Page 90 of The Soldier
And in the midst of an otherwise boisterous and congenial meal, Winnie surreptitiously buttered rolls and tucked them into the pocket of her pinafore, ready to tell anybody who asked that they were for the banished dog, upon whom she’d recently conferred an honorary barony. If asked, she’d say the buttered rolls were a gesture to soothe his hurt baronial feelings.
Fifteen
“She has yet to accept my suit, you know,” Hadrian Bothwell informed his caller. He’d been surprised beyond telling to find Lord Rosecroft on the doorstep of the vicarage at the challenging hour of eight in the morning.
The earl nodded tersely. “I am aware of that, but with this document executed, I have no doubt you will be successful in your efforts to win the lady’s hand.”
Bothwell frowned and considered the earl, who was still standing in the entrance hall of the house. Something was not adding up, and it was too deucedly early for arriving at sums anyway.
“Come in.” Bothwell gestured toward his study. “I’ll fetch us some tea, and you can explain yourself while my brain wakes up. I got in quite late last night, and the weather turned foul well before I saw home.”
St. Just hesitated; but with a sigh that sounded resigned, he followed Bothwell into a tidy, comfortable room boasting a cheery blaze in the hearth, two overstuffed wing chairs pulled up to the fire, and a desk angled to take advantage of the light from a bay window.
“I do some of my best thinking here with my feet up on the hearth and my chin on my chest.”
“And your eyes closed to allow better concentration, no doubt,” St. Just added. “How hard is it, really, to be a vicar?”
“Depends on the parish, I suppose, and the vicar. For me, it’s getting harder and harder.” He tugged a bell pull twice. “The memories here are not… easy, and I know my brother needs me. Then, too, when I arrived four years ago, I flattered myself my more worldly outlook might assist my flock in broadening their views, but in that regard, I am a miserable failure.”
A rotund older woman came to deposit a plain tea service before the vicar. Once she departed, Bothwell lifted the lid of the white porcelain teapot to peer at the contents. “I like it quite strong. You?”
“At this hour, strong will do nicely. Was your replacement identified at this meeting in Ripon?”
“My replacement?” Bothwell gave a short, unhappy bark of laughter. “Trying to get rid of me, Rosecroft?” He kept his tone teasing, but the question was genuine, too.
“I am not.” St. Just sighed and sat back. “This brings us back to the reason I have intruded on your privacy at such an ungodly hour.”
“Your order of court.” Bothwell passed his guest a strong cup of tea and poured a second cup for himself.
“The order of court, yes. If Miss Emmie has custody of Winnie, then I believe your chances of making her your viscountess will be improved.” They discussed the matter for a few more moments, or traded elliptical comments in the manner of men treading lightly over unsafe ground.
“So you’re moving Miss Emmie back to the cottage today?” Bothwell inquired as St. Just rose to leave. “Do you need any assistance?”
“We do not, thank you. We’ve been moving pots and pans and racks and crockery bowls and all manner of kitchen equipment for most of the week. Emmie did not bring all of her personal effects to Rosecroft, so moving the lady herself will be fairly simple.”
“Perhaps I’ll call on her after services.” Bothwell nodded and grinned, mind made up and in happy contemplation of his meeting with Emmie. “Have to whip up a sermon on the evils of disappointing one’s vicar, don’t you think?”
“It would be pointless, wouldn’t it?”
“Why is that?”
“Emmie has never been persuaded by her vicar to attend services,” St. Just said as he headed for the door. “Your wisdom would be wasted on the pious believers.”
Bothwell frowned, not sure if he’d been teased, insulted, or reprimanded, but he remained silent until he heard the front door closing softly. The two cups of tea had helped, but yesterday had been a monumentally stupid day to travel. Still, one more day among his sanctimonious, overwhelminglymarriedbrethren, and he would have started muttering every profanity he recalled from university and public school put together.
Hadrian Bothwell lowered his tired frame into his favorite of the two wing chairs, poured himself a third cup of tea, and propped his feet on the hearth. He downed the tea in a few swallows and set his mind to thinking about the three little lambs of his flock—a lamb, a ewe, and a ram, technically—who resided at Rosecroft. He considered his obligations to each of them, as pastor (though that was stretching it a bit), friend (stretching it more than a bit), suitor, and potential stepfather. The duties and considerations tangled up, crossed, and tangled up some more, until Bothwell’s chin came to rest on his chest, and slumber claimed him.
***
St. Just glanced up at the clock in his library and scowled. He’d spent the last hour reading his mother’s letters, something that had become like a regular devotion. He frequently tucked one or two of them in a pocket and took them out at odd times of the day, reading over and over what he’d already memorized. On this day, it was particularly comforting and yet also poignant to have his mother’s words in hand. He folded up the last three letters, tucked them into an inside pocket, and mentally tried to prepare himself for what he faced.
His next task was to take Emmie back to the cottage and see her settled there. He’d return to Rosecroft for dinner and face a very unhappy Winnie, and possibly a less than sympathetic Val. By this time tomorrow, he would likely have heard Emmie had accepted Bothwell’s suit, and there was not one damned thing he could do about any of it. Better she marry the vicar than disappear to parts entirely unknown in her quest to see Winnie well settled at Rosecroft.
“Have you said good-bye to Winnie?” St. Just asked when Emmie came bustling into the front hallway.
“Winnie is not very pleased with me,” Emmie said. “I think she’s purposely hiding, and if you don’t mind, I’d just as soon have the leave-taking over with.”
“You checked in her room?” It wasn’t like Winnie to avoid a confrontation, but he wasn’t keen to search the entire house only to spend another hour drying tears and losing arguments.
