Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (55 page)

“Actually I have a half dozen.”

“What?” He sat straighter. “The vicar told me that you were without any other family.”

“All right,” she conceded with a smile. “These aunts are not blood relatives, but there are at least six ladies in the church who seem to believe God gave them the task of making sure I do exactly as I should.”

“Which is to do exactly as they want you to.”

Vera stared at him, surprised. “Yes. How did you know?”

“Because that is what Aunt Belinda has done my whole life.” He drew up his knee and clasped his hands around it, more relaxed than she had ever seen him. “On one hand, I never have to worry about how I will be perceived. She is eager to inform me of the least misstep.”

“Sometimes it feels as if it would be easier to be compliant.”

He nodded, grinning. “Exactly. Miss Fenwick, I had no idea that you endured the same from some of your brother's parishioners.”

“I would not use the word endure, but I have learned when it is wise to keep my mouth closed.”

Laughing, he said, “Maybe you could teach me then. Learning such a lesson could make Aunt Belinda's stay infinitely more enjoyable.”

“It is quite simple.” She leaned toward him. “I remind myself that God brought them into my life for all of us to discover how each of us can become a better person.”

“Aunt Belinda and I must have a long road to that discovery then.”

When he smiled, her heart did a flip-flop. That surprised her, because she had seen him smile many times since he first came to Sanctuary Bay last autumn. But this time, she knew his smile was solely for her.

Don't be a silly goose!
she warned herself. He was a charming man. As he spoke to her easily, she understood why his friends liked and trusted him. But he saw her solely as his cousins' friend and the vicar's sister, someone he could speak honestly with and not worry about her repeating his words. She should expect nothing else from him, and she would be a fool to wish for more.

Knowing she needed to reply before he caught her musing about him, she forced a smile. “Should I pray that the road to discovery is short for the two of you?”

“A lovely thought, but I suspect it will be long and convoluted and filled with plenty of bumps and chuckholes.” He laughed. “Miss Fenwick, if I may say so, you are a breath of fresh air and have given me a second wind in dealing with my aunt. I know she loves me, and she knows I love her, but...” He shook his head with an ironic grin. “But I must say thank you for listening to me being a sniveling fellow.”

“No, I must thank you.”

Startled, he put his foot down with a thump. “Thank me? For what?”

“Helping me keep my mind off what the bishop may say to Gregory. If the rumor you spoke of us aiding the smugglers has reached the bishop's ear, too, it may not go well.”

“Don't look for trouble where there may not be any. During my time in the army, I too often heard men sitting around a fire in the hours before a battle talk about all the what-ifs, including what if we lost the battle. I reminded them that an army that believes it can be defeated will be defeated.” He put his hand on the arm of her chair. “The advice works for situations like this, as well.”

She sensed the warmth off his skin but did not move her hand closer or farther from his. She left it where it was and savored the connection between them. “That is good advice. All too soon, I will know what has happened.”

“And that should be better than the worst we can imagine.” His chocolate-brown eyes warmed.

She looked away...as she had not on the stairs. Then his eyes had glittered with even stronger emotions. She had to forget that, but knew she could not. No man had ever looked at her like that.

He took her hand in his, and her eyes cut back to him. Again she was caught by his gaze. In it, she saw compassion and honesty...and other things she would be wise not to examine too closely. He slanted toward her, and she held her breath, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“Ah, here you are, my boy.” The voice was not his, but his aunt's. Mrs. Uppington strode in like a victorious general surveying the field of battle. Her nose wrinkled as she squinted at Vera. “Aren't you the vicar's sister?”

“Yes, Mrs. Uppington.” She hastily pulled her hand out of Lord Meriweather's and laced her fingers together in her lap.

“Where is Miss Kightly?” she asked, dismissing Vera out of hand.

Lord Meriweather shrugged. “In bed and asleep, I assume. She mentioned that she rose early to come to Meriweather Hall.”

“Miss Kightly is someone you should get to know better, Eddie.” She grimaced. “I mean, Edmund. But my suggestion remains the same. Miss Kightly is a well-polished young lady from an impeccable family, and her great-uncle lives near you. A pursuit in that direction would be looked on kindly by both families, I assume.”

