Page 58 of Lady Willa's Divinely Wicked Vicar
“A man is involved, I gather?”
Wills nodded. “He is.”
“And the problem there was what?” Luella certainly did not worry about being too intrusive regarding her personal matters.
Wills gave a rueful laugh. “Not him. He is…divine.”
“But? Your mother disliked him or—?”
“He has no money. Little position. My father dismisses him as unimportant. And lastly?” Wills sighed. “I thought if I accepted him I might kill him.”
Luella caught herself from spitting her tea across the room. A serviette to her lips, she cleared her throat. “Pardon me. What?”
With great chagrin, Wills explained the death of her two suitors and her superstition.
Luella shifted in her chair, pensive and wary. “I see. Do you believe in such things as a regular rule? Black cats. Bad luck at the races. Ghosts?”
Wills frowned, sure about all those. “No, no. Just the deaths.”
“Come now. Do you really believe you killed them?”
“Well, I—”
“Did you wish them dead?” Luella asked that, a scowl upon her pretty face.
“No. Never.”
“Oh, good. I would have thought you rather odd, you see, if you did. Not a jolly idea to curse someone, is it?”
“But I was so aggrieved when they did each pass away. I could not recover. The very idea that they were so young. So bereft of joy. Waltzes and hunting and ices and laughter. No more Christmas puddings or syllabub. No arguments with their friends over cards. No new coats to buy or ships to sail. No oysters for dinner or chess games to win. Their deaths seemed so unfair. I hated God for it. Hated—”
“That you survived and they did not,” Luella said with a far away look in her eyes.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“And so you created this other myth—” She waved a hand in the air. “That put the blame on you instead. And forced you to coil inward.”
“Because…because I never wanted to feel such sorrow again.” Willa stared down at her hands in her lap.
“But you know you will.”
“Yes,” she admitted this too in a strangled little voice. “Because now…now I cannot bear the grief of not having him to love.”
Luella took from her sleeve a handkerchief and stuffed it into Willa’s hand. “Dry your tears, my dear. There. Good. Now. Tell me. Is this divine man yours to have?”
She shook her head, confused.
“He’s not married or engaged to another, is he?”
“No, nothing like that. He’s a vicar.”
Luella’s beautiful blue eyes drifted closed. “A man of God who calls you from despair to the heights of love, but has not a penny to his name.”
Willa sighed. “He’s tried so very valiantly to improve himself. He writes for theEdinburgh Review. He has also written novels. Hoping to arouse the gentry to the understanding that they are—”
“Killing their tenants with enclosure acts and starving them with the gaming laws. Paying them a pittance in the factories. Oh, dear me. Is this divine man of yours Reverend Peoples?”
Willa fell back to her chair. “How marvelous you have heard of him.”
