioner as they left the church. When she reached him, she forced herself to meet the Vicar’s concerned gaze with a polite smile.
He took her hand in both of his. “Miss Buckleigh, it is most gratifying to see you here today, most gratifying and encouraging. We rejoice at Lord Buckleigh’s continued recovery.” In spite of his kindly spoken words, she detected something pointed in his tone.
“As do we, sir.”
Before he could say more, she inclined her head briefly, lifted her chin then sailed off into the churchyard, walking quickly now as she had no desire to visit with anyone else.
Deirdre caught up with her and said in a fierce whisper, “How extraordinary. I’m sure you noticed how the Vicar looked at you every time he said ‘vain’ or ‘proud.’”
Marina practically snorted. “How could I not? Everyone else did as well. What on earth is he about?”
“I have no idea.” Deirdre’s voice was full of dismay. “You are not vain, at least not out of the common way for someone as pretty as you are.”
“That’s a great help,” Marina retorted as the carriage pulled up.
Jimmy jumped down from the bench and opened the carriage door. After pulling down the steps, he helped them in. Deirdre waited until they were moving before continuing.
“Even if Vicar Ralston thinks you are overweening vain, his behavior is still above strange. He even raised his brows at you when he was speaking of Jezebel. Isn’t she the one who got her face eaten by dogs because she led men astray?”
“Good lord,” Marina mumbled, recalling the moment with growing mortification. Upon glancing out of the window, she saw Mrs. Birtwistle on the side of the lane observing the carriage, her expression concerned. Without deep thought, Marina banged on the roof to have Jimmy stop the carriage.
Deirdre looked at her in confusion. “Marina, what are you doing?”
Opening the door, Marina jumped lightly out of the carriage and turned to look back at her sister.
“Go home, Deirdre, and do not tell Mama of the Vicar’s odd behavior, she has had enough to deal with without adding this silliness.”
Deirdre made to follow. “Let me come with you.”
“No, allow me to walk home to clear my head.”
Deirdre sat back with a pout. Marina shut the carriage door and told Jimmy to go on.
The grizzled man looked down at her from his perch. “And what are you doing, Miss Marina?”
“I am going to walk with Mrs. Birtwistle. Take Miss Deirdre home, Jimmy.”
She hurried the few yards reaching Mrs. Birtwistle, who looked lovely in a rose and cream pelisse over a sprigged cream gown, with coordinating bonnet.
“Oh, Miss Buckleigh, it is so wonderful to see you and your sister today. We look forward to when your whole family will be in church again.”
“Thank you. Words cannot express how grateful we are that Papa is awake. Although he does drift off quite a bit, Dr. Gray assures us that this is normal.”
“I am sure it is, Miss Buckleigh. I can assure you the entire parish rejoices in this miracle. The Baron is so dear to many of us.”
Marina acknowledged this kindness with a nod. “Mrs. Birtwistle. May I walk with you for a bit?”
“Of course.” In unspoken accord, Mrs. Birtwistle took her arm and they turned down the lane and walked in silence for several minutes.
“There has been some news you may not have heard,” Mrs. Birtwistle began in a conversational tone, for which Marina was grateful.
“Oh?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Langford have left the Ridgeton Abbey house party and returned to their home in Lincolnshire. Mr. Fairdale has left as well. But I understand Mr. Penhurst’s other guests are still in residence.”
“They were all very congenial. I hope they all will visit Parsley Hay again.”
Growing impatient with this conventional chatter, Marina cast about for how to get the conversation to Vicar Ralston’s behavior. However, she could think of no delicate way to broach such an odd subject and decided that there was nothing else for it but to take the direct approach.
“Mrs. Birtwistle, I am sure you could not help noticing the way Vicar Ralston seemed to direct, ah, singular attention my way.”
“Indeed, I did.” Her expression showed a good deal of concern.
“I certainly found it odd and cannot account for it. Forgive me for imposing on you this way, but I am hoping you might have some insight.”
“Dear Miss Buckleigh,” Mrs. Birtwistle hesitated, “I find the Vicar’s behavior most shocking, and if my father were still alive, he would never have abused his role as Vicar in this way.”
“But do you have any notion why he would look at me so sharply when he was speaking of vanity and wanton behavior? The last time I was in church, the Vicar’s regard was unexceptional. I cannot imagine what has occurred since my father’s accident to cause this change in the Vicar.”
“Oh, Miss Buckleigh, you have been through a most trying time, I would not wish to upset you further.”
“Well, as I am already upset, anything you can share will only help.”
Mrs. Birtwistle’s sigh conveyed resignation. “I would certainly like to help. Tell me, Miss Buckleigh, are you aware that my cousin, George Halbury, as well as Henry Willingham have a deep admiration for you?”
Marina decided that she shouldn’t be surprised that this was known. “My father told me that he met with both gentlemen before his accident. I should tell you that my father’s memory has gaps when it comes to the time surrounding the fall and he now has no clear memory of these meetings. Frankly, I have given little thought to either gentleman since Papa’s fall.”
