Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (51 page)

He nodded, and she expected he would urge her to rest and be on his way. Instead, he lingered by the door. “I have assured your brother as I have you that everything humanly possible will be done to rebuild the church.”

“I am sure.” She smiled, astounding herself because she had been thinking only moments ago of surrendering to tears. “With your expertise, my lord, all should go well.”

He looked past her as if unwilling to meet her eyes. “About that, Miss Fenwick. I hope you understand that I have never been involved in building a church.”

“Nor have Gregory or I.”

“True.” A smile flitted across his lips as he leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb. “I will need guidance.” He looked toward the ceiling before lowering his gaze to meet hers. “Not just from above, but on a more practical earthly plane.”

“We will do everything we can to help.”

“Good.”

She sensed there was something more he wanted to say. Perhaps she was mistaken. She did not know him well enough to discern his true feelings, but her intuition whispered she was right.

“And,” she said with a smile of her own, “I am grateful that you have offered such a lovely and comfortable place for Gregory and me to stay. We both will understand if a time comes when you need our rooms for other guests.”

“Nonsense. I'm not tossing you out when you have no place to go. What sort of fellow would I be then?”

Tears rushed into her eyes, and she lowered them before he could discern how much his words meant to her. If Lord Hedgcoe had shown that kindness, she and Gregory would not have feared being homeless and facing starvation.

“Have I said something wrong, Miss Fenwick?” Lord Meriweather asked, sincere concern in his question. “If I have said something unseemly, forgive me. I have spent too many years with men who spoke plainly.”

She met his gaze with her own. “You have not said anything unseemly. You are being far kinder than I dared to hope.”

“Kinder?”

Oh, dear! Had she offended him when all she wanted to do was thank him? Every word that came out of her mouth today seemed to be the wrong one.

When she said that and asked for his forgiveness, he chuckled. “I could say the same thing to you, Miss Fenwick, and beg your indulgence. I daresay fatigue and shock have more control of our tongues than our brains do.”

“I agree.” For the first time since she had heard of the fire at the church, her shoulders sagged from their rigid stance. A shudder of pain rushed down her back as her strained muscles protested.

A good night's sleep. That was what she needed as much as her brother did.

Vera did not realize that she had swayed until Lord Meriweather's hand closed around her arm and he asked if she needed to sit. Warmth slipped from his palm, strengthening her, but her head remained light.

“Maybe I should sit,” she murmured.

“May I help you?”

“Yes.” She did not want to tumble on to her nose in front of him, so she allowed him to guide her to the settee in front of the largest window.

He sat her as if she were made of the most brittle porcelain. Brittle. That described exactly how she felt. Every inch of her seemed to feel too much and be about to crack at the next bit of bad news.

Kneeling beside her, he held her hands between his calloused ones. She wondered why his fingers were trembling; then she realized the quivering came from her own fingers.

“Tell me what you need, Miss Fenwick,” he said, his face turned up toward her.

She gazed down at him. A low mat of tawny whiskers emphasized the planes of his jaw and cheek. How had she failed to notice that tiny scar beneath his right eyebrow? It was no bigger than the nail on her smallest finger, and she was curious if he had received it, as his friend Lord Northbridge had, during the war. Or had it been there before he joined the fight against Napoleon?

“Miss Fenwick?”

“Yes?” she asked as she seemed to fall into the brown depths of his eyes. They had seen so much. Things she could not imagine. Things she did not want to imagine.

Again the tired tears scorched the back of her eyes. She needed to be more like him in the wake of the fire at the church. Be strong and keep her focus on the task that lay ahead.

“Tell me what you need me to do,” he said again.

For you to tell me that everything will be all right, that this is only a nightmare.
She could not say that. Instead, she struggled to smile and found it was not as difficult as she had expected when he regarded her with kindness.

She began, “I need you to—”

“Lord Meriweather!” came a shout from the hallway.

A ginger-hackled footman careened to a stop by the open door.

Vera recognized him but was not sure of his name. Heat slapped her face when his gaze focused on Lord Meriweather's hands cupping hers. She hastily jerked her hands away, clasping them on her lap.

