Page 27 of A Sense of Misgiving
‘Shall we walk together?’
‘If we must. Make no mistake, Mr Bolton, I have not changed my mind about you, or about returning to Salisbury, in case my father sent you to try and persuade me. I am afraid you’ve had a wasted morning.’
‘It cannot be wasted if I have had the pleasure of seeing you again.’
‘Even when I can claim no returning pleasure?’ She quirked a brow. ‘I’m sorry if I seem rude, but I believe in plain speaking. There is less possibility of misunderstandings that way.’
He smiled, and the gesture emphasised his handsome features. Handsome but cold, she decided, as though he thought himself above most other men simply because of his calling. He and her father were much alike in that respect, and in so many others, too.
‘You looked delightful in that gown,’ he surprised her by saying.
‘I was not aware that you numbered voyeurism amongst your talents. If it can be described as a talent.’
‘You displayed yourself in the shop, which has large windows. I couldn’t help but see you. Don’t imagine that I share your father’s view and disapprove of fine attire. Quite the reverse.’ He lowered his voice. ‘You were born to wear such garments, and if only you will reconsider my offer you can be sure that I will never object to your garbing yourself in them.’
‘A generous concession, but one that I find easy to resist since I can wear them in my new position without anyone’s permission. Besides, a clergyman’s wife would never have occasion to wear them.’
‘You are in danger, foolish child, and I am trying to protect you!’
Flora stopped walking and stared at him, truly intrigued. He believed what he said, she sensed, especially since Remus was conspicuous by his absence. Flora would dearly love to know why Mr Bolton had chosen to warn her, and what he could be warning her of. ‘Danger? What danger?’
He looked away from her. ‘I cannot say precisely, but I need you to trust me.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Bolton, but that will not serve. I am perfectly safe in Lord Swindon’s employ, and the dangers you refer to are a fiction of my father’s making because he is anxious to have me back where he can control my every thought and waking moment. Go back to him, tell him you tried and failed.’
‘I am not like your father.’
‘Excuse me, but from my observations, you mimic his behaviour in every way. Perhaps that is because you have the ambition to progress your career and need to impress him.’ She waved the hand not holding her parcel. ‘I really could not say. But I do know that such a life would stifle me. That is why I escaped from it.’
‘I no longer report directly to your father.’
‘What!’ Flora stopped walking and gaped at him. It was the first thing he had said that truly astonished her. ‘I thought you were his protégé.’
‘I was, and I’ll admit that when I first came to Salisbury, I admired him.’ Flora swallowed, thinking but somehow not saying that she was glad someone had found something to admire in him. ‘He realised that I was drawn to you. It was he who suggested that we should marry. He said he would arrange it and there would be no difficulties.’
‘Yes.’ Flora ground her jaw. ‘That I can well imagine. I was an embarrassment to him with my outspoken ways and my closeness to my late grandmother, whom I preferred over him. He was desperate for me to become someone else’s responsibility.’
‘The courage it must have taken you to leave your family behind and make your own way opened my eyes to a lot of things.’
‘It did?’ Flora blinked at him, sensing that he spoke from the heart. ‘You are full of surprises today, Mr Bolton.’
‘I looked at your father’s rigid behaviour in a fresh light. He hopes to be appointed as the cathedral’s dean when that position becomes vacant.’
‘Oh, I am well aware of that, which is why he finds my behaviour so inconvenient. But still, I shall be of age in a few weeks, no longer his responsibility, and since I do not now live in Salisbury and will do nothing to deliberately embarrass him, I fail to see why he still wants me back. Surely, he is better off without me?’
‘Your father has an opponent for the position of dean. A younger, very ambitious cleric who is not high church and is ready to accept that religion must learn to adapt to the times or risk the populace losing its faith.’
‘Good grief! How very refreshing. Papa has always been of the opinion that he must be right and that his word is law. Not just with his family, but with his congregation, too. He completely lacks empathy.’
‘Yes,’ Mr Bolton said softly. ‘He does. Which is why I have transferred my allegiance to his rival. The bishop knows it and has appointed me as a sort of ecclesiastical policeman, if you like. I really have been on church business, you know. There is a vicar on the opposite side of Swindon who is undergoing a crisis of faith. I have been talking things over with him.’ A smile touched his lips. ‘I will confess that diverting through Ashton Keynes to and from the poor man’s parish took me out of my way, but well…I wanted to see you. Ridiculous, I know, but when I saw you go into that shop this morning, I knew I had done the right thing.’
‘Mr Bolton, I appreciate your candour more than you could possibly know.’
‘But you still will not consider my proposal.’ He gave a sad little nod, and she felt extremely sorry for him. She sensed that he was telling the truth, baring his soul. He cared deeply for her, but she could not return his affections.
‘I am not even sure if I believe in God anymore.’ She did believe, albeit not in the blinkered, unquestioning fashion of her father. ‘What sort of cleric’s wife would that make me?’
‘One who is not afraid to speak her mind. One who did and could again enjoy the confidence of the sick and needy. You always did know exactly how to approach them—which if you will excuse me is more than can be said for your mother, who seems to think that lecturing them and blaming them for their own misfortunes is the way to treat them.’