“I see.” They walked for some minutes while Mrs. Birtwistle seemed to choose her words. “Well, please forgive me, but if I continue I would be forced to be indelicate.”
“Please, go on.”
“Some people in the village are saying that your engagement to Henry Willingham is imminent, while others are just as positive that your betrothal to my cousin will be announced any day.”
The shock of these words hit Marina full force and she stopped to stare at Mrs. Birtwistle in astonishment.
“Are you very sure of what you say, Mrs. Birtwistle?”
“I’m afraid so. I am sorry to tell you that there has been quite a bit of talk.”<
br />
Marina digested this information, feeling completely dismayed. At least Sefton’s name had not been mentioned in this insulting mess. Thank goodness, for that cad was the last thing this scandal broth needed.
“If it is any comfort, I do not believe anyone but those seated in the first few pews noticed the Vicar’s marked attention. Perhaps inviting him to tea and explaining your perspective would stop his censorious looks.”
Marina felt her temper rise even more and the stubborn streak she’d spent her whole life trying to curb asserted itself. “It is not for me to explain myself to him.”
“Spoken like Miss Buckleigh of Buck Hill,” Mrs. Birtwistle said, her tone approving. “So how do you propose to deal with the speculation? It behooves me to tell you that any hint that the very proper Miss Buckleigh has stepped a foot wrong is stirring gossip throughout the village.”
“I have no doubt,” Marina said hotly. “I must think on this and decide the best way to move forward. My father must not hear of this; we have been trying to keep him as quiet as possible during his recovery—he is still quite fragile, you see. Oh, I am so angry! I would like to call them out myself.”
“I would, too, if I were in your shoes.”
“I thank you for your honesty, Mrs. Birtwistle, at least I know what I am up against.”
They continued to walk in the cool midday air, and Marina was glad of it for it gave her time to mull over everything she had learned.
A new and oddly disturbing notion began to emerge from the myriad of thoughts swirling in her head. “Mrs. Birtwistle, do you know if Lord Cortland still numbers as one of the guests at Ridgeton Abbey?”
According to Deirdre, the Marquis had visited Buck Hill a few days ago. Marina had been distressed to have missed him, for she had not thanked him properly after he had carried her into the house when she had fainted upon hearing Papa had regained consciousness.
She had considered writing him a note but felt uncharacteristically shy every time she put quill to paper. She also suspected that any gesture she made would be met with his characteristic cool amusement.
Because of the enormity of recent events, and her rising confusion where he was concerned, she had repeatedly put off the task. Yet, he was constantly in her thoughts.
“I do believe that he is. He and Mr. Penhurst called upon us the other day and were most amiable.”
There was a quality in Mrs. Birtwistle’s voice that had not been there before. Marina gave her a sideways glance.
“However,” the widow continued in a breezier tone, “Mr. Penhurst’s sister does not acknowledge my existence so it rather puts me in an awkward position when it comes to calling on Ridgeton Abbey. I suppose I shall just send my brother to call without me.”
“You know, I’ve had quite enough of everyone’s rude behavior. Lady Darley may be very accomplished and sophisticated and the granddaughter of an earl, but my mother is Lady Buckleigh of Buck Hill, and in the mood I am in, I’m in mind to hint to her that Lady Darley could use a proper set-down.”
Mrs. Birtwistle laughed. “You will do no such thing. After all, I cannot blame Lady Darley for looking down her nose at me.”
“Well, I most certainly can.”
Chapter Seventeen
Cortland and Pen came in from a morning of inspecting some of the estate’s long-neglected outbuildings to find the ladies of the house, home from church, in a flap.
“You must join us!” Vanessa Darley, standing in the doorway of the red drawing room, urged. “It was quite the most diverting thing I have seen in a year. You should have been there! You too, Cortland, for it has to do with your paragon.”
Since her eyes sparkled with mischief, Cortland set aside his immediate concern that bad news had arrived from Buck Hill. After divesting themselves of their greatcoats, they joined Lady Darley, Aunt Meredith, and an anxious-looking Eugenia.
Cortland was glad to see that Sefton was not in the room. In fact, Sefton had obligingly been making himself scarce of late. He’d taken up reading in Pen’s well-stocked library nearly every afternoon, and often only joined the rest of the house party at mealtimes, where he always sat as far from Eugenia as possible.
However, since the Langfords and Fairdale had departed, the tension between Cortland and Sefton was becoming more difficult to camouflage. As long as his aunt and cousin were in residence—and Vanessa Darley had been insisting that everyone stay another month complete—then Cortland did not intend to leave his cousin vulnerable to Sefton’s practiced charm.
It was a credit to Pen’s good nature and Vanessa’s well-polished manners that their hosts did not seem to notice any of the strain between their guests.
