A Bride for the Baron

She began, “I need you to—”

“Lord Meriweather!” came a shout from the hallway.

A ginger-hackled footman careened to a stop by the open door.

Vera recognized him but was not sure of his name. Heat slapped her face when his gaze focused on Lord Meriweather’s hands cupping hers. She hastily jerked her hands away, clasping them on her lap.

“Oh, my lord, I didn’t mean to intrude. That is...” The footman’s face became as ruddy as his hair.

Standing, Lord Meriweather said, “Carl, Miss Fenwick would like tea and something to eat brought here as soon as possible.”

The footman nodded but carefully did not look again at either her or the baron.

“What is your message?” Lord Meriweather asked.

“Sir Nigel’s carriage has come through the gate.” Carl’s voice was so low that Vera had to strain to hear it.

“Has Miss Kightly been informed?”

“I am on my way there now, my lord.” He rushed away.

Lord Meriweather turned to face Vera again. “If you will excuse me, Miss Fenwick. Perhaps we can finish our discussion later.”

“Whenever is convenient for you.” She was surprised that he acted as if the footman’s reaction to discovering them alone in Cat’s bedroom was nothing out of the ordinary. She decided to follow his lead and pretend that there soon would not be whispers belowstairs about the baron and the vicar’s sister holding hands. “Or we can finish it while we walk downstairs.”

“Don’t you want to stay here and rest?”

“Yes.” She sighed as she pushed herself to her feet. “But I want to thank Miss Kightly for being such a good companion on our way north from Norwich. She let me babble on about my hopes and fears for the parish church, and not once did she say what I’m sure was in her mind—that she was tired of hearing me say the same things over and over.”

“If you would like, I can convey that to her.”

“No. I should thank her myself.”

“As you wish.” He offered his arm.

She hesitated. Nothing would add to the gossip about him holding her hands more than being seen only minutes later with her hand on his arm.

He smiled coolly. “Miss Fenwick, surely you know from your long association with my cousins and this household that nothing we do or say can halt the wagging tongues of those who misconstrue my attempt to comfort you in the wake of the fire.”

“I understand that, but...” Again the warmth surged up her face.

“You are worrying needlessly. Exactly as you know the people here and the village well, they know you and will give no credence to any whispers of you acting like a featherbrain.”

Vera put her hand on his sleeve so she could avoid meeting his eyes. If he had any idea of how she had been extremely foolish before she and Gregory had found a haven in Sanctuary Bay, he would not be offering that assurance.

She was glad that Sir Nigel bustled into the entry hall as she and Lord Meriweather descended the stairs. Sir Nigel had snow-white hair and the wide stomach of a well-fed man. His greatcoat was spotted with rain. He ignored the footman waiting to take it as he looked up the stairs and scowled.

“Where is Lillian?” Sir Nigel demanded without the courtesy of a greeting.

Beside her, Lord Meriweather stiffened as they stepped into the entry hall, but his smile appeared genuine as he said, “She has been alerted of your arrival.”

“Didn’t she get the message I sent here for her? It told her what time I would be here.” The baronet puffed up like an affronted rooster.

“I got it,” Miss Kightly said as she came down the stairs, her steps light on each tread. Behind her, Carl carried her bags and kept his gaze focused on the floor. “Here I am, Uncle Nigel.”

Vera stepped aside as Miss Kightly walked past her to give her great-uncle a kiss on the cheek. The blonde stepped back, glanced toward Vera with what seemed to be a meaningful expression and then turned to Lord Meriweather. What message had Miss Kightly been trying to convey? Whatever it was, Vera could not decipher it.

“Oh, my dear girl,” Sir Nigel gushed. “When I heard you were riding back here from the wedding, I wanted to get you to my house right away. It may not be safe here in the wake of recent events.”

“Don’t be silly,” Miss Kightly said with a light tone that Vera had never heard her use before. She gazed up at Lord Meriweather with unadulterated admiration. “I am perfectly safe while in the company of one of England’s great heroes.”

