Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (63 page)

“We are fortunate that you are a soldier, my lord,” Brooks said.

“I
was
a soldier.”

He waved aside the words. “You have been trained how to protect yourself as well as those who depend on you, and we need those skills in Sanctuary Bay now.”

Had his face gone deathly pale? His skin felt clammy. Vera started to rise but sat when he motioned with his fingertips for her to stay where she was. He gulped, then squared his shoulders.

“I trust, Mr. Brooks,” Mr. Fenwick said, “you are not suggesting we declare war on our neighbors.”

Brooks shook his head. “Our faith teaches that we should love our neighbors, but I know, my lord, that you share my dismay at the sorry state of affairs in this parish since the smugglers have grown more brazen. When I accepted the post as the parish's justice of the peace, I had great hopes of seeing the criminals brought before my court, but then I realized that the only way to end these crimes was to find the leader and hand out the proper punishment.”

“It may not be as simple as that.” Edmund pushed away from the window and sat on the arm of Vera's chair. It took all his willpower not to reach down and lace his fingers through hers. “A peer charged with a felony must be tried in the House of Lords.”

“A peer?” Brooks's eyes grew wide. “You are jesting me!”

“I wish I were.” He explained what his cousins had overheard at Christmastime when the smugglers had grown bolder and more careless. “While the leader might not be of the peerage, he must be a man of property and prestige who lives within a reasonable distance of Sanctuary Bay. That gives us a very short list of possibilities.”

The justice of the peace said nothing for several minutes as he pondered the information. When he finally spoke, his voice was slow, as if he could barely bring himself to say the words. “If we believe what was overheard and reported to you, my lord, then there can be only three men who fit that description. The leader must live close enough to Sanctuary Bay to see the smugglers obey his orders.”

“Three?” asked Mr. Fenwick.

“Lord Ashland, Sir Nigel and, excuse me, my lord, but I must add your name to the list.”

Edmund laughed tersely. “You would be remiss if you didn't, but you should add yours, as well, Brooks.”

“Quite to the contrary,” Brooks said. “I appreciate your esteem, my lord, but a country squire, even one who takes on the task of serving as justice of the peace, never would be considered quality in the same breath as a viscount, a baron and a baronet. If you doubt me, ask those in the village whom you trust. They will tell you the same as I do.”

Edmund stood and went back to lean against the windowsill as Brooks and the vicar continued to discuss Stanley Cadman's murder and how it might lead them to the smugglers' leader. He appreciated their enthusiasm, but he could not believe that
his qualityship
would be careless and leave a clue along with the body of a dead man. He was beginning to doubt that they would ever discover the truth.

* * *

Vera was relieved when one of the Brooks children came to the door, more than two hours later, to ask if Mrs. Brooks should accept Lady Meriweather's offer for the family to spend the night at Meriweather Hall. Without additional clues to lead them to the person giving orders to the smugglers, the conversation had been going around and around and getting nowhere.

The men must have realized that, as well, because Mr. Brooks asked them to excuse him while he saw his family home. Gregory went with him and Edmund, asking their opinions if there should be more than one bell in the church's tower when it was completed.

She stayed where she was, exhausted by the day's events. She could think of several things she should do, but she did not move. Staring out the window, she watched rain curve down the glass, blurring the view of the sea. She did not realize tears were sliding down her cheeks, as well, until a gentle finger swept them away. Raising her eyes, she saw Edmund beside her.

“If I am the cause of these tears, I am sorry,” he said, his voice the low rumble of half-heard thunder.

“You do not need to apologize.”

“But I do.” He caressed her face, and his eyes were filled with sorrow. “I upset you in the garden. I am not sure how or why, but if you will tell me, I vow I will not again.”

“Thank you.”

He waited for her to go on, then asked, “Will you tell me what I did to distress you? Tell me how I can make it up to you.”

She started to answer but feared as soon as she spoke the truth, everything would change between them. Everything had to change eventually. If he did not wed Lillian, he would marry another woman of the
ton.
After that, nothing could be the same for them. No more long evenings of sitting and planning the church and talking of many other things. They could continue to work together on the church, but she truly would be nothing more than an assistant. That role she had yearned to break out of, but she would gladly assume it again if she could recapture the special times they had shared.

Life was uncertain, as Stanley's death had shown. All that was inevitable was change, and if their relationship must change, then...

She slipped her hand up his sleeve. His eyes widened in astonishment when she stood so her hand could curve around his nape. Knowing what she risked, but willing to pay the price when she might never have another chance to make this precious dream come true, she lowered his head and brushed his lips with hers. Shock riveted her. Not just at her own outrageous behavior, but at how a sweet warmth rippled out from the kiss to her fingertips.

