Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (62 page)

“You are fortunate to live here. Uncle Nigel's house has a view of the sea, but the shoreline is straight. The crescent shape of Sanctuary Bay makes everything special. Oh, it's sprinkling.” She hurried toward the house, then looked back. “Aren't you coming inside?”

“Of course. I know enough to come in out of the rain.” As if his words were a signal, the sky opened and rain came down in a rush.

Edmund grasped Lillian's elbow and steered her toward the closest door. Even so, they were both wet by the time they reached the house. When he realized that they were close to the chapel, he led her along the corridor.

She paused by the door to his private office. It was ajar.

He frowned. He had closed the door, as he did every time he left the office. Who had opened it? There were a lot of people under Meriweather Hall's roof today, and he could not ask each one.

“Are those papers the plans for the new church?” Lillian asked as she walked into the office. She untied her bonnet and held it by its ribbons.

“Yes.”

She examined the pages. “Did you draw these, Edmund?”

“No. Vera did.”

“She has many special talents, doesn't she?” She smiled with warmth, but not coquettishly.

Maybe he would never understand women. Lady Eloisa had used him without a bit of guilt. Lillian was a chameleon, and he never knew what to expect with her. And Vera... His heart contracted in the midst of a beat. He had thought she possessed the strength he once had. When she had fallen apart in front of his eyes in the garden, he had been shocked; his first thought had been to bring her into his arms and soothe her.

But he had not acted quickly enough, being torn between the choice of comforting her and risking her reputation if anyone discovered them, unchaperoned, in the garden. He closed his eyes and sighed. If he could not make
that
decision, a choice so easy he once could have made it without even pausing to think, how could he ever hope to decide anything?

“Vera does everything well,” Lillian continued as she walked back toward him, swinging her bonnet by its ribbons. “She is an extraordinary woman, and this parish is lucky to have her here to help with the rebuilding of the church. Without her— Oh!”

Something clattered to the floor. As she apologized, she bent to pick up the silver flask he had dug up at the vicarage. She turned it over in her hands, a perplexed look on her face.

“Don't worry,” Edmund said. “You could not damage it more than it has been damaged already.”

“Is it yours?”

“No. I found it, and I'm looking for the owner. Do you recognize it?”

“Maybe. I have seen one like it before.”

“Where?” he asked, hope spiking in his chest.

She shrugged as she placed the flask back on the table. “Maybe at my great-uncle's house or maybe it was at my stepfather's house. Or maybe both. Such flasks are fairly common, aren't they?”

“Yes.” His hope deflated, but he kept a polite smile in place.
Lord, I need Your help to unravel the puzzles in Sanctuary Bay.
He added another silent prayer that God would understand that he was seeking help in more than halting the smugglers. He never wanted to see such pain on Vera's face again.

Chapter Twelve

B
y the way others were devouring servings of bread pudding doused in caramel sauce, Vera guessed the dessert was another triumph from Mrs. Porter's kitchen. She had taken two bites and pushed it aside. Each spoonful had tasted like dust in her mouth. Hearing a lilting laugh, she looked across the great hall to see Lillian coming in with her hand on Edmund's arm. Her head leaned toward his, and Lillian gave that obviously happy laugh again.

Neither of them looked in her direction. Why should they? They were focused on each other, enjoying the day and the company. They were not lurking in a corner as she was, trying to still her frantic heartbeat at the same time she dressed herself down for blurting out too much to Edmund.

How could she have been so silly? Provoking Edmund when he wanted to praise her sermon. How many times had she longed to know if churchgoers were moved by her words? When he had sought her out to tell her what she had hoped to hear, she had reacted as if she had thought he was attacking her brother. She longed to apologize, but she could not when Lillian clung to him like a burr on a hem.

Vera instantly chided herself. Thinking of Lillian like that was inexcusable. The pretty blonde had done nothing but come to the garden looking for
her.
Vera had left her alone with Edmund because she could no longer bear to look at the bafflement on his face.

Edmund must think her half-mad. How could she explain that she had cost Gregory his previous living? Any respect Edmund had for her would be banished once she divulged her greatest shame. She could not bear the thought of that happening.

Suddenly, voices rose from the other side of the great hall. Heads swiveled as everyone strained to see who was disrupting the Mothering Sunday feast.

Her eyes widened when she saw Lord Ashland poking a finger at Mr. Brooks's waistcoat. The justice of the peace had his arms folded over his wide belly and a scowl on his face. Behind him, his wife pulled their younger children to her like a hen collecting her chicks. Sir Nigel edged to stand beside the viscount, clearly taking sides.

Everyone stopped talking, so Lord Ashland's words rang across the great hall.

“Brooks, if you would do your task as you vowed to, there would be no heaviness lingering over this day.” Lord Ashland looked down his nose at the rotund justice of the peace.

“I am doing as I said I would the day I took my oath!” Mr. Brooks asserted as his wife began shooing their children out of the great hall so they did not witness the verbal attack on their father.

