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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.
Chapter Three
The next morning, Edmund found only Lady Meriweather seated at the table in the breakfast parlor. She put down the newspaper she had been reading.
“Good morning, Edmund,” she said with the warmth that suggested he was her son rather than her late husband’s distant cousin.
“And to you, my lady. Do not let me interrupt your reading.”
She laughed. “This newspaper was sent from London. It is nearly a week old, so waiting longer to read it is no problem.”
Helping himself to eggs and sausages, he placed his plate at the seat across from the baroness. She poured him a steaming cup of coffee from the silver pot that had been left on a ceramic tile by her right hand. He reached for a muffin from the basket that was set beside him by one of the well-trained footmen.
He buttered it as he said, “I have not had a chance to thank you for making arrangements for Mr. Fenwick and his sister to stay at Meriweather Hall.”
“It was my pleasure. Dear Vera has been a steadfast friend to my daughters, and it is not as if we don’t have the room.” Her laugh sparkled through the space. “She tells me that you have agreed to help with rebuilding the church.”
“It is my place.”
“To provide the funds, yes, but Vera suggested you were going to provide more than that.”
He poured cream into his cup and stirred it. Setting the pitcher on the table, he wondered when the two women had talked. No doubt, it had been after he had scurried away like a hurt child from Sir Nigel’s barbed comments. He snuck a glance at the lady across the table from him. Had Miss Fenwick told her about that conversation? If so, he saw no sign of pity on her face.
“You know of my work before I came to Meriweather Hall,” he said when he realized the lady expected him to answer. “I know something of building projects.”
“Quite a bit, according to my new son-in-law.” She chuckled. “Jonathan mentioned something about seeking your advice for the larger house he plans to build for him and Cat.”
“He said nothing about that to me.”
“Because he knew you would help when the time came. You, Jonathan and Charles learned to depend on each other’s skills in the army, and that will never change.” She picked up her coffee cup. “You have been given a great gift, Edmund. Such friends do not come along often.”
“I realize that.”
“Have you heard more about the tunnel that led into the church?” She must be as curious as he was to learn how and when the smugglers had gotten into the church.
“Sims brought me a report this morning. The tunnel appears to have been collapsed completely. We cannot guess where it might go.”
“Nothing aboveground suggests its direction or destination?”
He was impressed with the baroness’s question, though he should not have been. All the Meriweather women had sharp minds and cared deeply about the estate and the people of Sanctuary Bay.
With a shake of his head, he said, “The smugglers are too careful to allow that. Otherwise they would have been found out years ago.”
“I see.” After Lady Meriweather took a sip of her coffee, she changed the subject to her plans for the gardens once the weather was warm enough to plant flowers among the hedges and perennials. He listened with half an ear as he thought of what she had said. He and Northbridge and Bradby had been melded together in the crucible of war. That bond had been strengthened as they had faced the smugglers’ treachery since he had first arrived in Sanctuary Bay. He could depend on their assistance again, if necessary.
He hoped it would not be, because Bradby was on his honeymoon and Northbridge and his family were settling into his ancestral estate in the south of England. But it was good to remember that, if he needed them, they would come.
Maybe fulfilling Miss Fenwick’s request to help rebuild the church would not be impossible, after all.
* * *
When Foggin came to announce a guest later that morning, Edmund assumed either the vicar or Miss Fenwick wished to discuss the plans for rebuilding the church. Instead, a dark-haired man with an air of arrogance strode into the room as if he were lord of the estate and Edmund his least minion. Edmund suspected women would find Lord Ashland handsome, but his sharp features and hollow cheeks reminded Edmund of how disdainful the viscount had been when Edmund went to his estate in hopes of obtaining help in halting the smugglers.
“Ashland!” Edmund pushed himself to his feet. “I had not expected you to call.”
“This is no social visit.” He drew off his gloves and tossed them in the direction of Foggin.
The footman scrambled to catch them both along with the greatcoat the viscount shrugged off. The poor footman looked so dismayed that Edmund wanted to assure him that Ashland treated everyone with the same contempt.
“I heard,” Ashland went on, as if he had not taken note of the footman, “about the fire at the Sanctuary Bay church, and I thought I should come and discover how bad it was.”
“It was very bad.” He hid his surprise. The viscount had never shown the least bit of interest about anything in the village. A hint of suspicion bubbled through him. If the viscount were the man the smugglers called his qualityship, he would be curious if anything pointing to the smugglers had been discovered in the ruins. “The building is completely destroyed.”
“I am sorry to hear that confirmed. Rumors reach one’s ears all the time, but I prefer to discover the truth for myself. If you have no objections, I would like to ride into the village and see what remains.”
“There is not much to see.”
“Even so, I would like to see it with my own two eyes.”
“Certainly.” He paused, then said, “As you have removed your outer coat, I assume there is more you wish to discuss with me before we leave for the village.” He gestured toward a chair near the hearth. “We may as well be comfortable by the fire before we venture out into the cold.”
“Quite so.” Ashland selected a chair as if he were doing Edmund a great favor.
How did one come to possess such hauteur? Ashland’s bearing suggested that his place was at the center in the universe and that everyone should acknowledge it. Did that mien come from being raised as a peer from birth? Could it be learned later in life? Not that he wanted to act as self-important as Ashland, but he could use the confidence such comportment inspired.
Another item to put on his list for his next conversation with Northbridge. He could ask his friend and former military commander such questions without the ridicule he would face if he addressed those questions to Ashland. That lesson he had learned all too well when he had asked Lady Eloisa about life among the ton. She had answered him, but later made a jest about it at his expense. The Beau Monde could be scathing to outsiders too eager to join the elite of the elite. They labeled those people encroaching mushrooms, but he had not expected, as a new baron, to be described in such terms.
Not until he had overheard Lady Eloisa use that exact term along with his name.
Edmund sat after offering to ring for a cup of something warm for the viscount. When Ashland said that was unnecessary, Edmund asked, “What did you want to discuss?”
“Rumors.”
“You will need to be more specific. Sanctuary Bay is always rife with rumors.” He allowed himself a cool smile. “Some are true. The trick, as I learned during my time in the army, was to determine which are true and which are simple conjecture fueled by repetition.”
Ashland’s eyes narrowed, and Edmund knew that the viscount had not anticipated such a retort from him. If Ashland thought him nothing but a harebrained newcomer to the Polite World, reminding the viscount that Edmund had seen battle on the Continent was not a bad thing.
“That is true,” Ashland said, continuing to appraise Edmund. Was he surprised by what he saw? No hint of his thoughts were revealed on his carefully schooled face.
“Are there particular rumors that you wish to discuss?”
“Rumors about the smugglers who work out of Sanctuary Bay.”
Edmund kept his fingers from digging into the upholstery and his shoulders from stiffening. The viscount’s words disclosed more than his face did, and Edmund suspected his cool composure was a pose. Two could play that game, so he sank back in his chair, crossing one foot over the opposite knee.
“Again,” he said, “I need you to be more specific. Smugglers and their exploits are a major source of rumors throughout Britain.”
