A Bride for the Baron

скачать книгу бесплатно


“I agree.”

“We need to start making plans for the interior. I can meet with you tomorrow whenever you wish. Or the next day if that is better.”

“If you think that is the best time...”

Vera kept her face serene, so he could not discern how sympathy welled up within her. The poor man could not make a single decision. Facing each one seemed to scourge him.

“Let’s not set a definite time now. I will make a list of what I think we need to do,” she said, “and, when I’m done, I will bring it to you for review. Your expertise will be invaluable.”

He nodded and turned to leave; then he paused. Facing her, he said, “One question, Miss Fenwick, if I may.”

“Of course. Any time.”

Again his smile came and went like lightning on a hot summer night. “It is a difficult question to ask. It has come to my attention that it is being said that you and your brother have offered assistance to the smugglers. Is there any truth in that rumor?”

“None!” Both anger and pain riveted her. Anger that he would give that rumor any credence. Pain that such a lie could lead to her brother losing the living in Sanctuary Bay.

“I’m glad to hear that.” He tipped his hat toward her. “I will see you at Meriweather Hall, Miss Fenwick. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

She nodded, but she knew she would never be able to ask for what she needed most now: answers. She wanted to know who was spreading spurious tales about her and Gregory. She ached to discover if, upon first hearing them, Lord Meriweather had contemplated sending them away from Sanctuary Bay. And, as much, she longed to find out how she could halt herself from feeling the warmth of his touch, a warmth that could lead her into ruining everything...again.

Chapter Four

Vera stifled a yawn as she walked into her brother’s room the next morning. The room Gregory was using was as masculine in style as hers was feminine. Dark furniture and rugs contrasted with the green velvet draperies. Friezes along the ceiling served as a frame for a mural of a hunting scene. Foxhounds bounded past hedges while riders on horseback jumped over them, suspended forever in midflight. The bright red coats matched the silk on the upper half of the walls above richly stained moldings.

She called his name, and he poked his head past the door that led to the room where his valet would sleep if he had one.

“Good,” he said. “I had hoped you would get here before I left.”

“Left?” She noticed he carried a stack of clothing. “Where are you going? We need you here now while we make plans for the new church.”

He opened a bag on the bed that already held a few items, including several books that must have come from Lord Meriweather’s book room. “I must seek the bishop’s counsel on dealing with the smugglers. As well, I want to share our plans for rebuilding the church.”

“The plans to move the church closer to the village?” She walked to the other side of the bed and watched as he deftly packed the bag. If she did not know better, she would have guessed he had done that many times before.

“Yes, but it is not only the building. There is the churchyard to consider. If we move to another location, do we build a wall around it to protect the graves? The parishioners will not want to be separated in death from their loved ones by starting a new churchyard with the new building.”

She sat on a chair near the foot of the tester bed. “Perhaps we could move the new church a bit closer to the old foundation, so we can still incorporate the graves within the churchyard.”

“A good idea, Vera. I shall share it with the bishop.” He put the last of the clothing in the bag. “Thank goodness that Lord Meriweather and I are close enough in size so I don’t have to call on the bishop wearing dirty and torn clothing.” He closed the top of the worn leather bag and stepped away from the bed.

“I cannot imagine the bishop would judge your ability to lead our parish through this crisis with the smugglers because of what you are wearing.” She smoothed her hands over her lap and the fine gown that was Cat’s. It was even more elegant than the one she had worn to her friend’s wedding, but for the daughter of a baron, it would be considered an everyday morning gown.

“True. Mr. Hamilton has agreed to lead the services on Sunday. I trust you will help him as you do me.”

“Of course.” She would write a simple sermon for Mr. Hamilton to read. He was a fisherman like many in the village, but he helped often at the church and tended the churchyard.

“And if you are away longer than that?”

“I will worry about that if I must.”

Vera bit back frustrated words. Her brother allowed her to assist in his work, but nothing more. How could he not see that she longed to do more to serve God? Many times, she had dreamed of being the one standing at the pulpit preaching the words she had written. Her brother could not imagine a woman having such an ambition.

