Braithwaite turned to the Fanshawes. “Vernon.” He offered his hand once more. “I didn’t expect to find you here. What brings you to Blackhaven?”
A trivial question, yet impossible to answer honestly. He could not say he came charging up to persuade Kate to marry him, and his presence in the vicarage—with the curate—must have seemed odd, to say the least.
“Actually, my brother,” Vernon said with conscious defiance. Inevitably, Braithwaite glanced at Cornelius who certainly looked like his brother, but Vernon would not allow that mistake. “Tristram. He’s the curate.”
After emitting a small, strangled sound of involuntary outrage, Lord Boulton growled much more audibly, but no one chose to pay him any attention.
“Really?” Braithwaite said, intrigued in spite of himself. After all, he must have heard the rumors of Kate’s liaison with Vernon and he could not have avoided the scandal following Crowmore’s death.
But Vernon, marching Cornelius with him, chose to march across the room, finally, to greet their father and Mr. Hoag. Lord Boulton looked as if he would crack their heads together if they came close enough, but in the end, clearly baffled by the situation he had no control over, he accepted their respects in silence.
“Ah, tea,” Kate said in relief as the trolley appeared through the half open door. “Thank you, Mrs. Walsh. I think we’ll need three more cups.”
For some reason, this amused Tristram. His eyes were alight with laughter as they met hers, and she couldn’t help smiling back.
The ritual of tea pouring covered the awkwardness of the situation for a little, and then Braithwaite attached himself to the Fanshawes, no doubt with the kind intention of mitigating whatever invective their father meant to heap upon them.
Mr. Hoag pulled his chair closer to Grant and Kate. “Hope this isn’t awkward for you, Grant.”
“Not in the least, although I am surprised.”
“It was an odd thing. I’d called at Lord Braithwaite’s club in London—by appointment—to discuss…well, I’ll tell you about that in a moment—but your name came up and Lord Boulton suddenly joined us and asked quite bluntly who was this Tristram Grant I spoke of. I had no reason not to tell him, and the upshot was, he accompanied Lord Braithwaite and me up here saying you were a relative he’d lost contact with. Are you truly his son?”
“Illegitimate,” Grant said frankly. “And we don’t acknowledge it. But he has always looked after me financially. This is between ourselves, sir, although my brothers do seem suddenly determined to spread the relationship.”
“Well, it’s not a relationship that will do you any harm with Braithwaite,” Hoag observed.
Tristram blinked. “With Braithwaite?”
“Well, yes.” Mr. Hoag took a deep breath. “Look, it hasn’t yet been announced, but I have been appointed the Dean of Brenchurch.”
Tristram smiled. “Congratulations, sir. I know it is what you were hoping for and it’s truly well deserved.”
Although Kate smiled politely, she was instantly uneasy. A new vicar in Blackhaven might be quite averse to Grant for any number of reasons.
“Thank you, thank you,” Mr. Hoag beamed. “It’s why I’m here, to tie up business and make my farewells. My wife and daughters are en route to Brenchurch now. I also want you to know I recommended you to Lord Braithwaite as my replacement. Which is why he’s here.”
“To look me over,” Tristram said. “And I was throwing cushions at my brother after making a hurried marriage that is the talk of the town.”
“Well, at least it’s to a friend of his,” Mr. Hoag soothed, with a quick smile at Kate. “And to be honest, a wife is good for a vicar.”
Not necessarily this wife, Kate thought ruefully.
Mr. Hoag patted Tristram’s arm. “Well, you have my recommendation, for whatever that is worth, but the living is in Lord Braithwaite’s gift, as you know. And I should warn you there is some cousin or other who’s just taken holy orders.”
Half an hour later, Lord Braithwaite took his leave, taking with him Lord Boulton who was, apparently, to be his guest at Braithwaite Castle.
At parting, Braithwaite grinned and kissed Kate’s hand before turning to Tristram. “Come up to the castle tomorrow, if you can. Shall we say two o’clock?”
“Of course.”
“My mother isn’t here, of course, but Kate, you’re welcome anyhow. Goodbye!”
“You’re done for,” Cornelius opined when the door was shut behind them. “Father will have his metaphorical hatchet buried up to the hilt in your back before they’re on the castle road.”
“I don’t know,” Kate said. “He came here looking for Tristram. Surely that can’t all be spite.”
“Yes, it can,” all three brothers said at once.
“Still,” Tristram said rallyingly. “At least I’ve taken the heat off you, Cornelius. He never even asked where you’ve been for the last year.”
