Page 35 of Lady Willa's Divinely Wicked Vicar
“You mean prigs,” Wills bit off.
“Precisely. Compton is not. He’s soft.”
How dare you?Wills would not hear this lie. “Charlie is stronger, more valiant, more virtuous than ten bishops rolled together.”
Mama gave her husband her prune face. “Viscount Courtland likes him.”
Her father snorted. “I respect Courtland. Smart if often misguided. But about his vicar? I am right and I know it, because I hired a Bow Street man on him!”
“Bark! You investigated Compton?!”
“Oh, Father!” Wills clenched her fists. “Reverend Compton is a man of God. A soldier. A hero of Salamanca!”
“Vicars should be reserved!” he raved on. “Not—not soldiering.”
Wills took umbrage for the muscular, darkly enthralling creature who kissed her each night in her dreams. “He comforted the dying and wounded. Walked miles with wounded men in his arms! Saved them, I am certain of it.”
“Of course, justly so,” he conceded with a hint of humility.
She would not let him win with so little acknowledged. “He fought for his country.”
“Commendable! But Christ, he dances!”
Wills was furious!
“A moment, please, sir!” Her mama raised her voice another octave, a sign her papa was in terrible trouble. “Charles Compton is Church of England. Not a Jumper!”
“Thank the Lord!” boomed the man. “We know he’s no Methodist because he drinks!”
Mama narrowed her eyes. “As do you!”
“He gives rousing sermons.”
“Awakening the parishioners!”
Dear God!
Her father put up a palm. “Next thing we know he’ll reveal himself to be that rabble rouser, Reverend Peoples!”
Wills put a hand to her forehead. Papa needed to read Reverend Peoples to learn how desperately people needed a kind church, a caring government. The good man her papa referred to was a source of inspiration to his readers…and to her. This past winter, Reverend Peoples had also published two novels. Both had sold thousands of copies. Ranting against workers laboring long hours in mines and factories, Charlie was so popular, he was oft referred to by those on the floor of the Commons. To many, Peoples was a beacon and a blessing. To those who favored the status quo—like her papa—a thorn in their sides.
Wills would procliam that good man’s value any day, any hour. “The good reverend tells tales we should all hear.”
“He’s teaching them to revolt!” He shook a finger at her and her mother.
“Bark.” The lady scowled at her husband of thirty-one years. “I would too if my vicar cried with me over my poverty, praised me for my fortitude, then took my bread as thank you for saying prayers over my bare cupboard and my skinny body!”
Done with this, Wills put up a hand. “Stop. I am going to this party. And yes, I will see the Reverend Charles Compton. I will!”
“Don’t you think,” said her father, “before you go that you should make decisions about your marriage?”
She fixed him with blank eyes. “I’ll tell you when I return.”
Two days later, on the way to the Courtlands’ party, Wills ordered the family coachman to stop at an inn on the main road. Wills had made her acquaintance with the owner of the Horse and Dog last year when she’d traveled to the May Day party.
Wills ran inside, leaving her maid Mary bewildered as to why she’d not allow her the duty of fetching whatever Wills wished from the innkeeper’s wife. Posting the newest letter from ‘Miss Edith Stanley’ to a lady in Brighton, Wills secured her future and rejoiced in her ingenuity.
Then she quickly returned to her carriage and squeezed Mary’s hand. “Tell no one we stopped, please.”