Cortland suspected that Sefton had been hoping to outstay him, counting on Cortland’s duties and responsibilities to take him away long before now. It stirred Cortland’s cynical sense of humor to know that Sefton was growing more uncomfortable as each day passed.
No doubt, once he accepted that Eugenia and Miss Buckleigh were beyond his reach, he would have to move on sooner rather than later, in hopes of finding better hunting grounds elsewhere.
“Lud, you look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” Pen said to his sister as he took his seat.
Moving to a wing chair by the window, Cortland had to agree with his friend’s observation. He’d rather be dealing with the correspondence that had been stacking up, as annoying as he found it, than listen to a ration of provincial gossip—except that Miss Buckleigh’s name had been mentioned.
Looking at his aunt questioningly, he said, “What has occurred?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Aunt Meredith said, sending him a helpless look.
“If it hadn’t been so strange, Cortland,” Vanessa interjected, “I would not have been able to keep from laughing, but, oh, I feel dreadful for poor Miss Buckleigh.”
“Why? What has happened to her?”
Aunt Meredith pressed her lips together. “It was the oddest sermon I have ever heard. It hardly made coherent sense.”
“What does a sermon have to do with Miss Buckleigh?” Cortland asked.
“Vicar Ralston looked right at Miss Buckleigh when he spoke about Jezebel! And he practically wiggled his brows in her direction whenever he spoke of vanity and pride, or of being modest and humble,” Eugenia said in a shocked voice. “I would have been mortified beyond measure, but Miss Buckleigh didn’t bat an eye, though she did not stay to visit with anyone after the service was over.”
“Good Lord, what do you mean?” Pen asked, confusion on his blunt features.
“The sermon this morning was on morals,” Vanessa explained, “and how one must be on guard against the evils of pride and vanity, throwing in a bit about Jezebel. As Eugenia has stated, it seemed to be for the particular edification of Miss Marina Buckleigh.”
She looked at Cortland, her smile still full of delight. “I spoke to Mrs. Hollings and Mrs. Willingham afterwards and they hinted strongly that Miss Buckleigh’s behavior has been shockingly fast.”
“How so?” her brother asked. “She has hardly left her house since the accident. Her behavior has been exceedingly proper, and shows a devotion to her father that is admirable. What are people accusing her of?”
“It’s clear, from what Mrs. Willingham hinted, that Miss Buckleigh is not quite the shining example everyone in Parsley Hay has always believed her to be—she has encouraged several young men in their addresses to her. She has been leading them a merry dance and has only been found out because her father has been too ill to keep her in check.”
“Bah,” Pen waved a hand. “Sounds like jealousy, if you ask me. Miss Buckleigh cannot help it if young men pay her particular attention. Mrs. Birtwistle certainly has nothing but the highest regard for Miss Marina.”
Vanessa looked askance at her brother. “Mrs. Birtwistle! As if I would ever take her opinion on anyone. No, Lord Cortland had the right of it from the beginning. Cortland, you recall, I’m sure. At our ball, when we were discussing
our new neighbors, you said, ‘Miss Marina Buckleigh is the kind of paragon who usually ends up in a scandal.’ I daresay you saw something before the rest of us did.”
Cortland leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. “I do recall making that comment,” he replied in a bored tone, unwilling to give her any reason to suspect his true feelings.
The gleeful sparkle left Vanessa’s blue eyes. “Even so, it certainly looks as if several of the local swains feel they have been treated rather shabbily by Miss Buckleigh. I, for one, cannot wait to see how it all turns out.”
Her tone held a note of defiance, even malice that surprised him a little. He wondered if life in such a small village, so far from the more sophisticated delights and excitements of London, suited Vanessa Darley.
Aunt Meredith cleared her throat and said, “Well, I do not wish to judge Miss Buckleigh so harshly yet, especially after the horrible time she and her family have had of late. We may yet find, despite the Vicar’s behavior, that this is all a storm in a teacup.”
Vanessa nodded quickly. “That is certainly true, Lady Meredith. But in my experience, where there is smoke there is fire.”
“I agree,” Cortland drawled, “however, one should make certain where the fire is coming from.”
***
Marina and Mrs. Birtwistle parted where the lane forked, one direction leading to Fielding Manor, the other to Buck Hill.
“Again, Miss Buckleigh, I cannot tell you how good it is to hear that the good Baron is improving.”
Thank you, Mrs. Birtwistle. And thank you for being so open with me. It is most appreciated.”
“Miss Buckleigh, I know the Vicar’s actions will have tongues wagging even more, but I do hope you will not let it upset you unduly.”
Marina felt utterly deflated for a moment, then an unexpected flash of humor came to her rescue.
“They can all have me for breakfast for all I care.” She waved her arm in an expansive gesture toward the village.
Mrs. Birtwistle laughed. “That’s the spirit.”
Their eyes met with a new understanding. If anyone in Parsley Hay knew how it felt to be the target of gossip, it was certainly Catherine Birtwistle.
Rhonda Woodward Page 18
