Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (54 page)

“Thank you.” She put her hand on his arm as she had others at church and in the village. But none of those other friendly touches had set her fingers to quivering as if she tried to hold on to a butterfly. No, a honeybee, because along with the buzz was the undeniable sense that she had made a mistake, but still she could not release the bee before it stung her.

Strong and startled emotions flickered through his volatile eyes as he slid his hand over hers on his arm. She could not speak, not wanting to shatter this lovely moment. He was silent, too. Could he hear the frantic beat of her heart?

He shifted his arm slightly, drawing it and her a single step closer to him, so she had to tilt her head back. His other hand rose toward her cheek. She closed her eyes, awaiting its touch.

It did not come. Instead, he released her hand and stepped away. Only then did she hear footsteps hurrying toward the book room. She barely had time to compose herself before Ogden, Meriweather Hall's butler, paused in the doorway.

The silver-haired butler, who always stood as straight as cliffs edging the bay, nodded toward her before saying, “My lord, forgive me for interrupting your conversation with Miss Fenwick, but there is a matter that requires your attention.”

Something that resembled dread flickered through Lord Meriweather's eyes. Ogden looked away. She knew he did not want the baron to see the sympathy he felt for a lord who could not make decisions.

She made one herself and asked, “Where is Lord Meriweather needed?”

The butler's eyes widened at her inappropriate question, but when the baron motioned for him to answer, Ogden said, “In the stables, my lord. The matter of repairs to the smaller carriage.”

“May I come with you?” Vera asked. “I don't think I have seen the smaller carriage.”

“If you wish,” Lord Meriweather said and sent for their coats.

As soon as the outer wraps arrived, Lord Meriweather assisted her with hers. His hands lingered for only the length of a single heartbeat on her shoulders, but that sweet sensation, stronger each time he touched her, swept over her again. She tied her simple straw bonnet under her chin as he pulled on his own coat.

The ever-present wind off the sea sliced through Vera's dark blue wool spencer before they had taken more than a few steps outside. She hurried with Lord Meriweather to the stables. As they stepped inside, the thick scent of dried hay and animals and men who lived too closely in a small space filled every breath.

A small, wiry man appeared out of the dusty shadows and put his fingers to his forelock. “Good morning, m'lord,” he said in a thick Yorkshire accent.

“Good morning, Griffin,” Lord Meriweather replied. “Do you know Miss Fenwick?”

“Aye.” He bobbed his head toward her. “She and the vicar came to pray when my mother was sickly.”

“How is Mrs. Griffin?” Vera asked.

“Much better, Miss Fenwick. She had hoped to come to church for the Easter services.” His thin face lengthened. “Now there is no church for her to come to.”

“There will be,” she reassured him. “Maybe not this year, but certainly by next.” She glanced at the baron. “Lord Meriweather has promised that.”

“Aye, 'tis good. M'lord, if you will come with me...” The coachman motioned for them to follow him.

A great black bulk transformed into a carriage that was about half the size of the one Vera had ridden in on the way back from Norwich. The odor of fresh lacquer wafted from it.

“'Tis all finished, m'lord,” Griffin said, “save for the upholstery inside. What do you want for it?”

Lord Meriweather said in a clipped tone, “I told you to put whatever was readily available.”

“That is just it, m'lord. We've got enough red velvet and enough black to cover the seats.”

Vera held her breath when the baron drew in a deep one as if he were about to face the French army again. To him, his inability to make a decision was an enemy even more brutal than Napoleon's troops.

“If I may make a suggestion,” she said with a smile, “go with the red. It will show dirt from the roads and sand from the shore far less than the black would.”

“Trust a woman to know such things.” Lord Meriweather chuckled, but she heard relief in the sound. “Griffin, make it the red.”

“Aye, m'lord.” He waved his hands at the stablemen. “Go on, the lot of you, and get to your work.” He nodded toward the baron again. “It should take only a few days to finish the work, m'lord.”

