Annette Blair

by Holy Scoundrel

  “He would accept help,” Ivy said, “if Gabriel, himself, would extract the tooth, which could only be done by drowning the sniveling giant in enough spirits to knock him off his clumsy feet.”

  “I had no idea that vicars extracted teeth,” Lacey said.

  Gabriel regarded her soberly, though his eye twinkle belied his mood. “There is no end to my talent,” he said, sending a charged shiver of anticipation through her.

  That night, Lacey experienced the rare joy of giving Bridget a bath. When she brought her downstairs afterward to say goodnight, Bridget in her lawn night-rail, hair brushed to a silken shine, slippers on her feet, Gabriel rose as they entered the parlor. He bit his lip, Lace saw, against a treacherous smile. “Bridget, you look lovely. Lace, you look as if you lost a fight with a flapping duck.”

  Lacey grinned, but Bridget just cocked her head. Had she never heard anything so playfully absurd from her PapaGabe before?

  To Lacey’s disappointment, Bridget had not addressed him as such, nor asked to speak with him. Not that she cared whether Bridget asked for her to stay, she simply wanted her to talk to Gabriel. Say something. Anything. Why she wanted it, since she herself was secretly hoping to be forced to take Bridget to raise, Lacey wasn’t sure. She guessed she didn’t know what she wanted anymore.

  It no longer mattered; Bridget’s needs would come first.

  Obviously, the task of putting her down for the night was Gabriel’s, which Bridget accepted. However, after she took his offered hand, she dragged him with her to grab Lacey’s hand and tugged her off the settee and from the room along with them.

  Thus, Lacey found herself climbing up an evening-dim stairway with Gabriel, a child between them, as it should have been but for the fact that God had taken their daughter home with Him at her birth. As perfect as the scene seemed, she must remember that she and Gabriel were not meant to be. She only hoped Bridget would not find the lesson a difficult one to understand when the time came for them to part.

  She would not go far, but leave this house, she must.

  When they entered the child’s room, Gabriel took off his frockcoat and threw it over a chair. Bridget climbed on her bed, knelt and began to unbutton his waistcoat, unhooking his fob and dropping it and his watch into one of his pockets. She unhooked the button studs at his cuffs, put them in another pocket and rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows.

  He gazed at Lacey over Bridget’s head, giving her a lopsided half-grin that shot straight to her heart. “Cricket likes to do buttons. She’s been doing them since . . . forever.”

  Lacey felt like a child out in the snow, nose to the window, gazing on a warm family scene in which she ached to be included.

  Bridget undid Gabriel’s top shirt buttons to free his cleric’s collar and tuck it into his breast pocket with his studs—as she must have done when he came in last night.

  “Now, MyLacey,” she said.

  “What?”

  Bridget motioned her forward. “C’mere.”

  Lacey got her top three buttons and the bow at her bodice undone, then Bridget placed her head on Lacey’s breast, another skip to her heart, those small arms coming around her waist to squeeze.

  Grief, love, sorrow, and joy mingled and welled up in Lacey. She laid her cheek against Bridget’s soft curls and closed her eyes. “Thank you for a splendid day, sweetheart. It was the best I ever had.”

  “I love you,” Bridget whispered.

  Lacey opened her eyes to find Gabriel pale as chalk for the second time that day.

  She was as elated as she was saddened by the words, because it hurt Gabriel not to be told the same.

  “I love you too, darling,” she whispered.

  “I know. Mama told me so.”

  “Your mama told you I loved you?” Lacey asked.

  Bridget nodded. “She said I had a cousin who loved me like an aunt, but I didn’t knowyou were that cousin until Hedgehog said so. I’m glad Mama was right.” Bridget then knelt with Gabriel beside her bed to say her prayers, but when she started, he touched her little arm to stop her, looked up, took Lacey by the hand, warming it and her heart with his touch, and pulled her down beside them.

  How right it felt to be here, beside this child and this man, however soon their paths must diverge.

  Gabriel’s shoulders seemed to relax. “You may begin now, Cricket.”

  “Bless Mama and Papa in heaven,” she said, peeking up at Gabe for a blink. “And make PapaGabe let MyLacey stay. Amen,” she said on a rush.

