“Well, Lord, I made a grand disaster of this afternoon. Betsy probably now thinks I am a loose screw. But what else could I have done but offer?” He sighed, feeling as though his sister’s situation and his relationship with Betsy placed a heavy weight on his shoulders. Somehow he must make things right.
“I really must see her again, Lord.” Why? To explain? How, when he had not done such a bang-up job the first time around. He did not look too deeply into why he felt the need to contact Betsy again. “She is top drawer, Lord. Is there hope or am I fooling myself and exchanging the heavenly for the earthly?” Did he have the courage to speak on the subject to his mentor? It bore some thought.
* * *
Edward was less than enthusiastic about attending the dinner party that evening. Reverend Jeremiah, as usual, had invited others over for dinner and expected Edward at the table. Edward stilled a sigh as he sat beside a tall, thin pastor determined to change the political landscape and a short, wide minister who applied himself to the bountiful repast with only a grunt or two to show he listened to the conversation around him.
While Reverend Jeremiah lived frugally, he insisted on a cook who knew what he was about. An invitation to one of the minister’s dinners was seldom turned down. Guests accepted even knowing the minister extended invitations with a purpose he revealed after the meal.
The home of Edward’s mentor had been inherited from a well-to-do grandmother and was in a decent enough part of town. Though he seldom spoke of his family, Edward knew Jeremiah’s elder brother held a title. The minister often housed other ministers traveling through the area and provided inexpensive housing for students planning to enter the ministry, which was how Edward originally came in contact with the man. Two wide-eyed students listened to the spirited discourse around them.
Was he once so young, so naive? Those times felt so long ago. One minister was not of the area, but others, Edward either recognized or had heard about. After his day, he wished only for his chambers to contemplate the afternoon and what he might have done differently. Thinking back, he realized how upset Betsy became at his accusations against her cousin and how little real information she provided him. He straightened. Betsy knew where his cousin was and probably his sister, as well.
He gulped back a groan. His overriding anger closed off his primary source of information. But there was more and he really needed someone’s advice. Reverend Jeremiah had once had a wife. She’d been as kind as he. She died of pneumonia while he was away. Nonetheless, the man had been married for nigh on twenty years or more. Surely, Reverend Jeremiah understood the female mind—at least more than he did himself.
Earlier, on the way back to his quarters, Edward realized his need to ask for counsel and had been rather Friday-faced as he dressed for dinner. Mayhap after the prolonged meal and after the guests returned home, the minister would have a moment for him. It was not to be. Not that night. The minister had other things on his mind.
For a long time after retiring to his room, Edward read his well-worn, leather-covered Bible. To the horror of some, he had taken to actually writing notes in the book. God spoke. Edward listened and wrote out His insights. His Bible was now like an old friend, but that night it did not speak to him as he hoped. He even tried setting the Bible spine down and letting the book fall open, but it always opened to his favorite passages. The problem was he knew the Word, knew where to find scripture to shore up his point of view. Was he not being righteous in his attitude toward the earl?
He shifted uncomfortably, recalling Betsy’s accusations. He recalled, too, his mentor’s admonition to wait, pray and make certain of the truth. Yet deep inside, fury built. He knew young men of a certain station thought nothing of accosting and using those they believed beneath them.
Groaning, he let his head drop into his arms. “Lord, please. This is burning me up inside. It is so hard to let this anger go. I need to discover the truth of the matter.”
He paused. Even in his anguish, Betsy’s face brought a slight smile. Yet her disgust of him pained him deep inside. He had made it so much worse with that proposal. How he must have hurt her tender sensibilities with his less-than-enthusiastic offer.
He all but heard his words played back in his mind and cringed. A lovely lady like his Betsy deserved so much more. His Betsy? He had no right to call her his, but, oh, he realized with sudden clarity he wanted to do so. How he truly wanted her to be his Betsy.
He tried so hard to keep his mind away from thoughts of hearth, wife and family. Betsy brought all those desires back with force. “Lord, is she a temptation or are you trying to tell me something?”
He said as much when he caught his mentor a couple of mornings later.
Reverend Jeremiah rubbed his clean-shaven face. “You have feelings for the girl?”
Misery crowded out words and Edward merely nodded. His tongue loosed and he rattled, “She is all that is lovely and kind and good and...”
He noted the almost smile on the face of his mentor. “But I bungled things so badly. Besides, how can I ask someone so fine to join me in India? I know I must forget about her—”
His mentor interrupted. “Why? Does she not care about the needs of the poor and needy?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Is she some silly creature interested only in her looks and the latest fashion?”
“It would not appear so, no.” Edward wondered where the minister was guiding the conversation, for he was convinced the man led to a point.
“Are you God to arbitrarily decide you will not suit?”
Edward straightened. “Are you saying...?”
“I am saying that you must seek God’s direction and make decisions with His leading and truth, not on your feelings or some sense of sacrifice that may not be warranted.”
Edward was hard put not to let his mouth drop open. He knew the hope growing inside was mirrored on his face. His mentor made him think. Picking up his heavy Bible that looked as worn as the one Edward’s father used, the minister slowly read, “Psalm 145:8, ‘The Lord is gracious, and full of compassion; slow to anger, and of great mercy.’”