Stepping back, she could not meet his eyes. “I am sorry. I should not have done that.”

“No, you should not have done that.” His hands framed her face. “I should have done this.”

His mouth caressed her damp cheeks with a gentleness that captivated her. Laughter, joyous laughter bubbled deep in her throat. When he found her lips again, he pulled her into a deep embrace. She slid her hands beneath his arms and across his back's strong muscles.

Voices coming along the corridor compelled her to step back, though she longed to remain in his arms. She looked up into his eyes and was lost anew in these precious, fragile sensations that bound them together.

His name was called, and, not shifting his gaze from her, he whispered, “I have to go, Vera.”

She nodded, unable to speak, as she wished she could make the rest of the world stay away a little longer.

He started to say something more, but his name was called more insistently. He stroked her cheek before walking away.

Unable to turn to watch Edmund leave the room, Vera heard him answering whoever had called to him and listened as his voice faded along with the other one in the corridor as they walked away. Then, closer, she heard a throat clear.

She looked over her shoulder to where Gregory stood in the doorway. His face was colorless and his voice held no emotion as he said, “Not again, Vera.”

He was gone before she could speak. But what could she have said? That she knew it appeared as if she were letting history repeat itself by possibly jeopardizing her brother's living by kissing Edmund? She knew that, and like before, she had tossed aside good sense and listened to her heart.

She sank to the chair and covered her face with her hands. She had known that the joy of the stolen moment of being in Edmund's arms would be short-lived. She simply had not guessed how short.

Chapter Thirteen

E
veryone seemed to be busy with some task...except Vera. The household staff did their regular daily chores, and Lady Meriweather was conferring with her housekeeper and cook. Gregory had shut himself away in his room to work on the next sermon. Or so she assumed, because her brother had not spoken to her since those three accusing words yesterday in Edmund's office. Nor had she spoken to Edmund, who before breakfast had ridden into the village to speak to people he trusted. He wanted to affirm Mr. Brooks's statement that nobody in the village would ever think of him as
his qualityship.

Maybe she could concentrate if she had not chanced to see her brother walking past the armor by the book room yesterday and going in. She had thought he was looking for a book, but, before the door closed, she had heard him say, “Lord Meriweather, we must talk about Vera.”

She had been tempted to press her ear to the door to hear what was said. She already knew what Gregory would say as he revealed her great shame to Edmund. How had Edmund reacted? With anger that she had kept the truth from him, letting him think he had done something wrong in the garden to upset her? Or had he been sorry he kissed her, thinking her free with her affections? Oh, how she ached to tell him that, when she had fallen in love with Nolan Hedgcoe, she had been only a foolish girl with air-dreams of first love. That young girl was long gone, destroyed along with her youthful fantasies. Now...

She wished she could state as emphatically how she felt now. She could easily fall in love with Edmund, but she knew that yearning was as doomed as her calf-love for Nolan. Saying that aloud would be more painful than anything else in her life, even more than disappointing her brother again.

Vera stopped in midstep as she saw someone walking toward her. Her heart skipped. Was it Edmund? The man strode through the house with the ease of familiarity. But the man was too tall, and, when he neared, his black hair was burnished by the sunshine with streaks of blue. A scar along his left cheek where a French blade had struck him instantly identified him.

“Lord Northbridge!” she exclaimed.

“Miss Fenwick!” he said, feigning an identical amount of shock. He became somber as he added, “Meriweather told me that you and the vicar were staying here. I was very sad to hear about the fire at the church. As you can guess, that church holds a special place in my heart and in Sophia's.”

The earl and the late baron's older daughter had been the last ones married in the old church. She could remember how happy everyone had been that day when the Meriweather family had set aside their grief from the previous baron's death and celebrated.

“I had not heard you were visiting Sanctuary Bay,” she said, trying to keep her own sorrow hidden. “Are Sophia and the children here, too?”

“I made this a lightning fast ride north, so I didn't bring the children. As well, we thought it for the best for Sophia not to travel now.” A grin on his stern face betrayed what his words meant. Sophia must be in an interesting condition, for no woman would risk her unborn child by journeying on rutted roads.

Vera wanted to offer her congratulations, but until an official announcement was made, she had to wait. She guessed the truth shone from her eyes as she said, “I am sure you and your family will make many other trips to Sanctuary Bay.”
And I hope I will be here to see you.
She tried to shake her dreary thoughts from her head, but they refused to be budged.