Gregory glanced toward her. “Something is bothering you, Vera. What is it?”

“Lord Meriweather asked me an unsettling question yesterday.” That it was rumored she and Gregory had abetted the smugglers had kept her awake most of the night.

“About what?” He reached into the cupboard for a coat that, like the rest of his clothing, must belong to the baron.

“The silliest thing.” She should have said nothing. Gregory had been pleased to have the old Lord Meriweather’s complete confidence in him. That the new one might not would upset him more.

“What did he ask?” He folded the coat over his arm and looked at her.

“He asked if we had ever helped the smugglers, and I told him that we hadn’t.”

Gregory placed the coat on top of the bag. “That is not completely true.”

“What?” She jumped to her feet. “Gregory, you cannot be serious!”

“I am.” He motioned toward the door. “Let’s find Lord Meriweather. I might as well explain to both of you at the same time.”

She fought the sickness clawing at her stomach. Her brother had helped the smugglers? Lord, how can I face Lord Meriweather knowing that my brother assisted the men who threatened the baron’s cousins? Both Sophia and Cat had escaped alive, but the situation could easily have gone the other way. And Gregory had helped them....

Somehow her feet carried her alongside her brother. She gripped the banister as they descended the stairs. She heard Gregory ask someone where the baron was but could not focus on whom he spoke with nor the answer. She realized where they were going only when she saw four suits of armor that held swords and lances at the ready lining either side of the corridor.

Gregory knocked on the door of the book room and called, “Lord Meriweather, may we speak with you for a moment?”

“Come in,” the baron called.

Vera walked with her brother into the room that was lined with overflowing bookshelves. More books were stacked in front of them. A rosewood desk was set in front of a large double window. Chairs faced the white marble fireplace.

“Good morning,” Lord Meriweather said with a smile as he stood from one of the chairs.

That smile wavered when Gregory said, “I understand you have asked Vera about our connections with the smugglers, and you need to know that the answer she gave you was not the truth.”

She tried to keep from lowering her eyes when Lord Meriweather looked from her brother to her. Accusation burned in his eyes.

“Are you saying, vicar, that Miss Fenwick lied?”

“No.” Gregory shook his head calmly. “She told you the truth as she knows it. However, it is not the true as I know it.”

“I see. Perhaps,” Lord Meriweather said, “we should sit and discuss this. Miss Fenwick, if you please...”

Both men waited while Vera selected a chair farthest from where the baron had been sitting. She stared down at her clasped hands. It might be futile, but she wanted to prevent him from having a good view of her face. If Gregory had been honest with her, they would not be in this uncomfortable situation.

No, a small voice whispered from her heart, you would have had to spill the truth when Lord Meriweather asked you yesterday. You could have been the cause of Gregory being dismissed again.

At that thought, her throat threatened to close and halt her breathing. The vicarage was gone, and they could be soon, too. Lord Meriweather might believe, upon hearing what Gregory had to say, that a vicar who consorted with criminals did not deserve to preach at the Sanctuary Bay church.

“Very well, Mr. Fenwick,” Lord Meriweather said coolly. “I am waiting for you to explain that extraordinary comment which leads me to believe you have assisted the smugglers.”

She closed her eyes, praying that Gregory knew what he was doing. She did not open them as her brother spoke.

“It was not as you think, my lord,” Gregory said in a quiet, calm voice. “The incident happened several years ago. It was one evening after I had visited a member of the congregation in the village. A man appeared out of the shadows. He wore cloth over his mouth and nose, and his hat hid his eyes. He did not say much, but it was enough to know that there had been a terrible accident and I was needed. A man was dying. I am not a judge. I leave that to God. What I could do was pray with him and offer his family comfort when he died.”

She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling as tears pressed against her eyelids. How could she have doubted her brother’s integrity? One of the smugglers’ greatest crimes might be making them suspicious of each other.

Lord Meriweather did not reply right away. When he did, his voice was strained. “I cannot fault you for doing your duty, vicar. I would never speak badly of any man who did that. But I do have a question.”