Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3) (10 page)

He put down his quill. Perhaps he should have accepted the earl’s offer of another lucrative parish. One where he could preach for his lordship’s benefit, but that might have proved impossible. More than likely the earl would have chosen topics for sermons and told him to be brief when he delivered them from the pulpit.

Dominic shrugged. He had never received divine inspiration. Moreover, he only took holy orders because it was the tradition for the fourth son of a noble family to forge his way in the church. Given a choice, he would have preferred to be a hussar. Yet, even if he were not a churchman, he would always be a staunch supporter of the Anglican Church. Nonetheless his faith in God, never flinched, so he endeavoured to perform his duties conscientiously. No, it would not suit him to be dictated to by a patron of Pennington’s ilk to whom he would owe an additional living.

After Dominic wrote the text on a piece of paper, he jotted down a few notes. Well-aware most of members of his congregation’s attention was limited, and the children soon became bored, his sermons did not exceed half an hour. He frowned. Apart from the squire, most of his flock comprised of tenant farmers, craftsmen or labourers. He must take care to point out pride in honest work was not a sin. He made another note.

Ill-at-ease, due to his regret because he entered the church, Dominic questioned his humility. Irritated, he pushed pen and paper aside and considered Lady Castleton.

He recalled the Shakespeare’s words in The Merchant of Venice. ‘Where is fancy bred? Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished?’

Well, he could not deny his attraction to Lady Castleton. Did she reciprocate? He not only admired her dainty figure, beautiful eyes, melodious voice, he was also appreciative of her self-control and lack of self-pity. He frowned. Although Pennington suggested he should court her, as Lady Castleton’s birth was inferior to his, he doubted his father would consider her a suitable daughter-in-law?

Dominic stood. He turned around to gaze through the window at the peaceful scene, with the suspicion that, if he allowed her to, Lady Castleton would wreak havoc on his heart. In fact, to be honest, she already disturbed it. Well, the first thing to do would be to fulfil his promise to trace her family, and find out if any of them would welcome her back into its proverbial bosom. A sharp pang disturbed him. If they did, she might take up residence with them and he might never see her again. No sooner did the thought enter his mind than his desire to become better acquainted with her swelled.

He smiled at the sight of Lady Castleton mounted on a neat grey mare arrive at the rectory. The groom, who accompanied her, dismounted to open the garden gate. Her ladyship rode to the front door, where she disengaged her foot from the stirrup attached to her side saddle.

Dominic reached Lady Castleton before the groom could close the gate, follow her down the path and help her dismount. Thrilled like a callow youth in the throes of his first love affair, Dominic reached up. With a hand on either side of her waist, he lifted her down. He wished he enjoyed the right to put his arms around her and hold her close.

The lady looked up at him, her chin level with the top button of his coat. “Thank you for your assistance, Mister Markham.”

Delicate colour filled Lady Castleton’s cheeks. Her blue eyes soft as the sky on a mild summer day looked into his.

“You are welcome, very welcome. My sister will be delighted to see you,” he greeted her, trying to resist the temptation she posed.

“Well, sir, even if you are not delighted to see me, I hope you are pleased to see me.” Her eyes widened, and she covered her beautifully shaped mouth with her gloved hand. “Oh! What must you think of me? Mamma always scolded me for saying the first thing that came into my head. I fear I will never learn to be a lady,” she said, her voice somewhat muffled by her hand.

The self-reproach in her expressive eyes amused him. “My lady, I appreciate your honesty.”

With a swirl of her skirts Lady Castleton turned around to remove some papers from her saddlebag.

“Ah, you have brought-” Dominic began.

Her ladyship put a finger to her lips.

He realised she did not want him to mention her business in front of the groom.

“My lady, do you wish me to hold your horse’s reins while I wait for you?” the man asked.

His would be annoyed if the horses left more droppings on the gravelled path. Dominic gestured to the side of the substantial brick building. “You may lead them to the stable yard at the back of the Rectory.”