“I don't think the children would allow me not to.” Lord Northbridge's smile broadened. “Michael is already clamoring to see the sea, as he says, but I believe he wants to come back to enjoy the nursery.”

“Have you heard from the newlyweds?”

“Yes.”

“Are they enjoying their travels through Italy?”

“Why don't you ask them yourself?” He grinned.

“They are here?”

“Surprise!” called a beloved voice from behind her.

Vera whirled. She threw her arms around Cat and hugged her; then she stepped back to appraise her dear friend. Cat's smile and her dancing brown eyes conveyed her happiness. Vera was glad her prayer for Cat to find love had been answered.

Cat held out her hand, and her tall, lanky husband came to take it. With his ginger hackles and easy smile, Mr. Bradby did not look like the solicitor he was. Her friend must already be having an effect on him because he was not wearing his usual garish jumble of clothing. Instead, he wore a simple light brown waistcoat beneath his sedate black coat.

“Mr. Bradby, how good to see you, too,” she said.

“Jonathan,” he corrected with a smile as he draped his arm over his wife's shoulders. “Cat has told me often that she thinks of you as a second sister, and it would not do for anyone in her family to be formal with me.”

Vera could manage no more than a tremulous smile. With her emotions raw, Jonathan Bradby's kindness was almost more than she could take without erupting into sobs. She must not ruin Cat's homecoming by weeping.

“That gown looks familiar.” Cat grinned.

“It should. It is yours. Your mother gave me
carte blanche
to use anything in your room.” She put her fingers to her lips as inspiration struck. She had the excuse she needed to leave before she embarrassed herself with tears. “Oh, give me a few minutes, and I will move my things out so you can use your room.”

“There is no need. Jonathan made it clear on our way here that being in that pink room for more than a few minutes might drive him crazy.” She took Vera's hands in hers. “Besides, it is
your
room now. My home is in Norwich with my husband. I never had a chance to tell you how sorry I was to hear about the fire. You left the wedding before I could even say goodbye.”

“Thank you, but we have begun to rebuild. With Edmund's knowledge of building, we are making good progress.”

She saw the looks exchanged when she used Edmund's given name. A hysterical laughter tickled the back of her throat. Whatever they imagined was wrong. She had ruined everything by kissing Edmund yesterday.

“Yes, we are,” came Edmund's voice from behind her. He pulled off his greatcoat and handed it to a footman before coming to greet his friends and younger cousin.

Vera saw her opportunity to slip away, and she took it. She thought nobody had noticed until Edmund called after her. She was too close to pretend she had not heard him, so she stopped while he asked the others to excuse him.

His smile fell away as he walked toward her. “Vera, we need to talk.”

A shudder raced down her spine, but she nodded. When he led the way to the book room, she wondered why they were not going to his private office. She was surprised to see her drawings for the church stacked on the rosewood desk. Why had he brought them from his office?

“Please, sit,” he said, his voice as taut as her brother's had been yesterday.

When she did and clasped her hands in her lap, she struggled not to ask what Gregory had said to him during their conversation in the book room. She wished Edmund would draw her into his arms again and tell her that was where she should always be, but instead he leaned back on the edge of the desk.

“I wanted you to be the first to know, Vera. I confirmed what Brooks said. Nobody I talked to at the church or in the village would describe him as quality.” He grimaced. “I have always hated that term, but never more than now when a member of the so-called quality is a thief and a murderer.”

Relief coursed through her. Maybe he and Gregory had spoken of something other than her mistakes. She chided herself. Instead of thinking about her own concerns, she should be thinking, as Edmund was, about the vital task of halting the smugglers.

“Then Mr. Brooks probably isn't the smugglers' leader,” she said.

“No, and I am glad to hear that. Brooks has a sense of integrity and morality that is better suited to a justice of the peace than a criminal. From what we have seen, the real leader cares nothing about God's gifts of life as long as he keeps a tight hand on his contraband.”

“That leaves us with two suspects.”

“Both highly intelligent men who will be difficult to trap.” He folded his arms over his chest and raised his gaze to the ceiling. She recognized that pose. He knew a decision must be made, and he was wondering how he could possibly be expected to make it.

Lord, comfort Edmund,
she prayed.
Only You and he know why he suffers so. Only You can guide him out of the darkness of indecision that he has created around himself. He wants Your help. I know he does. And I want him to be happy. Truly happy, even if that means he spends his life with Lillian. Let me understand and accept that.

She unclasped her hands in her lap. She had not expected the prayer to take that direction when she had opened her heart to God. For a moment, she longed to take the last part back, to say she did not really mean it. Pain surged through her at the thought of him kissing another woman as sweetly as he had her.