“Excellent.” Lord Meriweather walked toward the stable door. He paused at the line where the shadows surrendered to the sunshine. He took her hand and bowed over it. “Thank you,” he said so softly she almost missed it as her heartbeat thundered within her. He released her hand and walked away.

She rested her shoulder against the stable door and cradled the hand he had held in her other one. “You are welcome.”

* * *

Edmund stared at the blank piece of paper in front of him. No doubt, by now four days after the vicar had left to call on the bishop, Miss Fenwick had several pages filled with ideas for the new church. He had nothing. For once, he was frozen not because he could not make up his mind what to do, but because he simply needed to figure out where to start.

When he had worked on houses in London, there had always been a customer with definite ideas. He would talk with that customer and then develop a plan out of that conversation. He needed to speak with Mr. Fenwick. To come up with a list of essentials for a church without the pastor sharing his needs and expectations felt like an impossible task.

Pushing himself to his feet, he strode to the book room window and gazed out at the sea. Would he ever tire of watching the waves tease the shore? He could not imagine a time, but he wished he was able to look at the sea without thinking of the smugglers.

There had been no sign of them since the fire. He hoped that the attack upon the village's church had sliced a divisive line among them. There must be some smugglers as horrified by what had happened as he and the Fenwicks were. Even though Ashland, Sir Nigel and the justice of the peace had shared their outrage, one of them—at least—had to be pretending.

“There is no one else along Sanctuary Bay but those three, who could be described by the smugglers as
his qualityship,
”
he said aloud.

“There is you.”

At the quiet voice behind him, Edmund whirled to discover Miss Fenwick in the doorway. A twinkle brightened her bright blue eyes, something he had not seen since she had stood by his cousin's side while Cat had spoken her vows with his friend Bradby. He realized, only now, how dull her eyes had been since the news came of the fire at the church.

And how much he had missed that sight.

“Are you accusing me of being the leader of the smugglers?” he asked, grinning. He did not want to see her eyes lose that luster again.

“You could be described as
his qualityship.
” She walked slowly into the room.

“True.”

“This estate has the best view of the whole of Sanctuary Bay of any manor house in North Yorkshire.” She paused by a chair about halfway between the door and where he stood.

“That is also true.” He held up a finger as her smile widened. “But there is the small detail that the smugglers were busy in Sanctuary Bay before I arrived here.”

“Yes, that is a small detail, but a resourceful man could arrange for his messages to be delivered to the smugglers, even from as far away as London.”

“True yet again.” He was enjoying this teasing game more than he had guessed he would. The dismals that had settled on his shoulders only moments ago were lifting. “But I also spent several years on the Continent.”

“The smugglers ply the waters between here and the Continent.”

“I must own that you are right about that.” He stepped forward and put one knee on the chair she stood beside. Folding his arms on the back, he gazed into her lively eyes. “But I have one fact that proves without a doubt that I am innocent of collaborating with the smugglers. They have been swarming around Sanctuary Bay since before my father was born.”

“Or his father.”

He nodded. “I daresay there has been smuggling on these waters even before William the Conqueror came to claim the English throne.”

Her brows arched as her smile faded. “That is true, and it is true as well that, while some of the members of the quality living close to Sanctuary Bay are older than you and Lord Ashland, none are quite that old.”

“I am glad that you do not believe me to be the scurrilous leader of the smugglers, though I must say your arguments are worthy of a barrister. I hope I never have to face you across a courtroom, for I suspect I might be much the worse for the experience. You have a rare skill for following a bizarre thought to its most illogical conclusion in an effort to prove I am the smugglers' leader.”

Suddenly her face turned bright red in the moment before all color faded from it. Her fingers trembled as she held out several pages. “Here are the ideas you asked for, my lord. If you will excuse me, I shall leave you to read through them to see if any of them have merit.”

As she turned to leave—or was it to flee?—he spoke her name.

