“But I won’t be here,” she murmured.
He mounted slowly, as if he’d aged, and he shifted about forever, getting comfortable in the saddle. He spoke to the girls, and they replied, then he waved, and he and his brother started off.
Their horses walked, then trotted, then cantered. She watched as they grew smaller and smaller, until they were just a speck on the horizon.
They arrived at the end of the driveway and rode onto the lane that would lead them through Stafford village, then to London and the wide world beyond.
He was leaving very much behind—herself and his home—and she was certain he would at least peek around as the manor vanished from sight, but he never glanced back a single time.
“Has the earl left?”
“Yes.”
“And his brother?”
“Departed too.”
“Good riddance.”
Benedict Mason couldn’t agree more. He raised his brandy glass and clinked it to Oscar Blair’s. They were in the vicarage, in Blair’s study.
They had a mutual interest in having the Price brothers gone from Stafford.
The earl was a heathen and blasphemer, so Blair wouldn’t ever want him looking too closely at some of the methods he employed to keep his congregation in line. A sinner like Price might not deem some transgressions to be worth the punishment Blair liked to extract.
As to Benedict, he was especially glad to see Stephen Price ride away.
When the brothers had initially arrived, Benedict was convinced that they were barely literate and wouldn’t know an account ledger from a hedgerow. But the prior evening, he’d been walking after dark, and he’d passed the estate office at the rear of the manor. Lt. Price had been there, sitting at Benedict’s desk and snooping through the books.
He’d been taking notes, adding and subtracting long columns of numbers, and Benedict was unsettled by his heightened attention. He’d yearned to march in and demand answers, but he could hardly complain that the Price brothers were reviewing their finances. Yet the discovery had had him pacing the floor most of the night.
With the brothers having trotted off, his first order of business would be to check his math for any incriminating errors. His second order of business was to deal with Emeline Wilson once and for all.
Lord Stafford’s parting instructions had been that Emeline was to have her accursed school. The decision had Benedict too incensed to think straight.
The truth had finally been told. The earl was paying her for services rendered. And a fine remuneration it was too. A cozy house in the village. A classroom with the most modern books and amenities. A salary. Servants.
He would not stand for it and—he was certain—neither would the vicar.
“There is another topic we must address,” he informed Blair. “It’s rather unpleasant.”
“What is it?”
“I should have come to you sooner, but with the earl still in residence, I didn’t dare.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s Emeline Wilson.”
Blair sighed. “Isn’t it always? What’s she done now?”
“I doubt you’ll believe me. When I stumbled on the news myself, I was stunned.”
“Where she is concerned, nothing would surprise me.”
Benedict was silent, his rage bubbling up, and he found himself too embarrassed to describe what he’d learned.
He didn’t speak, and the vicar pressed, “Well? Let’s have it. My curiosity is begging to be assuaged.”
“I apologize for being blunt, but there’s no gracious way to begin.”
“Candor is welcome.”
“Yes, but this is quite a bit beyond candor.”
“Just spit it out. I’m sure I’ll survive.”
“She . . . she . . . while living at the manor, she’s been engaged in a sexual affair with Nicholas Price.”
Blair squinted as if confused. “What?”
“They’ve been having a sexual affair. She shared his bed.”
“They fornicated? Without benefit of marriage?”
“Yes.”
“The man is the very Devil. I’m convinced of it.”
“He is very wicked,” Benedict agreed.
“Did he seduce her or was she forced?”
“There was no force involved. She might be highly educated, but she’s a fool who swallowed his lies. He probably promised he’d marry her.”
“He never would,” Blair scoffed.
“You and I know that, but she’s a sheltered female. She wouldn’t understand the physical . . . urges of a cad like Nicholas Price.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” Blair concurred. “You’re positive of this?”
“Absolutely.”
“How dare she!” Blair hissed. “For shame!”
Blair’s cheeks heated with fury, and Benedict almost felt sorry for Emeline. Almost.
Benedict had seen how Blair punished another girl who’d had the nerve to immorally copulate. His reaction had been ugly and vicious, but it certainly kept other illicit couplings to a minimum.
“What shall we do with her?” Blair asked.
“I have a few suggestions.”
“First and foremost, she will be accused of harlotry and brought up on charges.”
“Of course,” Benedict said, “but we must proceed cautiously.”
“Why? We must make an example of her.” Blair appeared gleeful at the prospect. “The whole town must hear how she’s sinned. I insist on it.”
“The earl was fond of her.”
“So? What bearing has his sentiment on her crime?”
“If he came back and discovered that we’d moved against her, he might be angry.”
Blair pondered, then nodded. “That could pose some difficulties.”
“I thought we could use that sheriff you know, the fellow we used before.”
Blair had an old acquaintance, Sheriff Pratt, who was more than happy to take care of neighborhood situations—if the price was right. They had called on him previously when they’d been plagued by troublemakers who needed to vanish.
The prior four miscreants had all been men, and Benedict had no inkling of what became of them. They hadn’t returned to Stafford, and it was rumored that they’d been transported to Australia.
Emeline could be spirited away, and there’d be no trace of where she’d gone. After her antics with the earl over her purported labor strike, she was generally disliked, so there would be no inquiries about her.
However, if questions were ever raised, Blair and Benedict were good liars. They could easily say they had no idea what had happened to
