Page 60 of Lady Willa's Divinely Wicked Vicar
Chapter 13
Courtland Green
Tuesday, May 7, 1816
The most outrageous characteristic of tiny old English chapels was the chill. The dust she accepted. The mold irritated her, made her sneeze…or she was most sure it was the mold, in any case. But Wills had never totally enjoyed her Sunday mornings in the pews because of the damp. She’d always been well dressed, suitably attired for the hour-long service and the usually uninspired sermons. This afternoon she huddled in her good green plaid wool redingote with black fox collar and hoped she might impress Charles Compton to find a way to make this chapel, if no other in the country, cozier. After all, the word of God should warm believers but could do the job entirely if one could count on a high fire behind a grate. Such comfort might even increase attendance. Who could say until it were done?
Footsteps…of someone running…approached the chapel. She smiled. She’d propped the far door open for that very purpose. She didn’t wish to be surprised should the Reverend Compton return home from his sojourn to Brighton and burst in on her. Lord Courtland had informed her when she appeared on his doorstep earlier of Charlie’s mission to Brighton.
“Once your friend tells him you’ve returned to us, dear Willa, he will fly home.”
The viscount was in a joyous and forgiving mood. Even to she, who had added to his notoriety and his distress, when she, as well as his daughter, had disappeared from the family wedding festivities. Remarkable that. Wills’s own father would not be so magnanimous, she was certain. But Lord Courtland was a man of greater largesse, full of delight at the news he’d received early this morning that his daughter had been found by and married to her betrothed the Marquess of Northington days ago. The bridegroom had also miraculously fabricated an excuse to give to the clergyman whom he persuaded to marry them in haste in a small church east of here.
Willa girded herself for her comeuppance. Its very embodiment marched down the aisle in clipped, harsh steps upon the stones. Would that her own restitution to the world might be as easy. And as quick.
She stood in her pew. And turned.
Oh, my. Charlie was quite angry.
Never more so.
And never so thrilling to her eye.
* * *
She was a vision he’d never thought to see again. Bright—chipper even—in her magnificent plaid ensemble, her little matching bonnet tipsy on her rich black hair. She even smiled. Beamed at him! The scamp.
He came to a halt. His hat, he dropped to the stone floor. His arms, he spread wide in frustration. His heart, full of questions, he opened to her. “I don’t understand you.”
She glanced away at the altar, frowned at the gold Cross, and then looked back upon him, her smile once more on her luscious lips. “I’ve returned. The prodigal woman.” She chuckled at her silly double entendre.
“Oh, that’s funny.” But he didn’t laugh.
She knit her brows. “You’re angry.”
“No.”
“No?” She tipped her head and that hat of hers did, too. She pulled it off, sailed it to the pew and her ebony curls spilled over her shoulders. Witch.
“I am furious!” He spread his arms. Windmilled them, actually. A mad man, he was! “You ran away. No word. We’ve been crazed. I—” He stepped closer to her, his fingers jabbing his chest. “Ihave been out of my mind to find you.”
She grinned.
Ohhhh.That boiled his liver! “You gave us heart palpitations. You changed your name. Edwina Stanley! Who in h—” He glanced at the altar. “Forgive me.Who isEdwina Stanley?”
“Edith.”
He jammed his hands on his hips. “What?”
“I changed my name to Edith Stanley not Edwina.”
He ran both hands through his hair. Took a step toward her.
She shrank back a bit.
Well, he didn’t wish to frighten her, for heaven’s sake.
“I made the name up. It sounded like a governess. A stuffy one.”