Vera flinched at Mrs. Uppington's words that said quite blatantly that her nephew was wasting his time talking with a vicar's sister when he could be courting a viscount's daughter. Setting herself on her feet, she bid Lord Meriweather and his aunt a good-night. She left but wondered if either of them noticed her departure because Mrs. Uppington continued to lecture him on his obligations now that he was a baron.

Sympathy billowed through Vera, muting her vexation with Mrs. Uppington's assumption that she could speak without concern for Vera's feelings. As she rushed up the stairs to her room, she said a prayer for Lord Meriweather. He was going to need plenty of strength to deal with his aunt.

And so was everyone else.

Chapter Six

A
fter looking for Lord Meriweather in the book room, in the dining room and in the great hall, Vera sought the help of a maid who suggested she try a small room in a wing of the house that was seldom used. Vera took the drawing she wanted to show him and hurried in that direction.

The corridor was sparsely furnished but as immaculate as the rest of Meriweather Hall. Past half-open doors on either side, she saw beds that could be readied for guests. Portraits of somber people in their best finery were hung between the doors.

She paused to look at a woman who closely resembled her friend Cat. The woman had dark eyes and hair so ebony that the highlights were almost blue. Dressed in an elaborate gown with lace high around her throat, the woman must have lived during the reign of Queen Elizabeth or her successor King James I.

With that sense she could not define, she knew Lord Meriweather had come to stand behind her. She turned. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Sneak up on me without making a sound.”

He smiled, but his eyes were filled with pain. From his memories, she knew, when he said, “It was a skill I honed during the war. Being able to slip past someone could mean the difference between life and death for me and my men.” He leaned one hand beside the painting. “Does it bother you?”

“It is startling to discover someone close when you haven't heard him approaching.”

“Shall I have a trumpeter announcing my passage?”

She laughed. “That might be helpful, though I suspect everyone in Meriweather Hall would soon tire of the blasts.”

“Then, to avoid that, I shall try to sound like a herd of stampeding elephants wherever I go.”

“That could work.”

He pushed off the wall, and suddenly the broad corridor seemed smaller and more intimate. He did not touch her, but he might as well have, because she was as aware of him as if he held her close. Each breath he took and released seemed to set the pace of her own.

She tore her gaze from his. “Don't you think this woman looks like Cat?” Only a faint tremor in her voice hinted at her unsteady heartbeat.

“She does.” He bent closer to the painting to examine it.

Vera took a steadying breath and had herself composed by the time he looked back at her.

“Her name is Antigone Meriweather.” He shook his head. “Who would name their daughter Antigone?”

“Maybe they were fond of the ancient Greek play.”

“I am impressed at your knowledge, Miss Fenwick.”

She held the rolled page by her side in a calm pose, but she was pleased at the admiration in his voice. “Reading and learning were valued in my family, so I was introduced to the classics at a very early age. After our parents died, Gregory insisted I continue to read challenging works.”

Lord Meriweather stepped back from the portrait. “Why are you wandering along this corridor?”

“When I couldn't find you elsewhere, I was told I might find you here.”

“Really?” He did not sound pleased. “Who told you that?”

“One of the maids. I'm not sure of her name.”

“Or you would not say it to protect her from my wrath at having my solitary haven breached.”

He was teasing, but she wondered if truth hid beneath the joke. “I did not mean to intrude, my lord. I can speak with you later.”

“You have searched high and low for me, so the least I can do is invite you into my private sanctuary.” He reached behind him and opened a door, one of only two that were closed. With a bow of his head, he indicated that she should precede him into the chamber.

Vera did not know what she expected to find on the other side of the door. It was a smaller version of the book room. Bookshelves flanked a black hearth and surrounded the tall window and the door. Like in the book room, leather-bound volumes filled every inch of shelf space and parts of the floor around a single wing chair and a table that looked as if it had been built in the Middle Ages. Heavy and blackened with age, it had what appeared to be a family crest on each leg.

“No question who commissioned this desk to be built, is there?” Lord Meriweather said as he followed her into the room.

