The Widow of Larkspur Inn (70 page)

“You poor dear.” Ambrose caught her up in his arms again. As she rested her head against his shoulder, he said into her hair, “I know you would have wanted them. But we’ll make such a full life that you’ll be happy, Fiona.”

“I’m already happy,” she murmured.

“May I ask what is going on?” A voice, knife-sharp and full of indignation, came from the doorway. Fiona gasped and jumped back from Ambrose’s arms.

“Mrs. Leighton!”

Her mistress still wore her gloves and hat, the ferret eyes narrowed into slits. “So, Miss O’Shea! Your ‘superior’ morals make exceptions for stealing your employer’s time?”

Fiona could feel her heart pounding in her throat. Before she could respond, Ambrose grinned and sauntered over to the door with arm outstretched. “So very good to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Leighton,” he drawled. “I’m—”

Mrs. Leighton jerked her hand away as if his had held a viper. “
You
are obviously riffraff and will leave my house immediately, or I shall send for the police!”

“Ah, well, you see, I can’t do that just right away. Miss O’Shea will need a minute to collect her belongings.” Turning to Fiona, who watched the exchange with held breath, he said, “Is there any reason we can’t be married right away, dearest? Surely we can find a minister with some time on his hands.”

“You mean, today?”

“I know you’d prefer to marry in Gresham, and so would I, but we can go back there after the honeymoon. Would somewhere like Switzerland please you? I must confess I’m not partial to Paris or Florence.”

It seemed that Mrs. Leighton was on the verge of succumbing to vapors then, for her face flushed an even deeper crimson, and sputtering noises erupted from her lips.

Fiona looked back to Ambrose. It was outrageous, the idea of marriage after a nonexistent courtship, but then, so had been the idea of taking a boat to England at the age of eighteen.
And he’s no stranger. I know what lies before me.
There would be times when he would be strong for her, and others when he would need to draw from her strength.
With God sustaining both of us.
Smiling across at him, she breathed, “Yes, Ambrose.”

His bandage shifted a bit, meaning he had raised his eyebrows in his characteristic manner. “Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there, you see?” Ambrose said to the sputtering woman at the door. “I can’t very well offer to excuse myself from the premises just yet, for I fear you’ll use the opportunity to say unpleasant things to my very-soon-to-be wife.”

“I’ll go at once.” Fiona hurried toward the door, but Mrs. Leighton stepped aside to block her with both hands on her hips.

“And so you’ll just dance out of here without giving notice, yes?”

Fiona flinched at the wrath in the voice. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m afraid that’s so, madam,” Ambrose said from her side with a theatrical “tsk” for emphasis. “Sharper than a serpent’s tooth is a thankless housekeeper. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

“I’ve had just about enough of you!” Mrs. Leighton hissed, turning on him. But then a strange thing happened. Color drained from her face, and the ferret eyes widened with shock. “
King Lear
?” she gasped.

“Well, I confess to taking some liberties with it, but—”

A hand flew up to her throat. “Why … I’ve seen you on stage. You’re Ambrose Clay!”

Gresham, being the size it was, had no telegraph wire leading to the village. Messages of an urgent nature were wired to Shrewsbury and then sent via post to the surrounding villages. This resulted in a delay of one to two days, but was still more speedy than the regular post.

So it was late on a Saturday morning, March nineteenth, that Julia was handed a wired message delivered by Mr. Jones:

MARRIED YESTERDAY STOP. LETTER TO FOLLOW STOP. TELL PHILIP NOT TO WORRY STOP. AMBROSE CLAY

After reading the message several times until her mind could absorb the full meaning of the words, Julia looked at the date it was sent. March seventeenth.
One day after he left here.
Which meant he had gone to Fiona immediately upon arriving in London.
And then married on the same day!

The recent turn of events in her own life had given Julia the conviction that engagements should be lengthy, allowing both the man and woman time to learn as much as possible about each other. But she could fault neither of them for their actions. Fiona was no naive seventeen-year-old. She knew Mr. Clay’s faults as well as anyone did, and as for Mr. Clay knowing hers …

Julia had to think for a minute on that one.
I suppose burning bacon could be considered a fault.
But in the grand collection of faults, that one very likely occupied a minor place. The only regret Julia had, and she was aware that it was a selfish one, was that Fiona would likely never come back to live at the
Larkspur.
Nor Mr. Clay, and the absence of both dear people was already leaving a void she knew would be difficult, if not impossible, to fill.

Though she planned to share the news, she decided that Philip should be the only person to see the actual wire, since it contained a message to him, and because he’d been so torn up with regret after finding the misplaced letter. To her surprise, he frowned miserably.

“But they would have been able to marry earlier if I’d only brought her the letter.”

“But you can’t go back and undo that,” she told him, touching his shoulder and marveling at how tall he was growing. In the year since they had moved to Gresham, Philip had caught up with her in height. “And perhaps it was good that Mr. Clay and Fiona had some time away from each other.”

“But will they ever come back?”