He flipped toward the end of the Bible. “James 1:19-20, ‘Wherefore, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath. For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God.’”
He ended with “Proverbs 16:32, ‘He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.’”
Edward gulped as his mentor caught his eye, his expression caring but firm. “The core of your problem isn’t Betsy Carrington or your sister’s situation. It is the anger toward the earl you refuse to let go of. Why don’t you believe the lady? Would she lie to you?”
“No, never. Not purposely. But she may wish to believe only the best about her cousin, and—”
“Edward, son—for you are the son we never had—you almost seem to relish the idea of guilt. Why is that? What if he treated your sister with respect?”
“And if he did not?”
“Then you help your sister deal with it with grace.”
Edward tried to speak, could not. His mentor got up, squeezed his shoulder and said as he departed, “You need to see this young lady again. I think she’s the key to unraveling the tangle of your heart and your future. But see to that anger.”
Edward caught his breath. Yes. Yes indeed—at least to seeing Betsy again.
Chapter 10
“Are you sure you will not go with us this afternoon?” Betsy looked at Angella as she faced the mirror. Betsy’s maid finished pulling up her hair and handed her the spring-green hat with a saucy brim. Betsy added a short paisley cape that complemented the green of her lightweight gown. She checked herself once more in the mirror before turning to her friend and repeating her question.
; Angella shook her head. “Lady Alistair is determined to go over wedding plans. I’m surprised your mother decided on this shopping trip instead of joining us.”
Amusement danced on Betsy’s lips. “Perish the thought of my speaking out of turn, but polite though they are, those two are working more in competition than together.”
Angella grimaced. “Am I daft to wish only for a small ceremony with close family and friends?”
Betsy walked with Angella on the way downstairs. “Not at all. But there is the consequence of the Alistairs and my cousin to consider. Though—” Betsy lowered her voice “—I don’t think he cares a fig for all the nonsense, either, but we are in London and he knows...”
Angella’s forehead wrinkled as she walked with her friend into the drawing room, where Lady Carrington awaited her daughter.
Betsy leaned in closed and whispered, “He is doing it for your sake—your consequence. A grand wedding will have everyone looking with favor on the match—especially if they are invited.”
“Oh my!” Angella’s eyes widened and her hand covered her mouth. “I had no idea.”
At that moment, Winter entered the room. Her long sky-blue gown whispered as she moved. The countess nodded toward Betsy’s mother and smiled at Betsy before turning her attention toward Angella. “Come, my dear. We have much still to do. Besides, the dressmaker is also coming this afternoon for a fitting.”
With a shrug toward Betsy and a grin, Angella left with Lady Alistair.
Not but a few minutes later, Betsy and her mother were handed into a small carriage. In front, the coachman, high on his perch, drove the perfectly matched bays. Betsy noted that, as usual, neither of the horses had its head restricted with the cruel bearing rein.
She’d commented on their absence once and was gratified when Winter, the horsewoman coming to the fore, shuddered. “What some go through to show off, not caring at all about their horses’ comfort, their ability to move and breathe. Such instruments of torture should be outlawed.” She paused and threw Betsy a grin. “As a horsewoman you know what I mean. I have pestered Alistair to take up the matter in the House of Lords, but so far no one else is willing to take up the cause. Instead, though you might have missed it, I wrote anonymously to The Political Register about the issue.”
“You didn’t!” At her nod, Betsy shook her head. “I heard about that piece. Put many society ladies up in the boughs. They went into a regular spin over the issue. Not sure anything came of it, though.”
Winter smiled. “Ah, but a couple of my friends realized the truth and have at least loosened the bearing rein on their cattle.”
All this flashed through Betsy’s mind as the coachman tooled down the roadway to the mercantile establishments where they went to shop. Betsy and her mother intended to search out gowns for the wedding as well as gowns for the parties and routs that were already being planned before the big event. There were also shoes, shawls and hats. Though Betsy worried about the expense, the womanly side of her reveled in looking her best. Her thoughts turned inward, Betsy almost missed the familiar figure walking alongside the roadway.
She hoped her mother did not notice the flush in her cheeks. Simply watching him warmed her heart. As she turned her head as they drove by, Edward turned his head as well and caught her eye. Betsy sucked in a breath as she turned away and quickly fanned her burning cheeks. What nonsense!
She avoided her mother’s glance of concern and readily accepted the hand of the coachman as he handed her down in front of the dressmaker’s shop. Betsy contented herself with the many fabrics available from the usual muslin to colorful silks, painted cotton and satin. She checked over the various trims from cashmere, buttons and fur to intricate lace, ribbons and embroidery. Lost in choosing patterns, fabrics and trims, Betsy all but forgot the time as she and her mother ordered more gowns and accessories for the coming social engagements. Betsy was woman enough to concede the patterns and materials chosen enhanced her figure and coloring. Their purchases they ordered to be sent directly to Alistair House.