“Yes?” She turned, but stared at the toes of his boots.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you for your work on this.”

“I am glad to help.”

Placing the pages on the desk, he asked, “Have you heard the latest news from the fire?”

“That the vicarage must be razed?” She nodded, the last of the light snuffed out of her eyes. “I expected it, but, even so, it has been hard to hear.”

“There was no choice. One of the walls collapsed and nearly killed a couple of the men working there.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Not badly. Some bruises and one twisted ankle when they raced away to avoid the toppling wall.” He hesitated, then added, “I wanted to let you know that Mme. Dupont will be arriving later today.”

“The seamstress?”

“Lady Meriweather thought, as you will be out of your home for far longer than we had hoped, that you would need clothes of your own.”

“That is not necessary.”

“No?”

She glanced down at her borrowed gown, and he did, too. The rich blue suited her, making her eyes a richer shade and flattering her coloring. He preferred this blue to the dark gowns she usually wore. He knew what she would say if he spoke his thoughts aloud, but he could not agree. Simply because she was the vicar's sister should not mean that she always wore drab colors.

“Perhaps that is a good idea,” she said. “Cat will want her own clothing back when she returns from her honeymoon. But you don't need to send for a seamstress. I can make my own clothing.”

“When? You are going to be busy with rebuilding the church.” He glanced at the desk. “This is only the beginning of the process. We will need plans and supplies and skilled laborers and someone to oversee those laborers. Each of those steps will require time. A lot of time, and I assume you want to be involved in each step.”

“Yes. I am looking forward to seeing every bit of the progress, and I feel blessed that we have your knowledge to guide us.” Her smile returned, sweeping away the lost expression she had been wearing as she started to rush out of the room. It was as if spring had come to banish the winter cold.

He wanted to bask in that warmth which promised everything was possible. Everything? Even him being able to make a decision? A good decision? As he gazed at her glowing eyes, he wanted to be the man she believed him to be.

That thought startled him. When had Miss Fenwick's opinion of him become so important? That was easy to answer. From the moment they had stood by the ruins of the church and she had asked him to play an instrumental part in bringing it back. She had so much faith in him that she dared him to have faith in himself. Too bad he was doomed to disappoint her and the rest of the parish.

“Thank you, my lord,” Miss Fenwick said, her soft voice slipping through his dreary thoughts.

“For?”

“Anticipating both my and your cousin's needs.” She glanced down at her gown.

“As I said, it was Lady Meriweather's idea.”

“Which you agreed with, which is why I am thanking you now. I will thank the baroness, as well.”

“When you do, she said she had some fabric that would be available for your use.”

“That is wonderful.” She took a step back. “If Mme. Dupont is coming soon, I should speak to Lady Meriweather straightaway.”

“And pick which fabrics you want for your gowns.”

Her smile widened. “I trust none of them are smuggled silk.”

Edmund laughed at her saucy comment. He really laughed, as he had not in longer than he wished to remember. It was a remarkable release of the tension that he had been amassing since the night his worst decision almost cost him his sanity. He did not dwell on that, instead enjoying his amusement and the scintillating good humor in her eyes. Her agile and unexpected wit kept him off balance, for he realized he had his own assumptions about her.

As she gave him a wave and hurried out of the room, he kept chuckling. He walked over to the desk and picked up the pages Miss Fenwick had brought him. He sat to read them. Soon, he discovered that her wit was not the only aspect of her that would keep him on his toes. Her ideas for rebuilding the church were precise and insightful. She knew exactly what her brother and the parishioners would want.

He lowered the pages to his lap. There clearly was much more to Miss Fenwick than he had guessed. He looked forward to learning more about her.

Chapter Five

V
era rushed down the stairs, glad to have escaped yet another session with the chatty Mme. Dupont. Her ears rang with the seamstress's fractured French. Now, after her third session with Mme. Dupont, she understood Cat's complaints about the woman, who pretended she was French because she seemed to think that would make her work more desirable. Vera was tempted to tell her that such efforts were wasted on her, for she had never understood the
ton'
s fascination with French fashions and customs while England was at war with Napoleon.