Pushing the thoughts aside, she forced herself to think about how to capture the smuggler's leader. Ideas formed and were tossed aside. They needed to do something as devious as the leader would do himself. A flicker of another idea flashed through her mind. It was only the seed, but maybe it was enough to get started.

“Edmund, both Lord Ashland and Sir Nigel have more than their share of arrogance. If there were a way to use that against them, we could set a trap and capture the one leading the smugglers. We could put out the word that you are planning to meet someone else who has the information Stanley did—”

“I will not risk anyone else's life.”

“You wouldn't, if that person was safely behind the walls of Meriweather Hall before the rumor is started.”

He shook his head. “That is no guarantee the person would be safe.”

Vera sighed. “You are right. Maybe you should ask Lord Northbridge and Jonathan. They might have some ideas.”

“I will do that.” He pushed himself away from the desk.

“I think that's the best decision at the moment.”

He stopped and scowled. “The best decision? Because you made it?”

“I only made a suggestion,” she replied, dumbfounded by the sudden anger in his voice. She knew he was upset about the smugglers. She was, too. He should know that.

“Suggestion?” He pointed to the drawings. “How many
suggestions
have you made to steer me to do what you want me to do?”

She set herself on her feet. “I have never tried to manipulate you. Never, Edmund.” She wanted to add that she was not like Nolan Hedgcoe who had manipulated
her.

“Maybe you did not mean to, but you did.” When pain poured out along with his words, she realized she had mistaken it for anger. “How can I expect to get better if you never give me a chance to make a decision?”

“I have given you every opportunity to make a decision.” She took a step toward him, wanting to touch him as she assured him that she had been trying to help him.

“Have you? Really?”

“I thought I had.”

He shook his head. “You always interject a comment before I can come to a decision. I would have appreciated you giving me the chance to make a decision.”

“It breaks my heart when you look lost and as if you would rather be somewhere else whenever there is a decision to be made. All I want to do is help you by showing that I understand how hard this is for you.”

“Understand?” he repeated. “You cannot understand.”

“I can try.”

He shook his head.

“Give me a chance to show you I can understand.”

“It is a waste of time. You have lived a peaceful life. You will never understand a life of war.”

“You aren't being fair.” She blinked back hot tears.

“Fair? Is it fair that I am the way I am?”

“That is not my fault.”

“Are you saying it is mine?”

How had this conversation gotten heated so swiftly? She reached out her hands to him, but he did not take them. For an endless moment, they hung in the air, an illustration of the abrupt chasm that had opened between them.

As she lowered her hands to her sides, she said, “Of course, I'm not saying it is your fault, Edmund. I am only saying that I understand how difficult it can be when—”

“You don't understand. I know you want to, but you can't ever completely understand because you never made a decision that sent more than a score of men to their deaths. They died because I made the wrong choice.”

“What?” She choked on the single word as the depth of his pain lashed out at her. Swallowing hard, she said, “Edmund, it was a war. Men die. It's sad, but it's war.”

“But these men didn't have to die.
I
decided that the foray was low risk.
I
decided which men should go, including several who were as green as the leaves on the trees.
I
made the decision that sent them to their deaths in an ambush.”

“How were you to know that ahead of time? If you made the best decision you could—”

“Don't give me platitudes!”

She bit her lip and stretched her hand out again. She took his hand, but he slipped it out of her grip and stepped back.

“I know you want to help me, but I need to help myself!” he exclaimed. “I don't want your help any longer. Not ever again, Vera!” He walked out and slammed the door behind him.

The sound was still reverberating through the room as she sank into a chair and stared at the plans scattered across the desk. Her brother's voice echoed in her mind.

Not again, Vera.

But she had done it again. She had tried to solve a problem on her own instead of handing it over to God. When she had let Nolan Hedgcoe beguile her, she had not stopped to pray for guidance about listening to her heart or to her good sense that his sudden interest in her was uncharacteristic when he had paid her scant attention before that. Instead, she had gone forward, unstoppable and never thinking of the consequences, like a charging bull. She had thought she was doing the right thing then, not realizing that he was using her as an excuse to pay court to a married woman. When the woman's husband had found out about their affaire de coeur, he had challenged Nolan to the duel that left him wounded and dying. In his grief at his heir's death, Lord Hedgecoe had discovered Vera's unintended part in his son's lies. Lord Hedgcoe had, in his anguish, lashed out and taken away Gregory's living. She had been foolish to agree to believe Nolan's excuses for leaving his horse in front of the parsonage. She had only wanted to help him.