Her attention diverted to shopping, Betsy straightened, startled when she and her mother exited the dressmaker’s shop only to find Edward bowing toward them. “Lady Carrington.” He spoke to her mother, then hesitated as though he kept himself from addressing Betsy in too familiar a way in the presence of her mother.
Betsy stepped in. “Reverend Denning, what brings you into the district this afternoon?”
Her mother frowned, recovered. “Denning? Reverend Denning?”
Betsy knew she tried to place the name. She willed her cheeks not to color as she explained, “Mother, this is Edward...Angella’s brother.”
Lady Carrington became all solicitation. “It has been an age, young man. Your sister has been at sword points waiting for your arrival.”
She would have continued, but Betsy interrupted. She must keep her mother from revealing too much.
Edward nodded. “Since I am in this vicinity, may I be so bold as to ask you lovely ladies to join me for an ice and sweetmeats?”
Betsy was not sure whether to laugh or cry. She had no idea if Edward had discovered his sister’s whereabouts or if he would cause a problem if he did. Until she knew...
Her mother took the decision out of her control. Fanning herself, Lady Carrington told him, “I must admit to being parched. I accept your invitation with pleasure. I’d like to know more about your ministry, young man—Reverend Denning.” With that she took his proferred arm. Seeing nothing to be gained by stalling, Betsy took his other arm and sent up a prayer for wisdom and strength.
* * *
Edward sent up his own prayer, only his was a thank-you that Reverend Jeremiah had sent him to pick up a pair of boots at his bootmaker’s. The owner assured Edward the boots would be ready on the morrow. He blathered on that he’d been busy and help had been ill, and more. The man droned on with excuses that Edward halted with a raised hand. “I shall return tomorrow and I expect them to be finished and ready.”
The owner nodded toward him and Edward stilled a smile. The owner surveyed him and figured out he was not some rich nob and could be pawned off for another day. As he left, some high-in-the-arch nobleman entered and the owner was all solicitation about the last-minute order being hard but completed. Light dawned. The nobleman’s order took precedence.
Not that it mattered overmuch, but Edward greatly disliked wasting time, and a trip to the bootmaker’s meant he was not out finding the whereabouts of his sister. When he glanced up and watched Betsy exiting the dressmaker’s shop, the afternoon did not seem nearly so wasted. Warmth knotted inside as he escorted the ladies across the street to a shop with a sign that swung in the slight breeze advertising itself as an eating establishment. With a flourish, he led them to a table and sat them down. Betsy’s smile sent his heart soaring.
Lady Carrington abruptly brought him back to earth. As they sipped their cool drinks and consumed their treats, she frowned and Edward feared she might rap his knuckles with her closed parasol. “Now, young man, why have you not been around to see your sister? She has been through so very much these past months. You have no idea.” She pulled a fan from her reticule and fanned herself.
Betsy looked positively faint, and he turned his concern toward her. “Miss...Betsy...are you all right? Are you ill? Can I get you anything?”
She put a hand on her forehead. “No, no...Reverend Denning.” She emphasized the name and stared pointedly until he got the message.
Oh, she did not wish her mother to know they were on familiar terms. Why ever not? A muscle in Edward’s cheek twitched. Mayhap he should not have presumed to ask such fine ladies to spend time with him. Yet Betsy’s mother did not take it amiss.
He wondered if Betsy witnessed his confusion from his expression. Did she think she was above his touch? She surely was, for she was a comely enough woman, b
ut she did not appear to be embarrassed by his presence.
Did this have to do with his sister? Did not Betsy wish her mother to pursue talk of his sister? He sensed the young woman knew more than she’d told him, and he certainly did not wish her mother to say something that would keep Betsy from sharing what she knew. Still, it puzzled Edward. Would not her mother also know the whereabouts of his sister?
He glanced from Betsy to her mother. “I miss my sister. I returned to England as soon as I received her letter, but it has taken time to arrive in London. I do plan to look her up soon.”
Betsy sighed with relief when her mother said, “All right, then. Do not put it off long. Not that it signifies all that much now, except that your presence will please Angella.”
Betsy’s obvious relief and her mother’s words only added to Edward’s puzzlement.
Why did his sister not need him? Dread, like lead, dropped in his middle. Was his sister, in truth, being kept by the earl? Was that her veiled meaning? His hands clenched around his glass, and his jaw tightened. Manners dictated he not interrogate the woman, though it meant clamping down on his tongue.
Betsy took note and her gaze narrowed as though she read his thoughts. “Don’t get in a taking, Edward. Angella is safe and fine and happy. Yes, of course, she would like to see you. We shall speak of that further.”
“What is wrong with now?”
“Now I would like to know what brings you down to this part of town. Surely not to shop.” Her tone bit with slight sarcasm and a question.
“No. No indeed.” He was not about to explain he had not the blunt for a shopping excursion. Truth be told, he scarcely had the means to pay for their afternoon treat. He’d rather lost his head on seeing Betsy and simply had to prolong the contact with her. Even to using up the last coins in his pocket. He would not have those but for his mentor. He explained the reason for his outing. Betsy seemed to accept his explanation.
The Lady's Hero Page 11
