Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (58 page)

“Here I am!”

Lillian ran down the hallway, threw her arms around Edmund, rocking him back on his heels. Had she gone around the bend? Sudden insanity was the only reason he could imagine that she would act so
outré.
He raised his hands, but lowered them quickly. He could not push her aside. That would be ill-mannered. On the other hand, if he let her continue to cling to him, he might find himself in hot water with Sir Nigel. What to do...?

He looked over her head and toward Vera for help before he even realized what he was doing. In the moment before she drew an emotionless mask over her face, pain flashed in her eyes. Then Vera hurried away, and he was left with Lillian hugging him and a broadly smiling Sir Nigel and the knowledge that he had hurt Vera because he had not been able to decide what to do.

Again.

Chapter Eight

A
fortnight later, Gregory had returned with good news from the bishop, who was pleased to hear that the parish had found a new home in the chapel at Meriweather Hall. Instead of working with Edmund as Vera had expected, her brother spent time writing to publishers and booksellers to find copies of the books burned in the fire. He seemed to receive a package at least every other day from Hatchard's or Lackington, Allen & Company's bookshops in London as well as others in York and Edinburgh. He focused on reading those and left the details of rebuilding the church to her and Edmund.

Vera made every effort to work with Edmund, though the memory of Lillian embracing him remained between them, an invisible wall that she had no idea how to climb over. He was trying to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, too, but he had hosted both Lillian and Sir Nigel twice in the past fortnight, much to the delight of his aunt who had bluntly asked him last evening where he thought his and Lillian's wedding should be held. A flush had risen out of his collar before he had pardoned himself and left the table. Mrs. Uppington had continued to quiz Gregory about various churches in the area where banns could be read. Partway through the conversation, unable to listen to more, Vera had made her own excuses and withdrawn.

The match would be deemed an excellent one by the Beau Monde. A new lord marrying the daughter of a family that had been titled for generations, combining two prominent Yorkshire families. She should be happy for both of them.

She was not, because she could see that Edmund was not in love with Lillian. Yes, the
ton
married for other reasons than love, but Edmund was new to the highest realms of Society. Like her, he had a working-class view that love was necessary for a marriage. She kept reminding herself, Edmund's plans were none of her bread-and-butter. Their focus should be on the new church. That was why, at least every other day, they had gone to check on the progress.

Last week, the cellar for the new church building had been finished. It was lined with stone from the vicarage, as well as rocks brought from nearby fields. There had been some suggestion of taking rocks from the abandoned tunnel, but that could lead to more collapses. Nobody wanted to risk that.

More building supplies had arrived and were stacked near the site. They were guarded closely by men from Meriweather Hall. Vera admired Edmund's foresight, even though she was unsure if the smugglers would halt the new church from being built. There was no threat for them with the new building as there had been with the old. She wondered what might have happened if the tunnel had been discovered in the church cellar
before
the fire.

The breeze was, for a change, coming off the land as Vera and Edmund were driven toward the village. Warmth brought hopes of spring and an end to the winter that had been longer and colder and snowier than even the oldest residents of Sanctuary Bay could remember.

“May I ask you a question?” Edmund asked, cutting into her thoughts.

“Certainly.” She tried to keep her voice from revealing how startled she was by the question. In the past two weeks, the trips to and from the church had been mostly in silence.

“You have known Sir Nigel longer than I have. Do his recent actions strike you as odd?” A smile pulled at his lips. “Maybe I should ask—do they strike you as odder than usual?”

“You would do better to ask my brother about that. I have spoken to Sir Nigel infrequently. Gregory has been at his house more often.”

“So you don't usually attend his fall gala where he shows off his artwork?”

She shook her head. “A vicar and his sister are seldom invited to such social occasions.”

“But you are good friends with the Meriweather family.”

“The Meriweathers are unique in not judging one by one's social standing.”

His light brown brows rose. “I never thought of it that way, though the whole family welcomed me without question.”

“That is how they are. Why are you asking me about Sir Nigel?”