  Lacey bit her lip on a bubble of laughter.

  After offering each of them her rosebud lips, Bridget settled on her side. Gabriel tucked her blankets to her chin and kissed her brow one last time. Lacey stood watching until Bridget opened one eye as if to say “well?”

  Lacey kissed her nose. “See you for Boxty and jam in the morning. Sleep well.”

  They left the room with Gabriel’s hand at her elbow, thank God, for Lacey could not have made it on her own. “I’m sorry,” she whispered the minute he shut Bridget’s door.

  “For what?”

  “Don’t even try to cozen me, Gabriel Kendrick,” Lacey whispered. “I’m the little girl who knew you better than you knew yourself. You’d give your right arm to have Bridget say she loves you, and I walk in and get it handed to me on a silver salver.”

  He sighed and opened his warm hand against her back as if to walk her to her bedroom door, yet he remained in the same spot. “I fell in love with her, Lace, the first time Clara placed her in my arms. You should have seen her. She was the tiniest thing, even at two, with a thick crown of raven curls all over her head. She used to love it when I played with her, Clara egging us on. If I pretended she was exhausting me, Bridget would laugh and tease me until I gave her more attention. “

  “What happened between you then, so it’s come to this?” Lacey asked.

  “Cricket’s laughter stopped when Clara got sick, and since she died, Bridget hasn’t directed more than a word, and never a smile, my way. Yes, she said she loved you, but she calledme PapaGabe, and frankly, that’s the best I’ve had from her in a long while. It’s as if she thinks—” He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re going to think I’m daft, but I feel as if she blames me somehow for Clara’s death.”

  “Oh, Gabriel, no.” Lacey had never wanted to comfort him more. The urge was so great and dangerous, she stepped from his touch. “I’m sure she doesn’t. She’s simply a little girl who’s lost her mother, confused and sad. She’ll be happy again soon.”

  “She will if you stay. You heard her. One day with you and she’s more herself than she’s been in months.” He turned away, ran his hand through the roguish disarray he’d already made of his hair, and turned back as if he didn’t know where to put himself.

  “I’m not saying this because of Bridget, though you know I’d give my life for her, so I suppose I couldn’t fault you for thinking I’d lie for her because I would.” He raised his arms and dropped them. “Blast, I’m making a muddle of this. It’s been a relief being able to discuss my concern for her with you.”

  He sighed. “I’m trying to say that this has been a good day for me. too, becauseyou’re here . . . for me, too, not just for her.”

  “Gabriel Kendrick, I do believe that’s the most you’ve ever said to me, or anyone.”

  He looked sheepish. “Wait till you hear one of my sermons.”

  She grinned.

  “Stay, Lace. For as long as you want.”

  “There’ll be talk.”

  “To the devil with the gossipmongers. That’s the devil’s talk. Worthless.”

  “But painful.” She spoke true with no idea it would begin so soon.

  It rained on the day of the first puppet show, so Gabe arranged to bring Ivy’s gypsy wagon and puppet stage into the carriage house. Like other Ashcroft Estate buildings, the carriage house sat nearer to Rectory Cottage, away from the castle her family once owned. Gabe’s church, farm, and cottage, though they b
elonged to the Ashcroft Estate as well, were also situated on this distant corner of estate property.

  More than the local children attended the puppet show. Prout the Malevolent—Gabriel’s “patron”—led the charge of the gossipmongers. Her ample bosom heaved as she watched and tattled, and Lace heard the wordsexiled in disgraceandSociety for Downtrodden Women.

  Eventually Prout actually peered through her quizzing glass, and Lace felt like a bug beneath a lens, while Prout’s audience nodded and threw their own suspicious looks.

  Lace figured she could cower or give them something to talk about, so she approached them. “Not only an inmate. I graduated to teaching there. And I loved it.”

  Oblivious to the undercurrents of devil’s talk, Gabriel ran from his church to the carriage house carrying benches, definitely notbetween the raindrops. Lace checked on Bridget, Tweenie on a leash, a line of children behind her, and wondered who was having more fun, Bridget or Ivy, who was watching her. Every so often, he’d point from Bridget to Lacey as if to say, “Look at her, she’s just like you were.”

