“You shouldn’t count on my attendance.”
“But you must set an example for the community.”
“I’m not interested in being an example.” The earl looked at the church, and he smirked. “Besides, if I walked through the doors, I might get struck by lightning.”
He spun away, and Oscar bristled with indignation. He wouldn’t be dismissed as if he was of no consequence.
“Lord Stafford!” he said more sharply then he’d intended.
The earl whipped around. “What?”
“I must know when you’ll come by the vicarage. We need to discuss the congregation and my future plans for it.”
“I don’t care about your plans. Whatever you choose is fine with me. Just stop being such a sanctimonious busybody.”
Oscar’s cheeks flamed red. His fury sparked. “I’m an expert at guiding my flock to the ways of the Lord. The old countess never had a word of criticism in how I conducted myself.”
“Well, she’s no longer here, is she? I’m in charge, and I can’t abide your religious posturing.”
“Lord Stafford,” Emeline interrupted, “if you were to—”
“Emeline!” Oscar barked. “How many times must I remind you? You are a woman, and thus, you have no place in this conversation. Be silent.”
The earl turned to her. “You were saying, Miss Wilson?”
“We’re keeping the vicar from his Sunday dinner. Perhaps we should be going.”
“Yes, perhaps we should.”
Oscar was so angry, he was trembling.
He glared, mute and aggrieved, as the earl lifted her into the gig. He released her, then whirled to face Oscar, and Oscar humiliated himself by asking, “When will you be available for an appointment?”
“I won’t ever be.” The earl leaned nearer and whispered, “Miss Wilson is an employee of mine. I don’t take kindly to her being disrespected. Not by anyone.”
“Emeline requires regular male guidance. I shall render it whenever necessary.”
“Insult her again, and I’ll pound you into the ground.”
“You would threaten a man of the cloth?”
“Push me, and I’ll do more than threaten. Don’t forget: You serve at my pleasure. How much do you value your job? Don’t annoy me or you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
The arrogant brute sauntered away, went ’round the carriage, and climbed in. As if he hadn’t a care in the world, as if he hadn’t just offended a minister of the Church, he clicked the reins and they were off.
Oscar understood that he possessed a sizeable temper, so he strove to present a calm front to others. Yet at that moment, if he’d been holding a gun, he’d have shot Nicholas Price right between his swiftly retreating shoulder blades.
He tugged on his robe, patted his burning cheeks, then headed for the vicarage and the hot meal that awaited.
Stephen dawdled in the cemetery, watching as Sunday services ended. He was eager to waylay Josephine so they could sneak away and talk.
He thought she would agree to a rendezvous. She had to be as miserable as he was over their separation, and he was determined to convince her to reverse her course.
Initially, when she’d broken off their affair, he hadn’t been bothered by her decision. While he enjoyed their physical attraction, he’d never been at a loss for sexual partners, particularly now with his brother’s prominence.
Women chased after him, just as they chased after Nicholas, and he’d assumed he would select a bride from the crop of aristocratic girls as Nicholas had.
Then it had dawned on him. Why should he?
He’d met plenty of the daughters of the ton, and nary a one was mature enough to marry, let alone take on the chore of raising Annie. For that important task, he needed a person who was sensible and pragmatic, who could ignore Annie’s illegitimate status and love her anyway.
Why not ask Jo to be his bride?
She was pretty, friendly, and compassionate, and she had the character of a saint. She was living in the worst of circumstances, yet she always had a smile on her face, and if she could put up with her priggish brother, she could put up with anything.
He smugly supposed that she’d be flattered by a proposal. He would rescue her from dire straits, would give her her own home, but this time, with a husband who cherished her.
She’d have a daughter right away, and if they were lucky, they’d have more children. She claimed she was barren, and it was accepted fact that—when a marriage produced no offspring—it was the woman’s fault. But he’d seen several instances where barren women had become pregnant with new spouses after their husbands had died.
He was an optimist and believed that they’d have more children. And if they didn’t? He’d be happy with Jo and Annie.
The church doors opened, and he was almost giddy with anticipation. Vicar Blair emerged, and he stood on the steps, chatting with his parishioners as they exited.
Very quickly, the crowd emptied out, until Emeline Wilson was the last to appear. The vicar had some sharp words for her, and she stoically endured her scolding, then she sidled away. She waved toward the lane, and Stephen peered over to see his brother approaching in a carriage. Nicholas leapt down and was helping Miss Wilson into the vehicle when the vicar accosted him.
Stephen considered leaving his hiding spot among the tombstones in order to save the poor minister, but before he could, Nicholas said something that made the vicar blanch with dismay. Had Nicholas fired the pious dunce? Had he cursed at him? Had he blasphemed?
With Nicholas, there was no telling.
Nicholas spun away and climbed into the gig. He grabbed the reins, and as he did, he flashed a look at Miss Wilson that had Stephen wincing with alarm. If he hadn’t been observing so closely, he’d have missed it.
He knew that look. He’d witnessed it dozens, if not hundreds of times in his life. Gad, his brother was seducing Emeline Wilson! Was he insane?
Nicholas had mentioned that he’d put Miss Wilson to work, but obviously, Stephen hadn’t comprehended the exact sort of job his brother had in mind.
This wasn’t the city, where Nicholas could act however he
