Page 22 of Lady Willa's Divinely Wicked Vicar
Chapter 6
April 5, 1816
De Courcy Manor
Hampshire
Wills hastily thrust the letter she’d claimed inside the Horse and Dog into her reticule. She’d not chance that her groom would see it. The pub’s proprietor had handed it over, even though the woman heard Willa declare—twice, too—that she “carried” the letter for a friend, soon to visit her at the Manor. But Wills did not dwell on her little fib. The sun shone gaily on this cloudless day, but the chilly spring air she inhaled signaled the beginning of a new chapter in her life.
“We’ll be off home now, Sturgis,” she told the family groom who’d ridden as escort with her to the pub. She accepted the man’s assist up to her saddle.
Clicking her tongue to urge her horse on, she decided to wait until she got home to read the letter’s contents. Her curiosity vied with her need for privacy to discover if her latest attempt at escape from her fate might have come to fruition.
So she took the road south to home with a canter that belied her haste. But her servant was an older man who’d served her family for many years. If she appeared to be in too much of a hurry, he would question her haste. Word of such might find its way to her father. That she could not chance, as relations between her and her sire were not on the best terms. In fact, since she’d returned home last spring from the May Day Frolic, they’d been fraught with arguments about the gentlemen to whom the earl attempted to attach her.
At the turn of the De Courcy stone fence, she led the way down the circular drive when a different curiosity spurred her onward. A black and red lacquer carriage stood before the entrance. Four hefty Cleveland bays waited with a coachman in the box and a groom beside him. By the escutcheon on the door and the servants’ livery of ebony and scarlet,Wills realized at once who was calling.
Esme Harvey usually sent her a note whenever she planned to arrive for a visit. Alarm spread through Wills that something must be amiss—and only weeks before Esme’s wedding too. Wills climbed down quickly.
“Miss Harvey has arrived?” she asked the butler as she removed her riding hat and gloves.
“No, my lady.” He took her items in hand.
“Her parents?”
“This is the Reverend Charles Compton come to call, my lady.”
Delight and terror froze her. Charlie, here? Why? She’d not seen him since she left the Courtlands nearly a year ago. But he’d written the tenderest letters and when each one arrived, she prayed he was well and still wanted her. Yet he’d never intimated that was so but sent her news of his days—and revealed that he was writing articles as a reformist as a Reverent Peoples in theEdinburgh Review. That was shocking and oh, so delightful to read. And now, the latest shocking bit, that he was suddenly, surprisinglyhere! “Where is he?”With my father?
“I showed him to the yellow drawing room.” He eyed her oddly as if she were a silly goose, his mouth curving in a smile. Was he enjoying this rare melodrama of a man come to call on her? “Shall I announce you?”
“No. That’s…unnecessary.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. Flustered, she questioned how she looked. Ragged from riding, she supposed, but there was nothing for it. What did he want? “Is my mother with him?”My father?
“No, my lady. Your mother is in Wickerly for the charity luncheon.”
“Of course.” She’d notified Wills of her appointment earlier this morning. “And my father?”
“He is upstairs in his study, my lady. Reverend Compton told me he wished to speak to you first.”
“First?”
The poor man shrugged in apology. “That is what he said.”
“I see.” She didn’t.
“I saw fit to give him tea and told him you would return soon.”
“You did well. Very well.” She could only hope to do as much. She pointed toward the upstairs yellow salon. “I’ll go.”
“A fine idea.” He was amused.
If she waited any longer, he’d be chuckling.
She all but ran up the staircase.
She whirled into the drawing room and fell back against the door. Her heart—foolish thing—pounded in a joyous tattoo.
Oh, he looked as appealing as he had the very first time she’d cast eyes upon him. So tall, so ruggedly dark and swarthy, so fit, he seemed somehow…larger than before. He met her gaze frankly with the severe intent of a male animal, an objective she saw at once to be intimate and yet, tempered by decades of social injunctions. His smile was slow and broad, a welcome of such heat and sexuality that she caught her breath. He wore his black, the well-tailored breeches and frock coat that denoted his profession. But the waistcoat beneath his coat was a blinding emerald brocade with a polish that matched the fires in his eyes.