“Oh, my lord, I didn't mean to intrude. That is...” The footman's face became as ruddy as his hair.

Standing, Lord Meriweather said, “Carl, Miss Fenwick would like tea and something to eat brought here as soon as possible.”

The footman nodded but carefully did not look again at either her or the baron.

“What is your message?” Lord Meriweather asked.

“Sir Nigel's carriage has come through the gate.” Carl's voice was so low that Vera had to strain to hear it.

“Has Miss Kightly been informed?”

“I am on my way there now, my lord.” He rushed away.

Lord Meriweather turned to face Vera again. “If you will excuse me, Miss Fenwick. Perhaps we can finish our discussion later.”

“Whenever is convenient for you.” She was surprised that he acted as if the footman's reaction to discovering them alone in Cat's bedroom was nothing out of the ordinary. She decided to follow his lead and pretend that there soon would not be whispers belowstairs about the baron and the vicar's sister holding hands. “Or we can finish it while we walk downstairs.”

“Don't you want to stay here and rest?”

“Yes.” She sighed as she pushed herself to her feet. “But I want to thank Miss Kightly for being such a good companion on our way north from Norwich. She let me babble on about my hopes and fears for the parish church, and not once did she say what I'm sure was in her mind—that she was tired of hearing me say the same things over and over.”

“If you would like, I can convey that to her.”

“No. I should thank her myself.”

“As you wish.” He offered his arm.

She hesitated. Nothing would add to the gossip about him holding her hands more than being seen only minutes later with her hand on his arm.

He smiled coolly. “Miss Fenwick, surely you know from your long association with my cousins and this household that nothing we do or say can halt the wagging tongues of those who misconstrue my attempt to comfort you in the wake of the fire.”

“I understand that, but...” Again the warmth surged up her face.

“You are worrying needlessly. Exactly as you know the people here and the village well, they know you and will give no credence to any whispers of you acting like a featherbrain.”

Vera put her hand on his sleeve so she could avoid meeting his eyes. If he had any idea of how she had been extremely foolish before she and Gregory had found a haven in Sanctuary Bay, he would not be offering that assurance.

She was glad that Sir Nigel bustled into the entry hall as she and Lord Meriweather descended the stairs. Sir Nigel had snow-white hair and the wide stomach of a well-fed man. His greatcoat was spotted with rain. He ignored the footman waiting to take it as he looked up the stairs and scowled.

“Where is Lillian?” Sir Nigel demanded without the courtesy of a greeting.

Beside her, Lord Meriweather stiffened as they stepped into the entry hall, but his smile appeared genuine as he said, “She has been alerted of your arrival.”

“Didn't she get the message I sent here for her? It told her what time I would be here.” The baronet puffed up like an affronted rooster.

“I got it,” Miss Kightly said as she came down the stairs, her steps light on each tread. Behind her, Carl carried her bags and kept his gaze focused on the floor. “Here I am, Uncle Nigel.”

Vera stepped aside as Miss Kightly walked past her to give her great-uncle a kiss on the cheek. The blonde stepped back, glanced toward Vera with what seemed to be a meaningful expression and then turned to Lord Meriweather. What message had Miss Kightly been trying to convey? Whatever it was, Vera could not decipher it.

“Oh, my dear girl,” Sir Nigel gushed. “When I heard you were riding back here from the wedding, I wanted to get you to my house right away. It may not be safe here in the wake of recent events.”

“Don't be silly,” Miss Kightly said with a light tone that Vera had never heard her use before. She gazed up at Lord Meriweather with unadulterated admiration. “I am perfectly safe while in the company of one of England's great heroes.”

The tips of Lord Meriweather's ears turned red, but Vera could not guess if he was embarrassed or pleased at Miss Kightly's praise.

There was no question how Sir Nigel felt, because his forehead ruffled as his scowl deepened. “Meriweather, this has been a sorry situation.” He shook his head. “A very sorry situation. What do you intend to do about it?”

“Do?” repeated Lord Meriweather, clearly astounded by Sir Nigel's question.