“Odious man.” Harriet said when the groom was too far away to hear. “I am convinced he and the earl’s other servants report on me to him.” A frown creased her forehead. “It is unlikely his lordship would approve of your suggestions to find my father’s bank and locate my family. I think he is determined to dominate me.”

Before he could comment, the front door opened and his sister came outside. “Lady Castleton,” Gwenifer greeted her with a smile. “How good of you to call. I was about to tell Dominic nuncheon is ready. Please join us.”

Their guest looked from him to his sister. “I don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality.”

“You could not. I am delighted to see you.” Gwenifer held the door wide open. “Come in. Lady Castleton, may I put your hat, gloves and riding crop on the table in the hall? Dominic, what are you thinking of? Carry that package of papers for her ladyship.”

“Lady Gwenifer, please call me Harriet, for I hope we shall become close friends.”

When Lady Castleton stripped off her gloves, once again Dominic admired her small white hands with long fingers and oval nails with white half-moons at their base. In his opinion, her appearance was perfect. She might never become a toast of the town - in fact he had never heard of a widow being one - yet her grace, her feminine curves, oval face and those incredible eyes made him forget she was not a conventional beauty.

“Thank you, I shall call you by your Christian name. Please call me Gwenifer.” His sister gestured to the apron she wore over a plain, lilac muslin gown. “What must you think of me? Instead of sewing a fine seam I have been tidying the garden at the rear of the rectory.”

Harriet sighed. “Something I would enjoy, but my father-in-law’s gardeners don’t like it if I cut a single rose or pick herbs.

“As I told Mister Markham, I followed the drum for most of my life, so there was never time to cultivate a garden.

“Mamma loved flowers. In winter quarters we tried to grow them in pots indoors.” Lost in the memory of her bitter-sweet past, she pressed a hand over her heart.  “Unfortunately, we were always obliged to leave our plants behind when the next campaign began.”

Dominic fervently wished she could have been spared so many horrors and so much grief.

Gwenifer slipped her hand through the crook of Lady Castleton’s elbow. “What an exciting life you have led, Harriet. I fear mine has been too dull to relate. Now, please follow me to the dining room.”

To Dominic, a shadow seemed to cross Lady Castleton’s face before she spoke.

“Excitement is not always pleasant. The losses and severe injuries after each battle are heart-breaking. Knowing one will never again see particular friends, and to be conscious of others dying, cuts one to pieces.” She stepped into the room where nuncheon was laid out on a table spread with a linen cloth and silver flatware. “I apologise; such matters should not be spoken of in polite society.”

“If we are to be friends I hope you will always feel free to say whatever you wish to us.” Dominic tried to imagine Harriet when she was a child. He wished she had been as carefree as his sisters while they grew up, instead of a little girl burdened with hardships.

Gwenifer removed her hand from Harriet’s arm. “Now you are comfortably settled in England, maybe my brother can help you to lay your sad memories to rest.”

Harriet shook her head. “I doubt anyone can.”

“Perhaps, with time, they will become less painful,” Dominic suggested.

Her eyes darkened. “I don’t want to put all my tragic memories behind me. There are so many splendid men who must never be forgotten.”

What could he say? To gain time before he spoke, he put her papers on a sideboard, turned around and pulled out a shabby dining room chair. “Lady Castleton, please sit yourself down,” he said, unable to think of words that would comfort her.

His sister clutched his arm, her eyes misty. While Lady Castleton spoke, more than likely Gwenifer was remembering their brothers, who numbered among the dead.

Lady Castleton gazed at them. “Those who either gave their lives for us or were crippled to uphold the Rule of Law, and prevent Napoleon sweeping away the old regime must never be forgotten.”

How he admired her. Few ladies of his acquaintance would know what the Rule of Law was. “Perhaps, you should write a book describing your experiences. I am sure there are many people who would like to read it.”

