The Pursuit of Grace (Twist of Fate #2)

Chapter 1

Reading, England

“One must always adhere to God’s teachings of—” Mr. Wallings, the vicar at St. Mary’s parish, was saying when his eyes rolled back in his head and he sank to the floor in a heap.

Grace screamed as she rushed to the pulpit when Mr. Wallings collapsed. She was by his side in seconds. His eyes were closed, and he was so pale. “Peter, wake up, my darling,” she begged, stroking his cheek.

A group of parishioners soon surrounded the vicar, including the local doctor. “Step aside, miss. Let me see to him,” Dr. Thicke said.

“Please, Dr. Thicke, you must help him,” Grace pleaded. This couldn’t be happening, not after everything they’d gone through to be together. Tears blurred her vision as a cold, dark terror threatened to destroy her new-found happiness.

Four months earlier

June 1812

Mr. Peter Wallings, the second son of the Earl of Armstrong, was startled awake when his carriage tipped dangerously to one side and his head banged against the window. The neighing of the horses could be heard over the frantic shouts of the driver.

“Whoa, steady now, whoa,” the driver shouted, trying to control the frightened beasts.

Peter was squashed against the door, and it took a great deal of effort to push himself upright. He must have given his head a good wallop in the mishap because he could feel a lump forming on his temple.

“What on earth happened, John?” he asked as he finally hauled himself out of the carriage.

“The wheel must have cracked,” John said. “Let me get the horses calmed down a bit, and I’ll check the damage.”

Peter nodded, but it didn’t take a genius to see that they would definitely need a new wheel. “Do you have any idea where we are?” he asked when the driver joined him to inspect the damage.

“I believe the village of Slough is not too far up ahead. I’ll have to go there and see if they have a blacksmith who can repair that wheel,” John said.

“You stay here with the carriage. I’ll go into town,” Peter said as he started down the road.

“Wait, Mr. Wallings! Let me unharness one of the horses for you.”

Peter nodded. “Thank you, John. That will definitely save some time getting to the village.”

The driver unhitched the horses, tying one to the carriage and leading the other to Peter. “There is no bridle or saddle, sir.”

“That’s not a problem,” Peter said, grabbing the horse’s mane and swinging himself up on its back. As a boy, he’d always enjoyed riding bareback during summers at the family’s country estate, so riding without a saddle wasn’t new to him. “I shall return as soon as possible.”

“Very good,” John said, taking a pipe out of his jacket.

Peter urged the horse forward. As it turned out, the village of Slough was nearly five miles away, and it took him over an hour to finally reach the inn’s yard. A boy came running out of the stables.

“Sir, shall I take your horse?”

“Yes. He needs food and water.” If the boy thought it was odd for him to be riding bareback, he didn’t show it but merely began leading the horse into the stables without comment. “Wait. Before you go, where is the blacksmith? My carriage has a broken wheel that needs to be repaired.”

The boy pointed to a building down the street. “That building over there.”

“Thank you,” Peter said, striding down the street to find help. When he entered the blacksmith shop, it was empty. This wasn’t good.

“Hello?” he called out.

Just as he was about to leave and seek more information at the inn, a heavily muscled man came through the back door. He was a beast of a man, standing over six feet tall with arms like tree trunks and a full, bushy beard.

“Are you the blacksmith?” Peter asked, not wanting to assume.

“Aye. What can I do for you?”

“My carriage has a broken wheel that needs to be repaired.”

The blacksmith grunted. “Where is it?”

“About five miles east of here. My driver is waiting with it as we speak.”

“I see,” the blacksmith said.

Peter was in a bit of a hurry. He needed to arrive at St. Mary’s parish in Reading in two days’ time. He didn’t have the luxury of waiting for the wheel to be repaired. He pulled several coins out of his pocket and held out his hand. “I need this repair done as soon as possible.”

The blacksmith’s eyes widened when he saw what Peter was offering. “Of course, sir. I’ll get my boys right on it. Will have it good as new in no time.”

Peter nodded. Money always talked. He’d learned that growing up and though he didn’t like to lean on his aristocratic lineage to get what he needed, there were times like this when being the son of an earl had its privileges.

He walked back to the inn. It wasn’t a large building, but it looked well-kept. He hoped they had a room available.

