Chapter Fourteen
“I was most astonished to see you with that woman, vicar.”
Andrew set his teacup aside. He’d barely had time to sip it before his patroness fired her first arrow.
“I was visiting my parishioners, Lady Fulford,” he said, “as is my duty as vicar of the parish.”
She set her teacup onto the saucer with a sharp clatter. “Vicar, I feel it only fair to counsel you with regard to your behavior.”
“My behavior?” He leaned forward. “Madam, if you wish to make unfounded accusations, I—”
“I wish nothing of the kind,” she said, ice in her tone. “Please refrain from raising your voice in front of my daughters.”
He glanced toward the trio, who sat with identical attitudes—backs stiff, holding their cups in their right hands, their little fingers crooked as they raised the tea to their lips in unison.
“Vicar, is it of you I am thinking,” Lady Fulford continued. “You are responsible for the moral welfare of the village, and, as such, you set the example all must follow, and not be led astray.”
“I assure you, I’m in no danger of being led astray.”
“Ah, but therein lies the danger, my dear vicar,” she said. “I only speak out of concern for you—and Sir John would say the same. Even the most steadfast of men can be led into sin by the very worst sort of temptress. In fact, the most steadfast of men is at greater risk, for he is less likely to notice the danger before it is too late.” She turned toward her eldest daughter. “Elizabeth, serve the vicar a slice of cake. I wouldn’t want him thinking you a poor hostess.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“I have no need of cake,” Andrew said. “My cook would never forgive me if I were unable to finish my supper tonight.”
His attempt at a joke was met with a cold stare.
“I insist, vicar. Would you refuse an offer from your patroness? Elizabeth, stop staring and see to it.”
The young woman rose from her seat and approached the table, where she cut a slice of cake, casting sly glances in his direction, before placing it on a plate, together with a fork. Then she handed it to Andrew, a hopeful smile on her face—the sort of smile unattached young ladies made in an attempt to appear alluring to prospective suitors.
Ugh . Could the girl be any more obvious? On their return from Shore Cottage, she had clung to his arm with the strength of a drowning man, and he’d only been able to extract himself from her possessive grip when they reached Sandcombe Place and her mother instructed her to take charge and order the tea.
Today wasn’t about discussing the village fair—it was about demonstrating the eldest Miss Fulford’s prowess as a hostess.
And as a prospective wife.
Andrew suppressed a shudder at the notion, then he glanced up and met Lady Fulford’s gaze.
No, Lady Fulford, I assure you, I am quite capable of noticing the danger before it’s too late.
And the danger was here, in this very room.
“Your cake, vicar.” Lady Fulford gestured to Andrew’s plate.
He took a bite, wincing at the texture, which seemed to suck the moisture from his mouth, and the hard lumps of dried fruit that stuck to his teeth. After chewing for a moment, which seemed to make little difference, he conceded defeat, took a mouthful of tea, and swallowed.
“Delicious,” he said.
He’d have to include a plea for forgiveness for uttering a falsehood in tonight’s prayer. But a falsehood seemed the safest option with four pairs of eyes focused on his every move—one stern and judgmental, the other three simpering and hopeful.
The eldest Miss Fulford let out a self-satisfied sigh, and her mother patted her arm.
“Quite so, Elizabeth, my dear,” she said. “My daughter is accomplished, is she not, vicar? Quite the paragon, though I say it myself. I daresay she would be heralded a jewel if she were to be presented at court.”
The daughter, if not the mother, had the grace to blush.
“I flatter myself that our society here is just as elegant as that in London,” Lady Fulford continued. “And you, vicar, are a part of that society. We very much consider you as being within our social circle.” She arched an expectant eyebrow.
Andrew nodded. “Thank you, Lady Fulford.”
“Which is why I find it necessary to remind you of your position here. After what I witnessed today, I fear for your moral welfare.”
“My moral welfare is in no danger, Lady Fulford,” Andrew said. “A vicar is expected to spend much of his time visiting those of his flock whose need is greater than others’.”