Chapter Eighteen
In the time before they walked up to Braithwaite Castle the following day, Kate realized she would be sorry to leave the vicarage, whether that was to leave Blackhaven altogether or simply to move to a smaller house in the town. Although much more cramped than the great houses she’d grown up in and managed since her marriage, it was a warm house, a comfortable house, and indelibly associated in her mind with Tristram rather than Mr. Hoag.
“What will you do,” she asked, “if we have to leave Blackhaven?”
“Seek a living or a curacy, elsewhere.”
“Or, perhaps some academic institution?”
“Perhaps.”
“You could teach.”
“Providing it’s not solely overprivileged boys. I think that would bore me after a while. Still, beggars cannot afford to be choosers. Only I don’t wish to be separated from you or to drag you away to somewhere you’ve no wish to be.”
She said carefully, “I have enough that we can live without your having to work for a salary.”
He nodded and took her hand without looking at her. “Thank you.”
“I understand you need to be doing things, making a difference somewhere,” she said in a rush. “I just want you to know we have the means to do so anywhere and in any circumstances. It doesn’t need to be paid work. And it might be amusing to travel.”
He halted, smiling as he turned her into his arms and kissed her. “You are wonderful, and I love you.”
She returned the embrace. Several sweet, tender kisses later, he raised his head and straightened her bonnet.
“We shall be the talk of Blackhaven,” he said, just a little unsteadily.
“We already are, my dear.”
He smiled. “Then let us go on and learn our fate.”
And she knew, that whatever Lord Braithwaite said today, Tristram would be happy.
*
“It’s too vexing,” she said two hours later in the vicarage, as she landed on her back on Tristram’s bed. “I had my heart set on being the curate’s wife.”
Tristram, in his shirtsleeves, eased himself down beside her, caressing the skin between her shoulder and neck in a fascinated kind of way. “I beg you won’t repeat that, should I ever be in the position of taking on a curate of my own. In the meantime, you must learn to be content as merely the vicar’s wife.”
She smiled, throwing her arms around him. “I’m so glad we can stay here. I like this house and you were already the vicar in all but name. The Winslows, Fentons, and Muirs, all spoke for you, according to Braithwaite. And Mr. Dallas, of course. I must say, I think all the more of Braithwaite for this, for it is quite rare for someone in his position to favor a stranger, however talented, over his own kin.”
“It is, so I hope you invited him to our party on Saturday evening.”
“Of course I did.” She caught his straying hand at her breast. “I asked your father, too.”
He gave a lopsided smiled. “As a reward for not turning Braithwaite against me? I expect he tried, and Braithwaite wouldn
’t listen.”
“If my father and I can be civil to each other,” Kate said severely, “so can you and yours.”
“You’re right, of course. And you know, Braithwaite’s attitude to me, as well as Gilbert and Cornelius being so determined to own me as their brother, seem to have made a difference to him. As if he sees me differently.”
“Some people need a nudge to make them reasonable again,” Kate said. She touched his lips with her finger tips. “Thank you for nudging me. I feel like a girl again. I feel I can be the person I wish to be and be proud of her.”
“You were always that person, Kate,” he said, softly. He kissed her fingers. They clung to his lips.
“I won’t always be so pleasant,” she warned. “I have the devil’s own temper and I will say such things that—”
He leaned over, stopping her words with a thorough, bone-melting kiss. “What things?” he asked huskily.
“I can’t remember,” she said, gazing at him in wonder.
“I thought not.” He returned to kissing her. “Would you care to be ravished before tea, Mrs. Grant?”
“Yes, please, Mr. Grant,” she whispered.
And she was.
Mary Lancaster’s Newsletter
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Other Books by Mary Lancaster
VIENNA WALTZ (The Imperial Season, Book 1)
VIENNA WOODS (The Imperial Season, Book 2)
VIENNA DAWN (The Imperial Season, Book 3)
THE WICKED BARON (Blackhaven Brides, Book 1)
REBEL OF ROSS
A PRINCE TO BE FEARED: the love story of Vlad Dracula
AN ENDLESS EXILE
A WORLD TO WIN
About Mary Lancaster
Mary Lancaster’s first love was historical fiction. Her other passions include coffee, chocolate, red wine and black and white films – simultaneously where possible. She hates housework.
As a direct consequence of the first love, she studied history at St. Andrews University. She now writes full time at her seaside home in Scotland, which she shares with her husband, three children and a small, crazy dog.
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The Wicked Lady (Blackhaven Brides Book 2) Page 23