That, Julia could not answer. Mr. Clay had just recently paid for three month’s lodging in advance, but at the time he had been unaware that he was poised at the threshold of matrimony. “We’ll just have to see what the letter says,” she told him.

Aleda and Grace took the news with starry-eyed wonder and begged to be allowed to spread the news to the rest of the household. Julia gave them permission, with the exception of Mrs. Kingston, whom she felt she should tell herself. The older woman sobbed effusively for the joy of it, and, Julia suspected, also because she would miss having Mr. Clay to mother.

She was leaving Mrs. Kingston’s bedchamber when another face materialized in her mind, that of Vicar Phelps. It would not be fitting for him to discover the news by happenstance. She was halfway finished writing a note in her office asking the vicar to call at his earliest convenience, when she realized that would simply not do. If she had learned anything about life in a small village, it was that news spread rapidly.

Regretting now that she had so hastily allowed her daughters to spread the news, she gathered light wraps and bonnets and asked Aleda and Grace to accompany her to the vicarage. She also invited Philip out of courtesy, but he mumbled something about going fishing.

They met Vicar Phelps and Laurel strolling arm in arm in their direction down Church Lane. When Julia was close enough to see the incredulous smile across the vicar’s face, she thought,
Why, he already knows!

“You received a wire too?” she asked before even offering a greeting.

“We were just coming to inquire the same of you. I assumed that you had, of course, but just in case …”

Finally etiquette was remembered and “good mornings” were exchanged. Laurel’s brown eyes shone with excitement. “We were going to explore the ruins on the Anwyl after we spoke with you.” Turning to her father, she said, “We’re still going, aren’t we, Papa?”

“Indeed we are,” he replied, but there was a brief hesitation before he added, “Would you three care to join us?”

“Oh, may we?” Aleda exclaimed right away, hanging on to Julia’s arm, with Grace doing the same on the other side.

Now no longer obliged to guilt over telling the household about the wire before thinking of the vicar, she dutifully shouldered another load, because almost a year had passed since she’d hiked the Anwyl with any of her children.

Still another guilt was beginning to gnaw at her for even considering the invitation. Would it only encourage the vicar to pursue something deeper than friendship—if indeed she hadn’t imagined his feelings toward her?
Do other women spend so much time feeling guilty?
she wondered.

“We wouldn’t want to intrude on your outing,” Julia protested, but only mildly because of the hope in both her daughter’s faces.

But the vicar smiled and shook his head, causing Julia to wonder if she’d imagined the earlier hesitation. “Not at all. We would be happy to have your company.”

“Please, Mother?” Grace pleaded, her green eyes hopeful.

“Please?” Laurel Phelps asked as well.

In the face of such longing there was nothing to do but agree. “It does sound lovely, thank you.”

“And why don’t we stop by the
Larkspur
and invite Philip?” said the vicar. “Elizabeth’s on her way to Alveley with Mr. Treves for a Ladies’ Benevolent Society luncheon, or she would be along as well.”

Julia noticed that Laurel Phelps’s face did not alter at this invitation. But she also caught a relaxing of the girl’s posture upon learning that Philip already had plans.
I hope he’s not acting rude toward her again
, Julia thought, determining to talk with him and find out. She was well aware that competition for the trophy had intensified with the approaching end of the school year, but that didn’t allow him an excuse to be rude to Laurel or anyone else.

The trick to catching minnows for bait, Philip discovered, was to lie on his stomach in a shady spot on the bank where his reflection couldn’t be seen in the water and submerge his shallow net halfway, keeping it as motionless as possible. One or two curious little fish would ultimately decide to inspect the inside of the net, and then speed was required to snap them up inside, for they could dart away in a millisecond.

“Hey, I saw your mother and sisters heading for the Anwyl with the vicar and Laurel,” Ben said, doing the same as Philip just a few feet away. Jeremiah would not be joining them today because relatives from Grinshill were visiting the Tofts. Actually, the decision had been made by Philip and Ben upon learning that if Jeremiah came along, he would have to bring not only his brothers but also two or three younger cousins.

“I know,” Philip said listlessly, and just the subtle motion of his speaking caused a trio of minnows to scatter from the mouth of his net. “I saw them.”

Frowning, Ben set his jar aside and sat back on his heels. “Why don’t you like the vicar?”

“I like him just fine. I just don’t like his daughter.”

“But you can’t blame her for trying her best in school.” He shrugged. “
I’d
have a go at that trophy if I wanted it, and I’m your best friend.”

Intrigued by his friend’s last statement, and realizing that minnowing was futile as long as the conversation ensued, Philip took his net out of the water and wrapped both arms around his folded legs. “You would?”

“Of course. You’re name ain’t engraved on it yet, you know.”

“Then, why haven’t you? You’re just as bright as I am.”

Ben grinned and gave a shrug of his shoulders. The shade muted the fiery red of his hair to almost the same auburn as Philip’s. “Lazy, I suppose. I just can’t see spending so much time studying. Or writing papers over and over.”