“Are you? You're making too much of a simple, albeit tragic, accident.” The viscount exchanged a glance with Sir Nigel.

The baronet sneered. “Anyone with a bit of common sense knows that Cadman stumbled around in the fog, lost his bearings and fell over the cliff. Probably so deep in his cups that he didn't have the slightest idea where he was.”

Gasps came from every direction at the slur heaped on the dead man. Vera jumped to her feet, ready to defend Stanley Cadman. A hand on her shoulder gave her pause, and she looked at her brother.

Gregory's emotionless face could have been carved from the thick beams over their heads. He stared at the three men and whispered a single word.
“Wait.”

She nodded, though every instinct told her to jump into the conversation to tell Sir Nigel he was wrong about Stanley. She gripped the table edge and bit her lower lip as she tried to see where Edmund was. Too many people stood between her and the far end of the great hall.

But the only one who spoke was Sir Nigel who said, “Brooks, be done with this inquest and let the matter rest as the dead man is.”

“I will rest when all the facts are known,” asserted Mr. Brooks.

Lord Ashland gave a terse laugh. “When have all the facts ever been known? Are you really that naive, Brooks?”

The justice of the peace turned a deep shade of puce. He opened his mouth to retort, but paused and looked past the viscount.

“Gentlemen, is there a good reason for raised voices?” asked Edmund in a tone that suggested they would be want-witted not to heed him.

Vera drank in the sight of him, in command and calm amid the turmoil. While the other men were leaning toward each other, their fists clenched and their chins jutted, he stood with the easy assurance befitting a lord of the realm. She realized that, for the first time, she was seeing the man he had been before the war had stripped his confidence away.

“We are gathered here to celebrate Mothering Sunday,” Edmund went on. “I think you forget yourself and the company you are in.”

His simple, relaxed words eased some of the tension. Lord Ashland began to apologize, but his voice vanished beneath Mr. Brooks's furious one.

“My reputation has been sullied,” Mr. Brooks said.

“Shall I arrange for my second to contact yours?” asked Lord Ashland, his arrogance once again in place.

The justice of the peace snarled, “Dueling is illegal.”

“Only if one is caught,” Sir Nigel said with a chuckle.

“Or one waits until the next day so cooler heads have time to prevail,” Lord Ashland said. “I am sure you know that, Brooks.”

“I know my duties as justice of the peace, and I know your duties as coroner. I am doing mine, and may I suggest that you do yours?”

Vera had heard enough. Already the smugglers had succeeded in disrupting too much of life around Sanctuary Bay. Allowing them to do so today through their vile deeds was too much. She slipped past her brother, sidestepping his hand that reached out to halt her. He caught her arm, and she whirled to him.

“Do something, Gregory!” she ordered in a sharp whisper, even though nobody was paying attention to them. Every eye and ear was focused on the men on the other side of the great hall.

“This is Lord Meriweather's battle. For me to intrude would be foolish, as you know all too well.”

She flinched at his words meant to remind her of the muddle with Lord Hedgcoe, even though she could never forget it. She shook her head. “You are the vicar, Gregory. You would not be intruding. You would be reminding them that today is the Sabbath, and such accusations are inappropriate.”

Gregory's eyes widened, then narrowed with an expression she had not seen on his face in many years. His mischievous smile suggested he was about to surprise everyone in the great hall.

“Thank you, Vera,” he said, and he released her arm. “I needed to be reminded that I should minister not only to the sick of body.” Turning, he strode toward the men.

She followed but paused by the end of the table where Lady Meriweather listened with a scowl. The lady glanced at her, then looked back at the men.

“I will say it again,” Edmund said, his voice even. “This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion.”

“I add my voice to Lord Meriweather's,” Gregory said as he moved next to Edmund. “There are six days in each week for these matters. Can we not keep this day holy, even though a man is dead under what some deem suspicious circumstances?”

“What is suspicious?” demanded Sir Nigel. “You heard what Ashland said during the meal. A man got drunk and walked off a cliff after dark. It has happened before, and, sad to say, it will happen again. Lord Ashland has better things to do with his time than waste it continuing such a worthless pursuit.”

Vera heard the baroness draw in a sharp breath at the baronet's heartless words.

“Is it worthless,” Edmund asked, “if the investigation leads to answers that may put an end to the crimes around Sanctuary Bay?”

No sound was heard in the great hall, not even the footfall of a servant, as the meaning of his question sank into every mind.

“If we get the answer to that question,” Mr. Brooks said, “it will be worth every minute. I think we are closer than we have ever been.”

Lord Ashland's cocksure pose faltered at the quiet response. “Why would you say that?”

“
I
am still gathering facts, my lord,” the justice of the peace said politely, but she sensed he was pleased he had pierced the viscount's arrogance. “I will not make any final judgment until I have as many as I can gather. However, I agree with Mr. Fenwick. Today is not the day to delve into that. I will contact you in your capacity as the county coroner, my lord, when I need further assistance.”