Gwenifer nodded her agreement. “I would,” she declared.

Harriet sat. “An excellent idea. I never thought of writing one. I could base a book on my journals.” She unfolded her napkin. “Thank you for the suggestion, Mister Markham.”

* * *

Harriet chose a ham sandwich from a plate her hostess offered her.

“If you visit us again, please bring your son,” Gwenifer requested, while Mister Markham poured wine.” It would be a pleasure to meet him. I am prodigiously fond of children and wished my late husband and I had been blessed with a child.” She bent her head. “My brother would remind me, all of us must surrender to God’s will.”

“Indeed.” Harriet believed unreasonable God had much to answer for. She could never submit to His will, which deprived her of her parents and husband. Oh dear, her thoughts really would not do in a rectory. She must guard her tongue, something she had been unaccustomed to until she and Arthur lived with the earl.

“Judging by its appearance, Saint Michael’s and All Saints is ancient. If I am right, the building has weathered better than the one on my father-in-law’s estate. Is the interior of your church in equally good repair?”

Mister Markham put down his coffee cup, which she noticed was similar to the new service ordered by the earl from the pottery founded by Josiah Wedgewood. Unless the cream ware was a gift, it seemed the tithes the rector received were substantial, and his annual stipend was generous. She wrinkled her forehead while she considered the matter. Maybe he also received an allowance from his father, or perhaps he had inherited money. Whatever the case, when he married, his wife would be fortunate, not only because the gentleman was well provided for.

“Lady Castleton,” Mister Markham’s voice interrupted her thoughts, “you seem preoccupied. I offered to show you the church after nuncheon.”  

“I beg your pardon for my rude inattention, sir. My wits wandered.”

“Would it be impolite to ask where they wandered to?” Mister Markham seemed to be on the verge of laughter.

“Indeed, it would,” she replied aware of her blush. “To answer your first question, yes I would like to see the church.

“In the Iberian Peninsula I enjoyed visiting many fine Roman Catholic Churches. Even the humblest contained crucifixes and statues of Christ, saints and Jesus’s mother. When I saw them, I could not help thinking they worshipped my God in a different way to me. After all, surely He is the supreme being no matter by which name he is called.” Horrified by allowing herself to voice such thoughts to an Anglican rector, who most likely shared his people’s mistrust, if not hatred, of papists, she covered her mouth with her hand.

Dominic chuckled. “There is no need to look like a stricken child whose misdemeanour has been discovered. I have scant liking for the Church of Rome. But there is a gentleman of that persuasion, who lives in the parish. From time to time, we meet at card parties or elsewhere, where we exchange a few cautious words on the topic of our respective faiths, which we are careful not to allow to become heated. Besides, I admire your wisdom. After all, we know, there is only one God, although people give Him different names and worship Him in different ways. I daresay Hindus, Jews, Buddhists and Muslims think their religion is the only true one.”

“So, you are not a fanatic, Mister Markham?”

“I hope not.” He contemplated her. “Please don’t misunderstand me, I adhere to the teachings of the Anglican Church.”

Gwenifer patted his hand. “And you are respected for it in the parish, although one of your parishioners, odious Mister Denning, thinks you dress too finely and should not gamble on the turn of a card.”

She faced Harriet. “A piece of apple pie and some cream. The fruit is from my brother’s orchard on his glebe, which borders the Rectory on the south. The land provides well for us. The cream is from one of his cows, and the butter is made from it and so is the cheese in some of the sandwiches.”

Dominic laughed. He shook a finger at his sister. “I doubt Lady Castleton is interested my produce. It is insignificant compared to from the Earl of Pennington’s home farm and glass houses.”

Heedless of good manners, Harriet propped her elbows on the table in her enthusiasm to assure him he was mistaken. “I would be pleased to exchange the magnificence of Clarencieux for a house or cottage with half an acre or more, to provide most of my food and my son’s.”