“And did you visit those in the greatest need today?”
“I visited most of the cottages in the back lane,” he said. “Matthew Dodd and his wife—old Mrs. Penfold. And”—he fixed his gaze on her—“Mrs. Smith.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Mrs. Smith—am I expected to know who she is?”
“She was your scullery maid for three years.”
She made a dismissive gesture. “Mrs. Smith , indeed! Doubtless the world is littered with thousands of Mrs. Smiths . What can she have to do with me?”
“You may have known her as Loveday Ford.”
Recognition flared in Lady Fulford’s eyes. “Vicar, I commend you on your charity, but I must ask you to refrain from mentioning that little slut in front of my daughters. The woman is a hussy who trapped a respectable young man into marriage.”
“How did she do that, Mama?” the youngest Miss Fulford asked.
“Caroline, you shall speak no more of the matter!” Lady Fulford cried. “This is not an appropriate topic of conversation for respectable young women.” She turned to Andrew. “You see the danger now, vicar? While I applaud your charitable activities, you ought to confine them to something more respectable.”
“You believe your daughters to be tainted by association with the more misfortunate souls of the village?” Andrew asked.
Particularly the young women whom your husband seduced to ruination…
Oh, if only he had the courage to utter that last remark out loud, to her face! But what good would it do? He’d merely find himself looking for another parish, given Sir John’s penchant for wreaking vengeance on anyone who insulted his wife.
Etty would have no such qualms. Were she here, she’d rise to her feet and open the eyes of Lady Fulford and her preening daughters to the wrongs of the world.
“And as for that woman at Shore Cottage,” Lady Fulford continued, “ there’s a den of immorality if ever I saw one!”
“Etty?” Andrew’s hand shook, and hot tea splashed into the saucer.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I mean…Mrs. Ward.”
“Oh, vicar !” Lady Fulford said, shaking her head. “It’s worse than I feared. Do you not comprehend the danger you’re in?”
“Danger?”
She glanced at her daughters. “Girls, would you leave us, please? What I am about to say is not for your ears.”
“But Mama—”
“Elizabeth, do as I say. Have I not raised you to obey your elders and betters?”
The eldest Miss Fulford scowled, and Andrew caught a flash of the spite she’d leveled at Etty earlier that afternoon. There was no doubt that she was her mother’s daughter. Her veneer of respectability barely concealed a soul defined by entitlement, resentment, and malice. Then she directed a simpering smile at Andrew, rose, and exited the parlor, her sisters in her wake.
After the door closed behind them, Lady Fulford leaned toward Andrew and placed her hand over his. He suppressed a shudder as she gave it a possessive squeeze. What had she said to Etty when she’d encountered them earlier that afternoon?
We quite consider him to belong to us.
“Vicar,” she said, “what I’m about to say is out of kindness, and a concern for your moral welfare.”
“My moral welfare is in safe hands, Lady Fulford,” Andrew replied. “I am, after all, a man of the cloth.”
“It’s precisely that which places you in danger,” she said. “I have been concerned for some time, but after what I saw today, it’s worse than I feared.”
“And what do you fear, Lady Fulford?”
“That you’re being tempted from the righteous path, by a”—she leaned closer and lowered her voice—“by a harlot.”
“Of whom do you speak?”
“Of Mrs. Ward, of course!” She glanced toward the door. “You may say it’s not my place to interfere, but as your patron’s wife, I have that right. Do you think I didn’t notice what the two of you were doing on her doorstep? In broad daylight?” She shook her head and sighed, as if overcome with horror. “And in full view of my daughters ?”
Andrew’s cheeks warmed with shame. Beset by a powerful need, he’d succumbed to the call of his body, the feel of Etty’s soft form against his. Had she not withdrawn from his embrace, he would have taken her, there and then, against her front door. And then she had invited him inside…
No.
Etty was not a temptress. She was merely a good, kind woman—with whom he was falling in love.