“Yes! You are the lord of Meriweather Hall, aren't you? You are responsible for the parish church in Sanctuary Bay, aren't you? You must have some sort of plan of what to do since it burned down.”

Vera almost said,
Since it was burned down by the smugglers.
She pressed her lips closed, knowing it was not her place to speak up during a conversation between her social betters. If she humiliated Lord Meriweather in front of his neighbor, he could turn his frustration on her and Gregory as Lord Hedgcoe had. Not that she believed the baron was as vindictive as Lord Hedgcoe had been, but she could not take that risk. Not when Gregory's living depended on Lord Meriweather's good will.

“Lord Meriweather intends to rebuild the church,” Miss Kightly said with a broad smile. “Isn't that marvelous? And generous.” She almost cooed the last words as she put her hand possessively on Lord Meriweather's arm.

Vera lowered her eyes, but not quickly enough to miss Lord Meriweather's shock at Miss Kightly's bold motion. Maybe that was how members of the
ton
acted with one another. Neither she nor the new baron had much experience in that direction. Was he as uncomfortable with Miss Kightly's actions as he was with her great-uncle's verbal assault? As uncomfortable as Vera was?

“It is,” Sir Nigel said in the same uncompromising tone, “the very least he could do for the parish when he was not here to help.”

“Uncle, be fair,” Miss Kightly implored. “We were attending his cousin's wedding.” She raised her eyes back to Lord Meriweather's taut face. “He hurried here as soon as he could.”

“The church should have been torn down when the roof caved in.” The baronet seemed to notice Vera for the first time. “Now neglect has led to this fire that has destroyed not only the parish church but the vicarage.”

Vera met his gaze steadily, but as with Miss Kightly, she could not read what Sir Nigel's narrowed eyes intended to convey. When he looked away first to stare at his great-niece, she was curious about the unspoken conversation she was not privy to. Something was going on, something that had to do with Miss Kightly's oddly brazen behavior and her great-uncle's ridiculous accusations.

“Come along, Lillian,” Sir Nigel said, motioning for the footman to take her bags out to his carriage. “There is no need to linger here any longer.”

Miss Kightly gave Lord Meriweather a long hug that startled him and made Vera ill at ease for reasons she could not quite explain. Her stomach tightened painfully, and she could not pull her eyes from the embrace, even though she knew she should. Instead, she waited for Lord Meriweather to put his arms around the blonde. He did not before Miss Kightly released him. For some reason, seeing that allowed Vera's stomach to unclench ever so slightly.

It compressed again when Miss Kightly turned to throw her arms around Vera. As she hugged Vera, Miss Kightly whispered, “I'm sorry.”

She did not know how to respond because she had no idea why Miss Kightly had said those two simple words. Were they to express again her dismay about the fire at the church, or were they an apology for something else?

“Come along,” Sir Nigel said again when Miss Kightly had accepted his help in putting on her coat. “It's a cold, wet drive back home.” As he put his arm around his great-niece's shoulders, he said, “Now that you are here, Meriweather, I trust you will
decide
what to do to make things right.”

The baron recoiled as if Sir Nigel had struck him, and, in a way, he had. The baronet had targeted Lord Meriweather's most vulnerable spot.

Before she could halt herself, she said, “Sir Nigel, Lord Meriweather has already made some excellent decisions toward rebuilding the church. Both my brother and I are very pleased that he has offered his expertise to assist. I am sure you are glad to hear that, as well.”

“Yes, yes,” the baronet said before hurrying Miss Kightly out the door.

Vera tilted up her chin, pleased with her efforts to halt the baronet's uncharacteristically cruel jabs at Lord Meriweather. As she turned away from the door, she realized that, except for her and the footman by the door, the entry hall was empty. Lord Meriweather must have left while her attention was on the others' departure. His cousin had told her how it pained and mortified the baron that he could not make a decision.

She considered trying to find him, but climbed the stairs to the room she would be using until they returned to the vicarage. She had offered up prayers earlier to ask God to help her be there for her brother through the trials ahead. She also needed to pray that she would be able to do the same for Lord Meriweather.