Page 11 of Not Exactly Mr. Darcy
It seemed showing affection was not something Liv’s mother had learned from this woman. “And Tobias from the church said hello too.”
Gran nodded, her eyes alight with a mysterious sparkle. “He’s another one I wish to speak to. Please pass that on to him tomorrow at church.”
Liv nodded. Church tomorrow. Where obviously she’d have more digging to do.
Liam slipped into the back pew as the aged pipe organ began its wheezy rendition of “Be Thou My Vision.” He took a moment or two to collect himself, gazing at the stained glass above the white cloth of the altar. An exhalation ripped from his depths, as the stress of the past twenty-four hours slowly ebbed away. Yesterday’s rain had sprung a leak in the Orangery and drawn fresh awareness he was running out of time before the roof restoration would need to begin. Thank goodness the Hall’s roof had been repaired eight years ago. Thanks to Trinny’s will (contested by her family but upheld in court), the repairs meant it should survive another decade at least. But the Orangery roof would need fixing, its historic status meaning countless hours filling out paperwork in the hope of accessing funds he otherwise wouldn’t have.
It was the story of his life. Money he didn’t have. Hours he didn’t have. Not when the behemoth of responsibility perpetually weighed him down. Of course, yesterday’s rain hadn’t deterred some visitors who’d complained mightily about the inconvenience of stately homes and their gardens that were closed when they’d spent hours travelling in order to visit. They hadn’t listened as he tried to explain the delights of mud and ruined paths and the weeks needed to set things right. He’d been tempted to release CeeCee on them but had thought better of it. CeeCee had experienced enough fun with the dryad woman the previous day, and Liam didn’t want the dog to think she should be chasing off all newcomers. If only George had thought to properly train her when CeeCee was a pup.
The congregation commenced singing the first verse, the words of “Be Thou My Vision” recalling him to his purpose in attending today. But as he shut his eyes and the ancient melody rolled around his heart, he felt a renewed trickle of hope. Maybe God still could help him, even though he’d failed a dozen times before.
He didn’t sing, just listened as words of faith battered his reality, something that continued throughout the remaining hymns, prayers, and sermon. The congregation numbers seemed to have swelled today—probably tourists here to check out the church’s historic features, such as its parapets and tower. They might not get to see Hartbury Hall these days, but the church had been built for the Hartbury family centuries ago and contained similar features, like the red bricks and craftsman-sculpted oak fittings, so it was like they got a taste of the Hall, at least. Not that he cared about tourists. Not with the leak in the roof. Not with the patter of persistent rain. He needed to leave, preferably before Tobias pronounced the blessing after the final hymn, so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Then he could escape, could cling to this lifeline of hope all week, and—
He glanced across the church aisle. The dryad stared back, eyes wide. He blinked. Green suited her, which probably wasn’t surprising if she was related to fairy forest-dwellers. But that fast-tapering gaze didn’t scream enchantment. The opposite, rather.
The last hymn finished, the congregation remained standing, and Liam inched his way to the exit. A few more seconds, then fresh air and freedom were his.
He hurried out the doorway, gulping in dampness as he strode past puddles to his car. George’s car, really, which got its regular workout on the Sundays when Liam could make it to church. The silver MG felt pretentious, which aided his haste in exiting services before people could stop him and say—
“Hey!”
He glanced over his shoulder. Uh-oh. Dryad woman looked more dragon-like now.
“I want a word with you!” she called.
Well, too bad. The feeling wasn’t mutual. And if this rain continued, then he really didn’t have time to play nice. He had an Orangery to save.
He reached the car door and opened it, as the heavens ramped up the pressure.
A thud of footfalls preceded a hand clasping his arm. He flinched and twisted away.
Her mouth fell open, and she blinked. Blinked again. “Sorry.”
He had a funny feeling that word was supposed to be his line. He shook his head. “Actually, I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“Really?”
He nodded, hoping it covered everything—Friday’s misunderstanding, running away, flinching like he was six and thought she had girl germs—and would buy him enough time until she went back to wherever she came from. And judging from the accent, he was pretty sure that was a place far, far away.
“Oh. Well, in that case, you’re forgiven.”
The word scorched his chest like a poker. He might attend church sometimes, but forgiveness felt a long way away.
“But just so you know, you really should do something about your dog. She should be leashed. Or muzzled. What if I’d been a small child?”
He pressed his lips together. Offered another nod he hoped looked penitent enough. Of course, he didn’t want another tragedy to happen to an innocent life—he beat himself up enough as it was.
Still she kept talking. “What does C.C. stand for anyway?” Her head tilted, like she wasn’t bothered by this rain. “Let me guess: Crazy Canine? Chopper Chomps?”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Oh, I know: Chaser of Clueless Chicks.”
“No,” he deadpanned. “For then she’d be called CeeCeeCee.”
She flicked away a damp clump of hair as a grin suffused her face. “Oh, look who’s cracking jokes! Soon you’ll be doing stand-up at the Duck Inn.”
Only if Hades froze over. He frowned. It better not freeze over.