“Mrs. Fulford,” he said, his voice strained as he struggled to control the desire simmering in his body at the memory of Etty in his arms, “I was merely—”
She raised her hand. “Do not attempt to explain yourself, vicar. You suffer—of course you do. I see it in your eyes, and I hear it in your voice. You are young, and the young are weak. But I consider you blameless in the matter. I know you well, and you have served us faithfully and honorably here at Sandcombe. As to her ”—she wrinkled her nose—“we know so little of her. But a woman who arrives, unannounced and shrouded in mystery, is not a woman to be trusted. Consider the last woman to take residence in that very same cottage, the one masquerading as a widow. Miss Howard, was it?”
“You mean the Duchess of Whitcombe.”
“Duchess she may be, having snared herself a titled husband,” Lady Fulford said, “but she came to our village a ruined woman—living among respectable folk, with her head held high as if she were better than the rest of us. She carried a false name and deceived the honest, God-fearing people of Sandcombe. I cannot forgive her for having deceived you , vicar—we all noticed your partiality toward her. There is no greater evil than a hussy leading a good man into temptation. I only speak now because I have no wish for you to fall again.”
“Mrs. Ward is no hussy, I assure you, Lady Fulford,” Andrew said. “She’s been very kind, helping me visit the poor in the village.”
“And yet she is another mysterious woman, arriving unannounced in the village, living apart from the rest of us, styling herself as a widow.” She leaned back, shaking her head. “My poor vicar—we are very fond of you here, and hate to see you deceived. But how can you be certain that she is a widow at all?”
“Because she told me so, Lady Fulford.”
“As would any woman in her position.”
“What are you implying?”
“Oh, my poor, dear young man,” she said, sighing. “I am implying nothing. I only tell you this because I am—no, we all are—so very fond of you, and have no wish for you to be injured a second time.”
“I’m in no danger of injury, Lady Fulford—certainly not by Mrs. Ward.”
She lifted her hand to her chest and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, vicar! You know not how relieved I am to hear that. It will make my telling you all the less painful.”
“Telling me what?”
“That Mrs. Ward has been entertaining gentlemen callers .”
“Gentlemen callers?”
“Hush! It pains me to even speak of such things, much less hear the words fall from your own lips.”
“It cannot be true,” he said.
“It’s to your credit that you refuse to think ill of her, vicar, but I saw him with my own eyes. As did Mrs. Lewis, if you have cause to doubt my word.”
She arched an eyebrow and tilted her head to one side in the manner of a disappointed nanny on the brink of delivering a punishment.
“Of course I don’t doubt your word, Lady Fulford,” he said, “but perhaps there’s an explanation.”
“He arrived at the cottage on horseback, late in the afternoon,” she said. “Sir John passed him on the road. Very well turned out, he was—he looked a man of means. I happened to be passing Shore Cottage while out for an evening constitutional…”
“ Happened to be passing?” Andrew asked.
Her voice took on a sharp edge. “I am at liberty to take a stroll whenever and wherever I choose, vicar, and I often take the path by the sea. The air is beneficial for one’s health, as you’ve said in many a sermon. But that’s not the point. The point is, when I passed, I saw a horse at the cottage.”
“Mrs. Ward is entitled to receive visitors, Lady Fulford.”
“But a gentleman—when she’s alone in the house? We’re a respectable village, vicar. But that’s not the worst of it.” She shook her head. “I really don’t know whether I ought to tell you—you’d be quite shocked, and I don’t know if I’m able to voice the words.”
Who the devil did the woman think she was, trying to turn an innocent visit into a scandal? Most likely the gentleman was a physician for Gabriel.
In which case, why hadn’t Etty told him? In fact, she had remarked earlier that day that she’d had no visitors.
“I’m sure it was merely a passing visit,” Andrew said, ignoring the whispers of doubt in his mind. “A stranger asking for directions, perhaps.”
“Would she invite a stranger inside? When I passed the cottage, I saw the two of them in there… embracing .”
