He kept on toward the manor, cursing his stupidity every step of the way.
“We had services this morning.”
“What for? It’s Wednesday.”
Stephen Price gaped at the vicar, Oscar Blair, but couldn’t manage any cordiality. Blair was age forty, fat, pompous, and pious, and Stephen wondered why he’d been granted the living. The old countess had been extremely devout, so perhaps she’d had the temperament to put up with the arrogant buffoon, but Stephen certainly didn’t.
“We have services every morning at nine,” the vicar intoned like a threat. “The earl didn’t attend.”
“No, he wouldn’t have.”
Nicholas hated Stafford and wouldn’t pay any social calls. Nor would he condescend to chat with someone he didn’t like. Stephen at least tried to be affable and make the required overtures, but Nicholas didn’t possess the character trait that imbued tact and civility. He’d never waste his time on such a sanctimonious boor.
“He’s not a church-goer? Well!” The vicar huffed indignantly. “I’ll have to speak with him about his absence.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“But he must set an example for the community.”
“You shouldn’t count on it.”
Stephen rose, indicating that their conversation was over.
“Must you go?” Blair inquired. “I’d like to give you a tour of the church and grounds.”
Stephen would rather be tortured on the rack. “Sorry. I have several other appointments.”
“I understand.”
Blair escorted him to the door, and as they entered the vestibule, a woman hurried in. She tugged off her cloak and hung it on a hook.
She was twenty-five or so, thin and pretty, with big brown eyes and luxurious brunette hair that was pulled into a neat chignon. It was a cool, windy afternoon, and the cold temperature had reddened her cheeks with a healthy glow.
As far as Stephen was aware, Blair was a bachelor, so who was she? Blair was an ass and didn’t deserve her company.
“You’ve finally arrived,” Vicar Blair snapped with impatience.
“I apologize, Oscar.” She smiled, but it was a tired smile. “I was delayed in the village. I couldn’t get away.
“This is Lt. Price,” the vicar haughtily informed her, “the earl’s brother.”
“Hello, Lt. Price.”
She extended her hands in welcome. Stephen clasped them and bowed.
“You were not here to greet him,” the vicar complained. “I had to entertain him myself. You are my hostess, but what good are you if you can’t perform simple tasks?”
It was a horrid comment, and an awkward moment might have ensued, but she politely smoothed it over.
“I heard that you and the earl were at the manor,” she said to Stephen. “It’s lovely that you were able to visit the estate. Everyone will be so pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Lt. Price,” Blair said, “may I present my sister, Mrs. Josephine Merrick?”
“How do you do, Mrs. Merrick?”
“She’s a widow,” Blair continued. “For how many years now, Josephine?”
“Almost three, Oscar.”
“Her husband’s relatives sent her back to me after his death,” Blair started to explain, but Mrs. Merrick interrupted him.
“It’s an old story, Oscar. I’m sure Lt. Price isn’t interested.”
At her halting of Blair’s tale, Stephen was so grateful that he could scarcely keep from hugging her.
“It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Merrick.” Stephen nodded at her brother. “Vicar Blair, I appreciate your courtesy.”
He should have invited Mrs. Merrick to the manor for supper—it was the appropriate gesture—but he couldn’t have her as a guest without asking the vicar too, so the invitation wasn’t tendered.
There was an uncomfortable second where they realized they’d been snubbed. Then Mrs. Merrick smiled again and held the door so he could escape.
He hastened to the lane, as the vicar poked his nose out and called, “I’ll need to talk to the earl about his lack of piety.”
Stephen couldn’t think of anything more pointless, and with the wind blowing, he motioned as if he couldn’t hear. He waved and plodded on.
The vicarage was situated next to the church, the cemetery in between the two buildings. He entered through a gate and strolled the paths, reading the aged headstones. When he was positive the vicar couldn’t see him, he went into the church and sat in a rear pew.
It was dim and quiet, and it smelled of polish and prayer. A single candle burned at the front, producing a magical glow.
As a boy, he’d spent a lot of time in churches. The orphanage where he’d been raised was run by a religious organization, so he’d endured his share of services. After he and Nicholas had enlisted, he hadn’t had much occasion to visit one, and he liked having the chance to silently ponder.
On Sunday mornings, the neighbors would fill the seats, dressed in their Sunday best, as they assembled to worship, chat, and socialize. He’d never experienced that sort of life.
He was twenty-eight, and he’d never planted any roots. The decades had passed with him trailing after Nicholas, thwarting his worst schemes, and keeping him out of trouble.
Now that they were at Stafford, Stephen was so happy. Nicholas loathed his inheritance and had no idea what the words home and haven meant, but Stephen knew.
He craved the ties that would bind him to Stafford, where he would settle down, marry, and have a family. He’d already sired a daughter, Annie, who was ten and growing up at a convent in Belgium. Her mother had been a camp follower who’d died in childbirth.
Annie would be brought to Stafford, sooner rather than later, which was the reason he’d sought out Vicar Blair. He’d gone to inquire if there was a kindly widow in the area who might have room for one small girl so Annie could travel to England immediately. Of course, after his encounter with the vicar, he hadn’t asked.
Still, Stephen was eagerly devising a plan of action.
Eventually, he would muster out of the army, and he would join Annie at Stafford. He hadn’t worked up the courage to inform Nicholas, but he would.
Nicholas couldn’t understand Stephen’s desire to belong. Nor could he understand Stephen’s affection for Annie, and Stephen couldn’t
