He was just about to speak but as his daughter reached the second to bottom step, she predictably tripped, falling forward, her hands flailing like a startled starfish before managing to correct herself in time to arrive mercifully upright at the bottom of the stairs.
They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. “Has the note come from the Duke of Blackmore?” she finally asked in a small voice so unlike Grace, the Reverend had to look hard to check he’d got the right daughter.”
He was tempted to tell the chit to mind her own business, but in light of the conversation he knew he wasn’t going to be able to put off for much longer, he held his tongue, saying instead, “Indeed. Tis but a summons to wait on him tomorrow which I would have expected sooner if am honest.”
To his vast surprise, his daughter’s eyes widened as though she’d seen a ghost before falling in a dead faint at his feet.
Chapter Three
“The Reverend Augustus Shackleford.”
Nicholas laid down his pen as he watched the stout man walk into the study, his waistcoat straining to cover his stomach. The last time he’d seen Augustus Shackleford, the Reverend had definitely been a lot trimmer. In all other ways, time, or possibly God, appeared to have treated him very well.
“Your grace,” the Reverend said, cordially, bowing as much as he was able.
“Reverend,” Nicholas acknowledged, gesturing to the chair before the desk. It had taken him a week to step into this study and another week to feel comfortable in the leather chair he currently sat in.
The ghost of his father still seemed to linger, but Nicholas knew he would likely never rid himself of the bastard’s presence for the rest of his days.
“May I offer you some refreshement?”
“Perhaps some cordial? A cold drink would be very welcome on such a warm day,” the vicar responded, pulling out his kerchief and dotting his forehead with it. Nicholas nodded to the butler and invited the Reverend to take a seat.
Reverend Shackleford seated himself with a grateful sigh. He’d forgone the curricle this morning in favour of a sedate walk, thinking the time it took him to reach the Duke’s residence would provide a much-needed quiet interlude to mull over the recent turn of events. Things were clearly much worse than he’d thought. There was plainly something wrong with his eldest daughter.
Grace, who’d never to his knowledge ever ailed in her life, had continued to float around the vicarage, seemingly unable to settle, ever since her episode the day before. Normally preferring the sanctuary of her room, the Reverend had seen more of her in one day than he had in the last ten years, and for the whole time she appeared to be watching him fearfully.
While Reverend Shackleford was not lauded for his patience, neither was he unkind or particularly bad tempered. Indeed, his most important consideration was to ensure his life continued as peacefully and uneventfully as possible. To his knowledge, none of his daughters held any great fear of him and Grace’s constant staring was seriously beginning to unnerve him, especially as she continuously appeared on the verge of speaking.
He did not know how, but it was becoming clear that Grace somehow knew of his plans. His first thought was that perhaps Percy had been loose tongued, but when he’d casually thrown the curate’s name into the conversation, there had been no reaction. And she certainly hadn’t shown any interest in Percy during dinner. He fervently hoped that was the issue.
There were of course other causes which would be far worse. He shuddered, wondering how much it would likely cost him should he be forced to persuade some gentleman to make an honest woman of her.
“A wife.” The Reverend heard the words through a fog and looked up at the Duke in horror, wondering if he’d somehow spoken his concerns aloud.
“I beg your pardon, your grace,” he stammered hurriedly, “I must beg your indulgence, but I didn’t quite catch what you were saying.”
Nicholas frowned. Clearly the cleric hadn’t heard a word. Was the man addled? The Duke opened his mouth to deliver a blistering set down but at that moment Huntley appeared with a tray of refreshments. After carefully setting the tray down on the desk, he handed a crystal goblet to the Reverend who took it gratefully. Nicholas shook his head when offered a glass, enduring the interruption with ill-concealed impatience.
Reverend Shackleford used the opportunity to gather his wits. Perhaps the Duke would be an ally in finding a suitable match for Grace. A quiet word from someone so influential would go a long way to silence the gossip mongers. By the time the door closed on the elderly butler, he was able to direct his attention to the Duke in the pious and restrained manner expected of a man of the cloth.
“You were saying, your grace?” he offered, sipping at his drink.
The Duke of Blackmore set his jaw, causing the Reverend to shift in his seat a trifle nervously.
“I am in need of a wife,” Nicholas grated out finally, the words clearly struggling to make it past his tongue.
Reverend Shackleford blinked. He wasn’t sure how the Duke expected him to help in his grace’s matrimonial ambitions. As a vicar, he certainly didn’t mix in the kind of circles favoured by the higher echelons of the aristocracy. And he had enough matrimonial problems of his own to deal with.
“Err, I’m not sure how I can help you your grace. Is it spiritual guidance for a young lady perhaps? Or is it more of a chaperone you’re in need of? I’m happy to be of service if I can.”
The Duke ground his teeth in frustration. Infernal man. “I need one of your daughters.”
∞∞∞
After some discreet correspondence, Nicholas had learned that Reverend Shackleford had eight daughters in his household, a few of them of marriageable age. He had no intention of going