“You must be mistaken, Lady Fulford,” he said, “unless you were right outside the cottage with your nose pressed against the window.”
“Mistaken?” she said. “I assure you, I was not mistaken when I passed by the cottage the next morning and saw the same horse tethered outside.”
Andrew jerked back as his chest constricted as if an invisible fist had punched him in the heart.
“Y-you mean…”
She placed her hand over his. “You have no idea how much it pains me to be the one to tell you, vicar,” she said. “And I’ll not pain you further by speaking more overtly of what I saw. But any reasonable, respectable soul would draw the same conclusion that I have with regards to the status of Mrs. Ward—or whatever her name may be. It must be plain to even the meanest intelligence that the man who visited her was not her husband, but instead, he’s her”—she made a random gesture in the air—“ protector , I believe, is the name for it.”
Andrew closed his eyes, willing his mind to deny what he’d heard. But everything Lady Fulford said made sense. Few women hid themselves away in obscurity if they were not running from something, some past sin. And Etty carried a secret—he had seen it in her eyes.
And had she ever said to him outright that her son’s father was no longer alive?
No—instead, she had said that Mr. Ward was “no more.” A rather strange turn of phrase that Andrew had paid little attention to at the time. Perhaps she had phrased her answer deliberately to avoid uttering a falsehood.
But was not deception a form of falsehood? Why had she not entrusted him with the truth?
And why had she been willing to lead him to believe that she cared for him? Or perhaps she hadn’t deliberately deceived him, believing him to be a man of experience, as she was clearly a woman of experience herself. But he was inexperienced—untouched and unused to the wiles of women, and more easily deceived because of it.
But though Etty may be the sinner, Andrew couldn’t blame her. No, he blamed him , whoever he was—the gentleman who had claimed her body in exchange for cash, and therefore believed he had ownership rights over her. The man who, no doubt, had a family living in London while he’d exiled his mistress to the countryside to indulge in conjugal visits when the fancy took him.
But Etty had made no promise to Andrew. Perhaps that was why she withdrew when he’d kissed her—because she had no wish to hurt him. After all, she was only playing the same game that men played when they toyed with the hearts of women.
Except he was not like most men. He was not his brother, a man responsible for a sackful of broken hearts who, when deceived by a woman, drank a toast to a worthy adversary before moving on to the next conquest. Neither was he the Duke of Whitcombe—or the lover Etty welcomed into her home.
How could I have been such a fool?
“You’ve not been a fool, vicar.”
He opened his eyes to see Lady Fulford staring at him, the sympathy in her eyes marred by the undertone of triumph.
“Some women are cunning,” she said, “but not all of us. And never fear—you have friends in Sandcombe, and we’ll do our utmost to ensure that you find a wife who deserves you.”
He heard footsteps outside and glanced across the parlor to see a shadow on the floor beneath the door.
“Elizabeth!” Lady Fulford called out.
The door opened after a suspiciously short pause to reveal the three Fulford sisters. “Yes, Mama?” the eldest said.
“Girls, would you attend the vicar, please?” Lady Fulford said. “Elizabeth, a brandy, I think.”
Before Andrew could protest, the eldest Miss Fulford approached a side table, unstoppered a decanter, and splashed a generous amount of brown liquid into a beveled glass. Then she thrust it in his hand and sat beside him, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on him.
“Our poor vicar has had a nasty shock, girls,” Lady Fulford said. “But we’ll take care of him, won’t we? He deserves so much better, don’t you agree?”
“Oh yes , Mama,” Elizabeth said, leaning closer to Andrew.
Cringing at the expectation in the young woman’s gaze, Andrew raised the glass to his lips and swallowed a mouthful of brandy. The acrid liquid stung the back of his throat, and he caught his breath. He took another mouthful, and another, until he’d drained the glass. Then he held out the empty glass for more.
He might have to add yet another plea for forgiveness in his nightly prayers for being a toper—but perhaps the Almighty would forgive him, given that the pain in his heart was punishment enough.