“He seems even a bit stranger than usual.” He rubbed his chin with two fingers. “First, he sends Miss Kightly—Lillian—to Meriweather Hall, then he swoops in to take her to his estate as if she had run away. I have known him less than a year, but he did not act so out of hand before we went to Norwich for the wedding.” He pulled his hand away from his face and stared at it. “And Lillian is acting even odder than her great-uncle. Have you noticed that?”

Yes!
she wanted to shout, but she must never forget how her unbridled reactions had led to disaster before. She forced herself to ask calmly, “In what way?”

“If you have not noticed anything, then I should let it go. It may be nothing, and I don't want to besmirch her reputation by suggesting...by suggesting—”

“That she is as peculiar as Sir Nigel?”

He laughed, and she heard the carefree sound that had vanished weeks ago. “Right to the point as always, Vera. Thank you for reminding me that I should not look for trouble where there apparently is none.”

She swallowed her frustration as he began talking about what he hoped they would see at the building site. She could not listen while she berated herself. She
had
seen how extraordinarily Lillian had acted. Instead of treating Edmund with warm friendliness as she had throughout her stay at Meriweather Hall, Lillian had appeared bereft at the idea of leaving him to go home with her great-uncle.

Why?

The question taunted her, but she could not ask Edmund now, not after hinting that she had seen no changes in Lillian. She had not wanted to upset the status quo and risk her brother's favor in his eyes. Instead, she had made Edmund question his own insights and left herself frustrated.

Vera was relieved when the carriage slowed to a stop by where the new church would stand. She doubted she had heard more than a word or two of what Edmund had said during the ride, and she felt guilty that she had been rude.

Bruse, the mason who had been overseeing building the foundation, hurried over to greet them. He was a squat man, as solid as the stones and bricks he used. Thick red curls matched his wiry beard, and he squinted. Whether it was because he could not see well or because he spent a lot of time working outside, she was unsure.

“I am glad to see you, my lord,” Bruse said. “We are ready to set the first columns in place to support the main floor and the roof. I need to know if you are having aisles on either side of the center aisle or not.”

“May I say something?” Vera asked when Edmund hesitated.

“Of course!” Color rose up Edmund's face at his overly enthusiastic response.

“Gregory would prefer a single aisle in the sanctuary,” she said as if Bruse were not staring at Edmund in astonishment. “That will keep the congregation closer together so we have a true community when we worship. I think the parishioners would appreciate that, too, because it is what they are accustomed to.”

Edmund nodded. “That makes sense.” Looking at the mason, he said, “We will not have aisles on the sides, then.”

Bruse nodded. “We will still put walls beneath the joists to support the floors, but only the outer walls will be tied into the roof.”

Vera waited for Edmund's answer. He understood what the skilled laborers meant when their words often made little or no sense to her. How was she going to continue to help him? She prayed that God would show her a way. After all, she had put Edmund in this situation by not thinking how her request could lead to continuous embarrassment for him.

She sighed. No matter how much she had believed she had matured and changed, she had been as unthinking while standing beside the burned-out church as she had been before Lord Hedgcoe had sent them away. Would she never learn to consider the consequences of her words before she spoke them? She had injured Edmund when all she had wanted was to make sure the church was rebuilt so she and Gregory could continue to live and do their work in Sanctuary Bay.

* * *

Edmund tried not to make it obvious that he was watching Vera walk away after she excused herself abruptly. When he looked back at the mason as Bruse spoke about hiring a few more skilled masons, he realized he had not been successful. The mason kept his gaze on a button in the center of Edmund's waistcoat, and Bruse flinched when speaking Vera's name, clearly worried about what Edmund would do or say.

Why was nobody acting as they should? First, it had been Sir Nigel. Next, Lillian seemed to have two different women living underneath her skin—the one who treated him as a friend and the one who made no secret of the fact that she wished he would ask her to become his wife. Now, Vera, the one who always seemed the most stable and unchanging, the one he could depend on to be honest with him, was as unwilling to meet his eyes as the mason.

“You were told at the beginning to get all the men you need,” Edmund said with what shreds of his dignity he could muster.

