Page 49 of Lady Willa's Divinely Wicked Vicar
Chapter 10
Why was she not here?
He scanned the ballroom once more and found Wills nowhere. Her negativity earlier this afternoon alarmed him. Cynicism was so unlike her. Except for that silliness about killing those to whom she was engaged.
Still. She loved a party. Thrilled to dancing.
Was she ill? Sick of him, most likely. He couldn’t blame her. He was sick of his own failings. Little success with luring George Billoughby from his drink. Failure to collect enough tithes to pay for a new roof for his own cottage. To say nothing of his ability to persuade his bishop to recommend a curate to help him. Or his failure to make a good enough argument to Viscount Courtland to increase wages in his factories again. And his other self? Reverend Peoples lived in the shadows. Praise for that good man of God in Parliament was one thing. But reform of the church and society took time. They even made headlines, but they did not bring income to support a wife.
He had to talk to her. Ease her sadness if he couldn’t soothe his own.
“Oh, good sir!” One of the Courtlands’ guests—Lady Pindell, was it?—peered up at him. “How wonderful to see you here. I am eager to hear your message tomorrow morning at the wedding.”
“Kind of you, Ma’am.” She was so short, he could surreptitiously peruse the room over her giant purple turban.
“You served a hearty meal to us in your sermon last year.”
“Did I? I’m pleased you remember.” He did not. A flash of sapphire appeared on the balcony above. He blinked as his heart filled with the vision of Willa in all her finery.
“Indeed, I told my son you raised good arguments against putting children to work in the mines. My husband had numerous investments in Welsh copper mines, God rest his soul. I always said putting boys down those holes was bad for their health.”
“And did he stop the practice? Your husband?”
“No. He called it a waste not to use them. So economical, however.”
Charlie frowned down at the wealth of her gems and silks afforded by that ‘waste’. “I believe it is the duty of a man of God to present his parishioners less opium and more gruel.”
She tittered, her little eyes fluttering in confusion. “I… Sir? Well, yes, yes.” Then she recovered and pressed the points of her ivory fan to his evening coat. “I understand you and the bride are friends. How charming.”
“We are indeed, Ma’am.” The vision in brilliant sapphire turned away from the balustrade. Was Wills headed down here?
“A wonder you are not the groom then, Vicar. My oldest daughter once had her hopes on the local curate. Sweet girl. We would have allowed her her infatuation, but another gentleman presented himself at just the right moment.”
He set his teeth. He could bet that the fortunate man had more money than the curate. “How fortuitous.”
Willa appeared at the far door, glancing about the crowded room.
“Men of the cloth are so godlike,” the lady dithered on.
“Are they?” He’d taken his own cloth, so to speak, because he’d been told at any early age it was the profession open to him. Serving the Church had brought him pleasure when he disrupted others’ stoicism, but it had given him little satisfaction emotionally or financially.
“Do look at yourself!” She examined him up and down as if she were a girl flirting with him. “A handsome specimen of manhood. A hero, too.”
“No, no.” He offered the lady before him a tight smile.
“Dear sir, modesty becomes you. But you did rescue a few men when they were in need.”
Charlie winced. The memory of one man turning his stomach. He’d found his boyhood friend, Lord Farnsworth, on the battlefield of Salamanca, his leg a pulp, mangled below the knee. “I could not allow him to bleed to death.”
“Never! My son-in-law, Lord Emley. You know him, I’m sure. He told me he saw you lift one man after another in your arms and carry them forth to the surgeon. Amid fire and brimstone. Miraculous.”
“Hellish, actually, Madam. War is hell. The miracle occurs when sufficient numbers of men are ruined on each side that the fools who started the fight, see fit to call it quits.” He shot his cuffs. “Excuse me, will you, please?”
The woman stood aside, fanning herself in confusion at his temper.
But he was all for the lady in blue.
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