Page 24 of Miss Harvey's Horribly Lovable Fiancé
“Promises I need you to keep.”
He snorted, then disappeared into his bedroom at the back of his warmlimestone house. Before his small but comforting fire, she took one of his two over-stuffed red silk Queen Anne chairs and contemplated the fan of flame and color. But when she sat, she felt a lump, reached beneath her bottom and came up with a ladies frilly white fichu.
Well then.Whose, eh?
“Have you been at the frolic all day?” she called to him.
“No. I’ve a sick parishioner and visited.”
“Oh, who’s that?” She’d been so busy with preparations for the party and her wedding that she hadn’t been keeping up with the tenants’ needs these past few days.
“Mabel Cummings. Ailing. Her heart fails her. I’m afraid she may not recover.”
“Her family will miss her.” The woman was seventy…or so Esme thought. There’d been a parish fire in the mid-fifties and many records were burned. Lack of a birth registry in the church books meant Mabel could only guess her age.
“That’s so,” Charlie exclaimed from the back of the house. “Why aren’t you thrilling your mother and getting dressed for the ball?”
“Because I’m here with you.”Wondering why you are taking so long to emerge. And why I hear…yes, I do…hear whispering back there.
“I see,” he called out, a bit too jovial for the moment. “Soaking up the wisdom of the church.”
“I am,” she said as her gaze landed on the distinctive tiny red embroidered purse she knew to be Willa Sheffield’s. Her dear friend was here enjoying a few secluded moments with the man her papa forbade her to wed.
“Come for comfort before you enjoy the temporal fruits of love?” he teased her.
Oh, Charlie was trying to throw her off his scent. If Willa needed to see him, who was she to nay-say her? No, no. She would hope they could enjoy each other if only for a few moments. Best to love than never, eh?
Right. Charlie had been through hell in the wars, ministering to the wounded and dying. He’d come home, suffering from loss of hope and worse, loss of faith. But he’d returned to working in the Church with renewed hope from Willa. He’d told Esme that months ago. So he and Willa could have a few minutes together. She would not rob them.
“I do need to talk to you.” She focused on why she’d come here. And why she needed Charlie’s advice. Because he knew her so well, this man who had skipped rocks with her, hunted deer and lost his father’s gold watch piece to her…twice. “I’m expert at the temporal pleasures. Always have been indulged.”
She didn’t have to imagine that this man of God sucked in his breath on that statement. She’d often heard the sound of others’ shock. “Don’t worry, Charlie. Aside from my vices, I can say I’m still a virgin.”
He emerged from the back, a clean linen shirt dangling from his fingers. “All credit to your fiancé.”
“There you have it! You do not trust me.” She was teasing but she also understood that he’d know her capable of—even desirous of—enjoying the temporal fruits of love before she exchanged her vows. “But Northington is a gentleman.”
“Thank the Lord.” He had pulled on his white shirt and tucked it in his breeches, then sat in the opposite upholstered chair. His wine decanter always within reach of his favorite chair he used when counseling his flock, he topped up his own glass of good red. “To your health, Madam Marchioness!”
She drank, taking her leisure to think and to savor the rich flavors that filled her throat. “That’s what I want to discuss. My health.”
“Then you need a doctor or a chemist. Not a priest.”
“You consult on unhealthy humors of the soul.” She took another sip and settled back into the sumptuous cushions. She’d be quick as she could, what with Willa waiting in the back bedroom.
“Esme, you rid yourself of unhealthy humors years ago.”
“Bah. How do you know?”
“I rid myself of mine at approximately the same time.”
“Your’s were worse than mine.”
His face taut, he lifted his glass in a toast. “Indeed.”
“Forgive me for pointing that out.” He had servedin Wellington’s renowned army in Spain and killed more men than he could count. This horror was his greatest grief and the primary motivator of his return to the clergy.
He pursed his lips and stared at the fire for a long minute. “I’ve come to terms with it.”