She bumped into someone and almost dropped to sit on a riser. Strong hands grasping her elbows kept her on her feet.

“Lord Meriweather!” she gasped, knowing instantly he was the one holding her because of how her heart beat faster. “Excuse me. I wasn't watching where I was going.”

“You looked as if you were the fox fleeing the hounds.”

“Only from Mme. Dupont.”

He laughed, the sound ringing through the stairwell. In the past few days since she had teased him in the book room when she had brought him her ideas for the new church, she had heard his hearty laugh often. But she must be cautious. Why had she let herself get caught up in the silliness that day? She had wanted to bring a smile to his face, but again she had spoken before she had thought. She had
accused
him of being the leader of the smugglers. He had treated her words as a jest at first, but then he had said,
You have a rare skill of following a bizarre thought to its most illogical conclusion in an effort to prove I am the smugglers' leader.

Hadn't she learned her lesson about controlling her emotions around the peerage? Apparently not. She could not imagine Lord Meriweather taking Gregory's living away as Lord Hedgcoe had, but she had thought their lives secure then, too. She was relieved that Lord Meriweather had laughed at her sallies that day. Lord Hedgcoe would not have found such a jest amusing. If Lord Meriweather had not, either, she could have ruined everything for Gregory...again.

She had asked God to help her learn to think before speaking, but she had not succeeded in listening to His guidance yet.

“Then,” the baron said, “I shall not stand in your way of eluding Mme. Dupont.”

“Thank you.”

He lowered his hands slowly to his sides, but did not move aside. Instead, he stood there, smiling. His eyes were level with hers because he stood on a lower step, and she was fascinated by the golden specks in his eyes. She had never noticed them before. They burned like miniature fires within his dark eyes.

Only the sound of the doorway in the entry hall below tore Vera's gaze from Lord Meriweather's. She looked down to where Jessup was stepping back to allow someone in.

“My lord?” Jessup called. “Miss Kightly has arrived.”

Vera saw her own surprise on Lord Meriweather's face before he turned to walk down the stairs. Miss Kightly came into the entry hall, her clothing, as always, elegant and fashionable. The blonde greeted Lord Meriweather with a cool smile, then looked up the stairs to where Vera stood.

“Miss Fenwick, I am pleased to see you looking well.” Miss Kightly's smile warmed as Vera joined her and Lord Meriweather. “I hope on this visit, we will have a chance to talk and become better acquainted.”

“That would be very nice.” With both Cat and Sophia planning to live elsewhere, she would appreciate having a new friend near Sanctuary Bay.

“I thought so, too.” Miss Kightly turned back to Lord Meriweather. “Forgive me arriving without an invitation.”

“You know you are always welcome at Meriweather Hall,” he replied.

“That is good, because Uncle Nigel has been called away on some business, and he believes I would be bored at his house, though I am not sure why he thinks that. There are many parts of the house that I haven't seen yet. But he did not want me to be alone there.”

Vera resisted the urge to lift her eyebrows in an incredulous look. If Sir Nigel's house was anything like Meriweather Hall, Miss Kightly could never be alone there. At least a score of servants worked in the house, and more people were in the stables and other outbuildings.

“A wise thought,” Lord Meriweather said with a strained smile.

Miss Kightly must have seen only the smile, not the tension, because she said, “His business should take only a few days.”

“You are welcome to stay as long as you need to.” He looked at the footman. “Jessup, let Lady Meriweather know that Miss Kightly will be staying with us.”

“Yes, my lord.” He bowed his head, then hurried up the stairs.

After Lord Meriweather sent another footman to get Miss Kightly's bags from her carriage, he invited her into the small parlor. Vera could not keep from noticing what a handsome couple they made. Miss Kightly seemed to light up when the baron spoke to her, and, in spite of his taut smile, he clearly enjoyed the blonde's company. It would be an excellent match.