The tips of Lord Meriweather’s ears turned red, but Vera could not guess if he was embarrassed or pleased at Miss Kightly’s praise.

There was no question how Sir Nigel felt, because his forehead ruffled as his scowl deepened. “Meriweather, this has been a sorry situation.” He shook his head. “A very sorry situation. What do you intend to do about it?”

“Do?” repeated Lord Meriweather, clearly astounded by Sir Nigel’s question.

“Yes! You are the lord of Meriweather Hall, aren’t you? You are responsible for the parish church in Sanctuary Bay, aren’t you? You must have some sort of plan of what to do since it burned down.”

Vera almost said, Since it was burned down by the smugglers. She pressed her lips closed, knowing it was not her place to speak up during a conversation between her social betters. If she humiliated Lord Meriweather in front of his neighbor, he could turn his frustration on her and Gregory as Lord Hedgcoe had. Not that she believed the baron was as vindictive as Lord Hedgcoe had been, but she could not take that risk. Not when Gregory’s living depended on Lord Meriweather’s good will.

“Lord Meriweather intends to rebuild the church,” Miss Kightly said with a broad smile. “Isn’t that marvelous? And generous.” She almost cooed the last words as she put her hand possessively on Lord Meriweather’s arm.

Vera lowered her eyes, but not quickly enough to miss Lord Meriweather’s shock at Miss Kightly’s bold motion. Maybe that was how members of the ton acted with one another. Neither she nor the new baron had much experience in that direction. Was he as uncomfortable with Miss Kightly’s actions as he was with her great-uncle’s verbal assault? As uncomfortable as Vera was?

“It is,” Sir Nigel said in the same uncompromising tone, “the very least he could do for the parish when he was not here to help.”

“Uncle, be fair,” Miss Kightly implored. “We were attending his cousin’s wedding.” She raised her eyes back to Lord Meriweather’s taut face. “He hurried here as soon as he could.”

“The church should have been torn down when the roof caved in.” The baronet seemed to notice Vera for the first time. “Now neglect has led to this fire that has destroyed not only the parish church but the vicarage.”

Vera met his gaze steadily, but as with Miss Kightly, she could not read what Sir Nigel’s narrowed eyes intended to convey. When he looked away first to stare at his great-niece, she was curious about the unspoken conversation she was not privy to. Something was going on, something that had to do with Miss Kightly’s oddly brazen behavior and her great-uncle’s ridiculous accusations.

“Come along, Lillian,” Sir Nigel said, motioning for the footman to take her bags out to his carriage. “There is no need to linger here any longer.”

Miss Kightly gave Lord Meriweather a long hug that startled him and made Vera ill at ease for reasons she could not quite explain. Her stomach tightened painfully, and she could not pull her eyes from the embrace, even though she knew she should. Instead, she waited for Lord Meriweather to put his arms around the blonde. He did not before Miss Kightly released him. For some reason, seeing that allowed Vera’s stomach to unclench ever so slightly.

It compressed again when Miss Kightly turned to throw her arms around Vera. As she hugged Vera, Miss Kightly whispered, “I’m sorry.”

She did not know how to respond because she had no idea why Miss Kightly had said those two simple words. Were they to express again her dismay about the fire at the church, or were they an apology for something else?

“Come along,” Sir Nigel said again when Miss Kightly had accepted his help in putting on her coat. “It’s a cold, wet drive back home.” As he put his arm around his great-niece’s shoulders, he said, “Now that you are here, Meriweather, I trust you will decide what to do to make things right.”

The baron recoiled as if Sir Nigel had struck him, and, in a way, he had. The baronet had targeted Lord Meriweather’s most vulnerable spot.

Before she could halt herself, she said, “Sir Nigel, Lord Meriweather has already made some excellent decisions toward rebuilding the church. Both my brother and I are very pleased that he has offered his expertise to assist. I am sure you are glad to hear that, as well.”

“Yes, yes,” the baronet said before hurrying Miss Kightly out the door.