Lord Ashland's face flushed, but Sir Nigel's turned an unhealthy red.

“That is ridiculous!” Sir Nigel argued. “Ashland is the coroner. He has—”

“To view the body and determine if he believes there has been foul play,” Edmund said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Lord Ashland reported his findings to Mr. Brooks, even though I doubt any of us expected him to do so today. Therefore, he has discharged his duties, and the matter is back in Mr. Brooks's hands.” He aimed a smile at the justice of peace. “As you can see, Mr. Brooks, I have taken your advice and learned more about the obligations each of us have to this parish and county.”

Lord Ashland muttered something that Vera did not quite hear. Perhaps it was for the best, because the viscount stamped away, not even pausing to bid Lady Meriweather a good day or thank her for her hospitality. Sir Nigel motioned for Lillian but did not wait for her as he followed the viscount out of the great hall.

Lillian paused only long enough to express her apologies to Lady Meriweather for her abrupt departure. She glanced at Vera, but said nothing more before she ran to catch up with her great-uncle.

Nobody sat. The dessert was forgotten. Lady Meriweather sent footmen to have the wagons brought, so the villagers could return to their homes. Some did not wait, leaving immediately with their families. Others remained but drew together in hushed conversations in corners of the great hall.

“I must see to Mrs. Brooks and her children,” Lady Meriweather said. “Will you let Edmund know where I have gone?”

“I could check on her if you wish, my lady,” Vera said.

“No, but thank you.” The baroness smiled and looked past Vera. “I think someone here needs you more.”

As the lady walked away, calling to the footmen to assist her, Vera turned to look in the direction Lady Meriweather had. Mr. Brooks flung his hands about as he made a point to Edmund and Gregory. Which one did Lady Meriweather believe needed her? Surely, the baroness had been speaking of Gregory, but what if she had not?

Vera went to where the three men now talked in rapid, hushed voices. Hesitating, she wondered if she should say something so they did not think she was sneaking up on them.

Before she could find the right moment to interrupt, Edmund flung out his arm to make a point. It hit Vera's shoulder. Not hard, but enough to startle her.

He whirled. “Forgive me, Vera.”

As she was caught by the mighty passions in his eyes, she realized he was apologizing for more than almost knocking her from her feet. New tears burned the back of her eyes as she said, “Most certainly, Edmund. You are forgiven.”

She must be honest with him soon, but not now. Not when telling him the truth risked everything she had found in Sanctuary Bay...and with him.

* * *

Edmund had noticed Vera coming to join him, the vicar and the justice of the peace. He could never be unaware of her. It was not only the soft scent of the soap she used to wash her hair. It was as if they were connected in some invisible way that he could not describe. Brooks acknowledged her arrival with a glance in her direction, but looked at Mr. Fenwick.

The vicar said, “Perhaps this conversation could continue in a more private place, my lord. What Mr. Brooks is hinting at should not be discussed where many ears might overhear.”

“Come with me,” Edmund said.

“My family,” began Brooks.

Vera interrupted, “Lady Meriweather asked me to let you know that she was going to spend time with your family.”

As the justice of the peace nodded and thanked her for delivering the message, Edmund motioned for them to follow him as he headed toward the door where the villagers were leaving.

He opened the door to his private office and ushered them in. Vera chose the chair where she sat while they worked on the church plans, and Brooks took the chair Edmund used. Mr. Fenwick drew another one closer. Edmund leaned against the windowsill.

“Go ahead,” he said to Brooks. “Explain to me why you have changed your mind. You discounted my theory that Cadman was murdered, but you defended it to Lord Ashland. I trust it was more than you wanting to vex him.”

Brooks's chins jiggled as he chuckled. “Yes, though I have to admit that it was a pleasure to get a bit of my own back after dealing with his haughty ways.” He grew serious and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I have been asking a few questions as I know you have, too, my lord.”

“Only a few, and only with people I trust.”

“I have discovered how small the number is that I can say I trust without hesitation.” The justice of the peace looked at each of them in turn. “What I discovered was, to say the least, very disturbing.”

“That Cadman was murdered?”

“Yes, it would seem so. He was not a man with a reputation for drinking, and he was friends with many in the village. Some of those friendships included men rumored to be involved with the smugglers.”

Mr. Fenwick sighed and bent his head. Vera reached out to stroke her brother's arm. Edmund wished she would offer him such comfort, too.

“So it would seem,” the vicar said, shaking his head in frustration, “that Stanley Cadman really was on his way to share information on the smugglers. 'Tis unfortunate that the fog gave his enemy enough cover to ambush him.”

“Whether that truly was Cadman's intention, we will never know,” Edmund said. “It actually matters less than the fact that someone believed he was ready to tell me what he knew. Someone who had the power to order his death.”