The thought created a cramp in her chest, as if she could not quite catch her breath. When a hand settled on her shoulder, she flinched.

“Why are you standing here alone in the entry hall?” asked Lady Meriweather with a kind smile. “Why aren't you going with the others?”

“I was unsure if they wanted...” She bit back the words she should not speak. To suggest that Miss Kightly wanted to be alone with Lord Meriweather would be a horrible mistake. Even a single wrong word, overheard and repeated, could sully a young woman's reputation.

“Of course, they wanted to have you join them.” The baroness swept past her. “Come with me.”

Vera had no choice but to comply. She could not speak of the sensations that had rushed through her on the stairs when she had first seen the golden flames in Lord Meriweather's eyes. Nor could she say how unsettled she had felt when she had thought of the baron and Miss Kightly making a match. She decided the best thing to do was to sit quietly and let the others talk. That way she would not betray that she found Lord Meriweather too tantalizing for her own good.

* * *

It was not how he had planned to spend his day, and Edmund wished he could find a way to excuse himself from the conversation the ladies were having. It had started with Lady Meriweather and Miss Fenwick's arrival, and it had continued through the midday meal, and now it was almost time for tea. He had hoped to finish his list of initial ideas for the church so he could share it with Miss Fenwick.

He glanced at her. She sat primly a little bit away from the rest of them. Now that he thought about it, he could not recall her saying very much while Lady Meriweather and Miss Kightly chatted.

Her eyes caught his. A slight tilt of her left eyebrow spoke volumes, and he had to turn his laugh into coughs before he embarrassed himself.

“Are you all right?” Miss Kightly asked when he managed to regain control of himself.

“Quite all right. Pardon me for interrupting.” He avoided looking at Miss Fenwick again as the other ladies continued their conversation.

Suddenly a commotion came from beyond the room. As the ladies turned to look toward the door, he came to his feet.

A woman dressed like a tulip of fashion stood in the doorway. Her gown was a vivacious green that belonged on someone of his cousins' ages, not a woman of her advanced years. Sparkling silver hair edged her full face. Her brown eyes widened when she saw him.

“Eddie, my dear, dear nephew!” she cried out, rushing toward him.

Edmund closed his eyes as pudgy arms were flung around him. He stepped out of his aunt's embrace as quickly as he could without offending her.

“Oh, I forget. You are called Edmund now, aren't you?” Aunt Belinda chuckled, her double chins bouncing with her enthusiasm. “Now that you are a fine lord.” She pinched his cheek. “But you still care enough about your auntie that...” Her voice faded away as she stared at the other women.

“Lady Meriweather, may I present my aunt Belinda Uppington?” he asked.

Aunt Belinda whirled to face the baroness, and he held his breath until he heard her say graciously, “Lady Meriweather, I am sorry for your loss. I have been informed that you and your daughters have been very, very good to my nephew since he assumed your late husband's title.” She looked past the lady to Miss Fenwick and Miss Kightly. With a broad smile, she asked, “Are you Sophia and Catherine? Aren't you lovely? Edmund, you would do well to choose one of your cousins to be your wife.”

Before his aunt could say something more to embarrass him and the others, he introduced her to the younger women and explained they were guests in the great house. Those were the last words he managed to insert into the conversation. He did not even have a chance to explain that both of his cousins now were married to his two best friends. When a maid brought in a tray with both tea and hot chocolate, as well as an assortment of sweets, Aunt Belinda barely paused to take a breath. She talked about herself and how excited she was to visit her favorite nephew and how she looked forward to bouncing his heir on her knee. Even as she babbled on, she still managed to correct him on how he passed a cup of tea to the baroness.

Edmund was relieved when he could excuse himself. He nodded when his aunt chided him for hurrying away without making sure a room was properly prepared for her. Aunt Belinda did not seem to notice the shock on the other women's faces.