  As the object of such conjecture, Lace enjoyed Ivy’s tease more than Prout’s tattle, so she changed course and ran to help Gabriel.

  By the time there were benches enough, they were soaked. Gabriel took one good look at her wet gown up front and transferred his mackintosh to Lacey to warm her and hide the evidence of her budding womanhood, going so far as to button her bodice from the neck down, while Bridget buttoned her from the hem up. How must this look to Prout?

  The thought made Lacey laugh rather effervescently because that’s how she felt—decadent and proud of it.

  She set her shoes and Gabe’s to dry near the rustic hearth at the back of the carriage house, leaving Gabriel looking like a water-slick predator in stockinged feet, she the willing and besotted captive. So be it.

  Julian Gorham, a boyhood friend, dapper as ever, came right over to take Lacey’s hands. “My dear girl, how good it is to see you. Howhave you been?”

  “Missing home, Julian, but I’m doing better now that I’m back.”

  They both heard Gabriel growl and Prout hiss as Julian tucked her arm in his to walk her about the room and regale her with four years of gossip.

  Watching, Prout began to tattle anew, Gabriel to frown the more.

  Ivy told everyone the show was about to begin, so Lacey took a seat. Bridget claimed her lap as if she’d had the use of it forever.

  Soon Tweenie the dachshund appeared, the brim of a bottoms-up top hat between her teeth, to collect the children’s admission pennies.

  Gabriel sat beside her and Bridget but got right back up to help a boy frightened by the dog’s antics. “Put your penny in Tweenie’s hat,” Gabe told the child. “She won’t hurt you.”

  When the boy failed to respond, Gabriel picked him up and set him on his lap, one bench over.

  Bridget sat forward to watch the boy who’d taken the place in her father’s lap that she was presently shunning but might want after all.

  Lacey smiled inwardly.

  When the boy finally reached toward the hat, Tweenie dropped it and lunged. The boy screamed but the pup growled as she grabbed the toe of Gabe’s sock between her teeth and began a tug-of-war with his foot.

  Lacey knew the winner beforehand. Ivy kept a score of women employed knitting socks to replace the ones Tweenie stole. His pup’s stocking-stash was legendary.

  Gabriel laughed so hard, he was roaring by the time Tweenie raced away with her prize, while Bridget had slipped from her lap to go and stand beside him, her eyes big as five pence.

  Half of Gabriel’s flock laughed with him, the rest were in shock. Lacey expected that Gabe laughed in public about as often as Tweenie relinquished her prize.

  Ivy tossed him a new pair of socks, which Gabriel donned with dispatch, chuckling as he did.

  When he got himself under control, he tugged Bridget over and perched her on his other knee. “Did you see that, Cricket?” He tweaked her nose and chuckled, then whispered something in her ear.

  Lacey watched Bridget slide off his knee. While she was sorry Bridget didn’t stay with her father, Lacey was also glad she was coming back. She didn’t like sitting alone with Prout and so many others watching.

  “C’mon,” Bridget said, taking her hand and walking her to Gabriel, who patted the place beside him. Despite the speculative looks, Lacey proudly took that spot that said she mattered to the vicar.

  When Bridget stood before her and Gabriel, gazing from one of them to the other, Lacey took the boy from Gabe. “Sit with your PapaGabe for a while then we’ll trade.”

  Bridget seemed somewhat content with that, though Lacey suspected she wasn’t, not quite. But she could hardly sit on both their laps at the same time. That Bridget did not try to send the boy on his way pleased Lacey no end.

  After Tweenie collected her pennies, Hector the Hungry Hedgehog came out and bowed. When the applause quieted, he cupped his hand above his eyes to search the crowd. “Cricket,” he called. “Oh, Cricket, are you here?”

  Bridget slid off her father’s lap and went to stand before the stage facing Hedgehog. “May I help you?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact, you may. Pick up that covered box over there, on the side of the stage. Yes, that pink-and-white striped one. Keep it for me, will you? There’s something inside that Sergei the Wolf wants. And I don’t want him to get it.”

  Bridget leaned close. “What is it?”

  “Merry Mouse. I want to marry her, but Wolf wants to eat her!”