“I will send word to Meriweather Hall to let you know who I hire and at what wage, so they can be properly paid.”

“Just make sure they are skilled.”

“We are hiring men from Whitby and Scarborough and even as far west as Pickering.” He glanced at the foundation, then tipped his cap. “I'll let the lads know that the church will have a single aisle like the old one.”

Edmund nodded. It had been a simple decision. He should have been able to make it, but he could not halt the visions of the roof falling in if he chose unwisely. Men had already died because of his misguided decisions. He did not want to let that happen again. He was grateful—again!—for Vera's suggestion.

Vera stood near the old churchyard. As if he had called her name, she turned and met his gaze. She said nothing. What was she thinking about now?

Please, make it something that requires no decision,
he prayed in desperation as he walked to where she stood.
I don't want to disappoint her.

That thought drew him up short. Before, he had thought of himself and his embarrassment when he could not make a decision. Never before had he thought about
disappointing
Vera...as he may have disappointed her when he had drawn back in the carriage the day she hurt her knee. Or maybe she had been glad he had come to his senses and not kissed her. He had no idea, and she had given him no sign.

Unable to speak of his tangled thoughts, Edmund said as he reached Vera, “You appear perplexed.”

“I am. I want to ask you about a matter that will be of greatest concern to the parishioners. Would it be possible for the lych-gate to be set so it can serve the old churchyard as well as the new?” She walked to a spot about fifteen yards away. “About here?” She returned to where he stood. “That way, those who wish to be buried with their loved ones in the old churchyard still can pass through a lych-gate on their way to the funeral service.” She smiled. “Not that it matters as much to the deceased as it does to the pallbearers who may need some rest after coming up the steep hill in the village.”

“That seems to make sense.”

Her smile broadened, and he was sure the sun had popped through the clouds. Everything seemed brighter. “I'm glad you think so, Edmund. I cannot tell you how much this will mean to everyone.”

“You know the parishioners better than I do.”

“And I hope you don't mind when I make suggestions like this.”

A suggestion that came with a solution already attached, a suggestion that did not require him to make a decision? He was grateful.

As they started back toward the carriage, she paused. “Look! Daffodils!”

A clump of yellow buds poked up out of the grass.

“Spring must finally be on its way to Sanctuary Bay,” he said.

“We need a shovel.”

“A shovel?” he repeated, confused.

“If we leave the daffodils here, they will be trampled by the workers. If you don't mind, I can transplant the bulbs to Meriweather Hall. Once a new vicarage is ready, I will move the bulbs there.”

“Trust you to care about flowers as much as you do the church.”

“The church is men's creation. Daffodils are God's.”

He savored the happy glow on her face. He had last seen that expression when he had offered the chapel for the parish's services. Lost in his own uncertainty for the past few weeks, he had failed to notice her reticence. What a horrible host he had been! Worse, he had been a wretched friend.

Friend... Since their return from Norwich, while they had worked together, she had become his friend. Now, as he looked into her shimmering eyes, the word friend no longer seemed to fit. It felt too simple for the complex feelings tangled inside him.

“It will not take long to dig the daffodils up,” Vera said. “The bulbs should be close to the surface here.”

He nodded, glad that her words pushed aside his confusing thoughts. He enjoyed spending time with her, more than with any woman he had ever met. She accepted him for himself, not as the brave, damaged warrior or the very eligible baron in need of a wife. She would make any man a good wife, so he had to make sure he did not monopolize her time and prevent her from finding the one she could love. A curious sensation rushed through him, curious and altogether repellant.

He did not allow himself to examine it closely. He gave a shout to one of the workers. The man picked up a shovel and brought it over to them.

“We'll need a box or bag to carry the bulbs in,” Vera said after thanking the fellow.

He rushed away and came back with a small box that was about six inches on each side. “Will this do, Miss Fenwick?”

“It is perfect. Thank you.”

He tipped his cap before returning to his work.

Vera held out her hand for the shovel, but Edmund shifted it out of her reach.

“You don't think I am going to let you dig them up, do you?” he asked.