“That is why I ask you to allow me to withdraw,” he replied.

“Thank you, Lord Meriweather.” Miss Fenwick's eyes twinkled like a pair of sunlit ponds, and her lips twitched. “I know we
all
appreciate your efforts on our behalf.”

He resisted smiling back. That would bring another dressing-down from his aunt, and Aunt Belinda would realize he found her endless stream of advice bothersome. He bid the ladies a good afternoon and left.

Outside in the hallway, he surrendered to that smile. Miss Fenwick's words had defused the tension in the room. He must thank her later. For now, he needed to figure out how to keep his aunt from arranging his marriage before supper.

* * *

Rain splattered the window in the book room before wind rattled the glass. Vera looked up from the book she had been reading. It was a history of nearby Scarborough. Since her journey from Sanctuary Bay to Norwich, she had been curious about the towns and cities she had passed through. The story of the Scarborough lifeboat service, started less than twenty years ago, should have intrigued her, but she could not stop thinking about Lord Meriweather.

He had not joined them for dinner, and she envied him because he had avoided listening to Mrs. Uppington's unending prattle. Instantly she chided herself. Lord Meriweather's aunt was excited to be in the manor house that her nephew had inherited along with his title.

As if she had called Lord Meriweather to her side, the baron strode through the door, muttering, “Maybe I am insane. If I am not, Aunt Belinda is sure to send me around the bend.”

“Talking to oneself is a sign of being ready for Bedlam,” she said to let him know that he was not alone.

He stared at her, astonished, then laughed. “Just what I was telling myself.” He shrugged off his greatcoat and hung it over a chair before going to where she sat near the hearth. He started to sit, then paused. “Am I disturbing you?”

“No. Of course not. I was enjoying some quiet time for reading.” She motioned for him to sit.

Lord Meriweather clearly needed an ear right now. If she wanted to do God's work beyond writing some of Gregory's sermons, she must accept each opportunity that came her way. After all, comforting others was something she found easier than Gregory did. He was a good counselor, but sometimes too ready with a solution when the person who came to him simply wanted to be listened to.

“I owe you and the others an apology,” Lord Meriweather said, startling her.

“For what?”

“Aunt Belinda.”

“Why would you apologize for your aunt?”

“As you may have noticed, she is very assured of her own opinions and delights in airing her vocabulary.”

“Does she live alone?”

He looked baffled. “Yes. Her late husband was my mother's brother. Why do you ask?”

“So she has no one to talk with at home?”

“Only her servants, and I daresay, though Aunt Belinda has not noticed, her
major domo
is half-deaf and her housekeeper lost her hearing years ago.” He raised his hands to forestall her response. “Not from her chattering. I did not mean to suggest that.”

Vera hid her smile. Poor man! His aunt's appearance had left him on edge.

“I know you didn't. You are overwhelmed. We all are in the wake of the fire.”

As if she had not spoken, he went on, “You have no idea how much trouble my aunt can cause.” His tone was so grim that this time Vera could not keep from chuckling.

“She cannot be as bad as you suggest,” she said.

“I could regale you with stories that would send you shrieking into the night.” He tapped his chin. “Maybe that isn't such a bad idea. We could run away and...” He gave her a wry grin. “But it would do no good. After coming all this way from her home near Coventry, Aunt Belinda will not be waylaid from her plans to visit Meriweather Hall. She would not miss this chance to acquaint her nephew with each of his shortcomings.”

“I am sure she means well.”

He shook his head, then cradled it in his hands. “God above save me from well-meaning aunts.”

“He will if that is His will.” Vera reached out to put her hand on his arm, then drew it back. To touch him might be the worst thing she could do. After she had reacted to his touch, meant only to keep her from falling on the stairs, she must keep firm control on herself and her tendency to act before she considered the consequences.

“I wish I could be as accepting of God's will as you are.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Of course,
you
don't have an aunt like mine.”