  With a gasp, Bridget clasped the covered box protectively.

  “Go and sit with your Papa and take good care of Merry, while I take care of Wolf.” Bridget returned to them, puffed with importance and seriously guarding her treasure.

  Ivy’s audience clapped for Hector and booed Sergei. They shouted warnings, screamed and giggled, as a battle of wits and brawn raged between hero and villain.

  When Sergei had been chased off, Hedgehog acted exhausted and seemed to think he was finally safe, so he settled down to nap, and snore, entertaining his young audience, until Wolf came sneaking back.

  The children began to shout, “Wake up, wake up,” Bridget loudest of all.

  Hedgehog woke and won the day and the stripling audience cheered. Then he asked Bridget to return the precious box and place it just so on the stage. After she did, Merry Mouse nudged the top up with her head and peeked over the edge. “Thank you, Cricket,” she said. “Please stay for the wedding.”

  Parson puppet came out to marry Hector and Merry, but before he did, he bent over to kiss Bridget on the head.

  The sanctimonious, long-winded Parson Mouse had been modeled after Gabriel.

  Lacey giggled without control, and Gabriel frowned.

  As the show ended happily ever after and the final applause died down, Julian came to stand before Lacey, looking from her to Gabriel, trying not to frown over their intimate display of stockinged feet. “I say, Lace, whom precisely do I ask for permission to call on you at Rectory Cottage?”

  Gabriel grumped and Lacey found herself at a loss for words. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, but she wasn’t quite ready for this.

  Lady Prout and company stepped nearer, the better to hear.

  Prout’s daughter, Olivia, tall, with a slim but promising figure, was tricked out in a pricey day gown that turned her skin to paste, her hair pulled severely back to a knot at her nape, a style that emphasized the length of her nose.

  Softer curls at Olivia’s face, and a dress, if it must be brown, should be the purple-brown of puce to draw the beholder to see none but her extraordinary eyes.

  But the poor thing—likely made to dress so as not to outshine her peahen of a mother—tended to melt like a flower into a wall, except when tryingnot to look at Gabe’s feet, at which she failed and tittered foolishly.

  Gabriel rose and became Parson Puppet in the flesh with exactly the same scowl in place as he walked away.

  “
I told Olivia,” Lady Prout whispered to her band of bad-mouthers, loud enough for Lace to hear, “that our dear vicar would notkeepone of low morals among us.” She raised a shoulder as if to point. “I mean, we have a church to build, he and I, if he wants to remain vicar, though he’s yet to find theperfect ring for Olivia’s finger. Meanwhile, it’s all arranged, except for the wedding and transfer of funds.”

  Prout beamed.

  Lacey thought she might be ill.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  At first Lace took the words at face value. Gabriel had sold himself in marriage for the price of a church? A slap could not have hurt more, though she knew she had no right to feel the sting.

  But when she considered the full ramifications of Prout’s malicious disclosure, Lace realized that Gabe could lose his livelihood if he didn’t marry Olivia. Not only was it selfish of Prout tosell her daughter for more power, but to threaten to take over a man’s life, in a way, never mind his livelihood. But Lacey’s titled mother had been no different. Why blame Prout? Why not blame the aristocracy in its entirety?

  What a waste of time to mourn the loss of what could never be. She’d known before coming home that she and Gabriel could never be. And now, well, facts were facts. They could not be changed. But Bridget’s happiness was another matter.

  Nearby, Bridget had begun backing away from the dour look in her father’s eyes—instigated by Prout’s revelation—which made Lace set aside the pain in her own chest. She wished she and Cricket fit in Merry’s safe, little box, the two of them alone together, the lid on tight.

  “The vicar should send that one away.”

  Lace heard the loud whisper, turned toward the sound, and Prout gave her a you-heard-me nod. “Olivia can take the little one in hand.”

  “We don’t needher kind,” a matronly follower said.

  “See here!” Julian snapped at the harpies. “Lacey Ashton is worth a dozen of the precious Olivia.” He ignored the women’s outrage. “She has more moral fiber than any woman I know and a kinder heart than most. It’s an affront to hear your vicious attack. I suggest you take yourself off to the rock beneath whichyour kind gather.”