“Good day, my lord,” the innkeeper behind the counter said. “How may I be of service?”

“I need a room for the night, and my driver will need a meal and stabling for the carriage horses,” he told the innkeeper.

“Not a problem. We can certainly help with that. I didn’t hear your carriage drive into the yard.”

“It’s about five miles out. The blacksmith is already taking care of the repairs. Not sure how long it will be before they get back,” Peter said.

“I see. I have one spacious room left and a small room in the back of the inn for your driver. Would that suffice?”

Peter nodded. “That will be fine, thank you.”

“Would you like a dinner tray in your room, my lord? My wife has made a tasty chicken stew this evening.”

Peter looked around the common room and saw a table by the window. It would give him a good view of the yard so he could watch for his driver. “I’ll sit over there and wait for my carriage.”

“Very good, my lord. I’ll show you to your room when you finish eating.”

“Thank you.”

Peter hoped the rest of the journey to Reading would be smoother.

He hadn’t wanted to become the new vicar at St. Mary’s.

He enjoyed being a curate at his small London parish, but his father had insisted that it was time for him to become a vicar with more prestige and a parish of his own.

One did not go against the powerful earl’s wishes without severe consequences.

As Peter had learned, the Earl of Armstrong was very friendly with the Earl of Berkeley, the highest ranking noble in the Reading area.

His father obviously talked with Berkeley about Peter becoming the new vicar.

The pay was certainly better. He’d only been earning one hundred and fifty pounds per annum at his small parish, but at St. Mary’s, his salary would be close to four hundred.

It was the only favor that Peter could ever remember his father doing for him, specifically, besides paying for his education.

He’d felt invisible for most of his life, but evidently, the earl had been keeping an eye on him.

It had been quite an unexpected shock the day his father summoned him.

It was quite unusual, and he’d had no idea what the meeting was about.

He vividly remembered the day his father had changed the course of his life.

“Good morning, Father,” Peter said after the butler had announced him.

“Peter, you are to be the new vicar at St. Mary’s parish,” the earl said with no preamble.

“What? I didn’t apply for that position, Father. I’m happy at my current parish. I have—”

The earl waved a dismissive hand, silencing him mid-sentence. “Don’t be absurd. This position is more prestigious.”

“Where is St. Mary’s?”

“In Reading. You are expected by Friday next.”

Peter stood stunned, staring at his father. Why had the earl interfered with his life this way? He was so dumbfounded by this unexpected turn of events that all he could say was “thank you” before the earl summarily dismissed him.

Being the second son, Peter had limited career paths available to him that were acceptable for a gentleman—become a vicar or join the army.

Joining the army even as an officer was the last thing he wanted to do.

He detested war and blood and had seen too many soldiers who came home from the battlefield as broken men, and not just from their physical injuries.

He also wanted no part in killing other soldiers.

When he finished his university education, he’d reluctantly begun his career in what his mother had told him was his true calling, the church.

He wasn’t sure that life in the church was exactly his true calling, but he’d decided to let her believe it if it made her feel better.

His mother had always been his biggest supporter.

Turns out, she’d been right. He thoroughly enjoyed preaching and helping his parishioners.

He had never been sad to leave the glittering events of the Season before, but that had changed when he met Baron Fletcher’s ward, Miss Grace Parker.

He met her at an event he attended with his university friend, Viscount Easton, and was immediately smitten with Miss Grace.

He especially liked her strawberry-blond hair, which refused to be tamed, and her green eyes, which shone with intelligence.

They’d seemed to bond almost immediately.

He’d never met a woman who loved nature as much as he did, and he’d been overjoyed every time they met at ton events.

He wondered, if his father hadn’t forced him to go to St. Mary’s, if there was a chance they could have formed an attachment to each other. It was what he’d most desired.

There was no sense in focusing on the “what ifs.” He had to give up the notion that he could court Miss Grace.

She was in London, and he was miles and miles away.

Instead, he needed to concentrate on his new duties.

As long as the new vicarage had a decent garden in which he could enjoy a bit of nature, he would do his best to be content with this new position and the opportunity his father had given him.

“Here you are, my lord,” the maid said as she placed a steaming bowl of stew, along with a slice of hot bread and a mug of ale, in front of him. “Would you like anything else?”