She examined it more closely. “So, this is where it went.”

“You have seen this table before?”

“No, but I have heard about it.” She straightened and smiled. “Once it was where the lord of the manor sat to collect his rents on quarter days.”

He walked around the table. “That makes sense now. I thought it might have been built by someone with a bit too much pride.”

“That probably is true, too.”

As if she had not spoken, he went on. “I found this room shortly after Christmas. I would guess that my predecessor also used it when he wanted to be able to work uninterrupted.”

“And I have interrupted you. I am sorry.”

“You are no interruption. I am seeking refuge from my aunt and her matrimonial machinations. The good Lord save me from well-meaning aunts.”

His tone was so grim that she could not help laughing. “I will keep your refuge a secret.”

“Thank you.” He came around the table again. “I see you are carrying a rolled sheet. Is it something for our project?”

She liked how he said
our
project. “I made this sketch after our previous discussions. I am no artist like your cousin Cat, but...”

“Why don't you show me what you have done? After that, I want to talk to you about some merchants in Whitby. You, having lived here longer than I, may know more about their reputations for service and honesty.”

He took the page she held out to him. Setting it on the table, he placed a book on each corner to keep the page from curling. He leaned his elbows on the top and rested his chin in the palm of one hand while he appraised the drawing. It was a pose she guessed he had taken often when he had worked in London before the war. He ran a finger along the lines she had drawn. On one half of the page she had sketched a possible exterior for the new church with a square tower and simple windows. The interior was on the other half, and that had taken her many more hours than the outer view.

She watched his face, trying to discern what he thought of her efforts. Until this moment, she had not guessed how much she hoped the drawings would be able to convey what she had failed to with words.

“Miss Fenwick, this is excellent. I now understand what you want for the stone on the exterior walls.”

“I know it is simple.”

“Quite to the contrary. Each item on the page is in perfect proportion with the rest of the plan. I see that, unlike the high boxes around the pews in the previous church, you designed lower boxes.”

“That's so the congregation can see each other as well as Gregory when he leads the service.”

“From this raised pulpit.” He tapped a small inset box which showed where the pulpit with its octagonal sounding board would be placed along with the repaired font and a lectern shaped like an eagle. “It says here that the lectern will be made of brass.”

“I thought it would be simpler to obtain a brass one,” she said. “I wouldn't know where we could find anyone with the skill to carve a wooden one like we had before.”

“I may know someone.” He straightened and smiled. “My predecessor ordered a billiards table, as you may recall.”

She nodded. “Your cousins mentioned it to me.”

“Come with me.” Removing the books, he let the paper roll close before he picked it up. “Let's see if it points to an answer to your wooden lectern dilemma.”

Vera regretted leaving the solitude of the wing to return to the main part of the house. For the past half hour, it had been as if she and Lord Meriweather were alone in the world, working toward a common goal. He had treated her as an equal. Not like Gregory, who gave her a perfunctory thanks when she handed him a finished sermon she had written for the next service. Her brother seemed to believe she was only doing her sisterly duty.

Lord Meriweather led her into a room she had never entered. It was close to the dining room, but it had been decorated as a place for gentlemen to withdraw while women chatted together in the drawing room. The walls were covered with dark green fabric and wood almost as dark as the table in his haven. The great billiards table, carved with the family crest and scenes from both the high moorlands and the curve of the bay, commanded the room.

“Look here,” he said, squatting beside one of the thick, curved legs.

She knelt and ran her fingers along the carved leaves that looked like frozen vines climbing the wooden legs. “This is beautifully made.”

“I agree.” He offered his hand and waited for her to stand before he added, “If you would prefer a wooden lectern for the church, I can contact the artisan who made this and find out if he would carve a new lectern for us.”

“That is wonderful! I know it would mean a lot to the congregation to have something else that looks familiar when they come into the new church for the first service.” She halted herself. What was she thinking? She could suggest ideas for the church, but the ultimate decision was not hers. That belonged to her brother.

“Excellent! I will contact—”

“Not yet, please. I must check with Gregory first.”

“On such a small matter?” His eyes widened.

She realized her voice had sounded a bit panicked. Before he could ask the questions she could see on his face, she took the rolled page that he had placed on the table. She opened it and began pointing out various design elements she had selected. She began talking about each. She was babbling, but that was better than having him ask questions she needed to avoid.

Lord Meriweather did not move for so long that she thought he was going to wait for her to explain herself; then he leaned on his hands on the edge of the table. He listened while she pointed out more details. When he asked a few thoughtful questions, she began to relax again while she answered him.

“Why did you put the pulpit in the front of the church?” he asked. “There seems to be a movement toward having them in the center of the sanctuary so that everyone can hear.”

“We are traditional here in Sanctuary Bay, and there are enough other changes that I wanted to lessen them where I could. Gregory suggested a trio of pulpits like those in—” She gulped hard, and he stared at her. She pretended a cough and apologized.

“Go on,” he urged. “A trio of pulpits like those in...?”

“A church not far outside York.” She fingered the page he had spread out again on top of the billiards table, staring at her drawing. She almost had slipped and mentioned the church in the parish where Lord Hedgcoe controlled the living. “Gregory was invited to preach there, and he was fascinated by how they were used.”

“I'm not familiar with them.”

“Three pulpits are set one above the other with a set of stairs along one side.”

“But what is the purpose?”

“It was explained to me that the lowest pulpit is for the clerk or the pastor to make announcements about the parish. The second pulpit, a bit closer to heaven, is for reading the Gospel. The topmost one with the sounding board above it is where the pastor stands to give the sermon.”

Lord Meriweather laughed. “I think they have it out of order. I mean no insult to your brother or any man of the cloth, but I think God's word in the Gospel should be closer to heaven than man's word in a sermon.”

“That was my thought, too, even though I did not speak that opinion in Gregory's hearing.” Her shoulders eased from their stiff line. “And you can see, my lord, that I did not include a triple pulpit in my sketch.”

“A wise decision.” He winced as he spoke the word that he must hate. How must it be to have everyone around you making decisions all the time and be incapable of even the simplest ones yourself? “You have a clear eye for how a space should be arranged. Far more so than some of the so-called architects who make impossible demands on the men who actually construct their buildings.” He let the page roll up again. “May I keep this?”

“If you think it will be of any value, of course.”

“You should not be so self-effacing, Miss Fenwick. I can see you will prove to be a very valuable assistant in this undertaking.”

Ice froze her heart in midbeat.
Assistant!
He saw her exactly as Gregory did. Someone who was there to listen and who was never expected to claim any ideas as her own.

“Ah, here you are, my boy!” Mrs. Uppington burst into the room with Miss Kightly in tow. “We have been looking for you. Miss Kightly has been telling me the most amusing stories about her great-uncle's art. You really must come and listen.”

When he hesitated, Vera said, “Go ahead, for I have a fitting with Mme. Dupont in a short time.” She eased past the other two women and headed out the door, relieved to have an excuse to escape before her frustration exploded.

* * *

Edmund wished Miss Fenwick had stayed at Meriweather Hall instead of coming to the church site, but maybe she had wanted to avoid his aunt as he did. He sighed. Aunt Belinda had once been his favorite aunt, because she had a generous heart and an honest concern about his future. But that concern had become obsession since she had arrived in Sanctuary Bay. He appreciated Miss Kightly's beauty and her obvious polish. He had no need for his aunt to point both out on every possible occasion. Even asking her to desist because she was embarrassing the young woman did nothing to change his aunt's eagerness for him to propose to the blonde.

A man who could not make up his mind about which waistcoat to wear each morning certainly was incapable of choosing a woman to marry. He had refrained from mentioning that in his aunt's hearing, however, because she would respond that he should leave everything to her.

Marriage was not as intimidating a prospect as it had been in the weeks after Lady Eloisa had tossed him aside for another suitor. After that had happened, he had put that part of his future out of his mind, even though he knew, as Lord Meriweather, he needed to marry and sire a male heir. Then he and his friends, Northbridge and Bradby, had come to Sanctuary Bay, and his friends had fallen in love and married. He could not fail to see their joy, and he began to envy them finding that connection with a special woman.