child, Reverend.”
He composed his face into neutral planes and braced himself for a confession that would shave years off the life of an ordinary man. Given that this was Violet (nee) Redmond, he would not be surprised to learn the father of the child was the Archbishop of Canterbury, but he pitied the Archbishop if the Earl of Ardmay ever learned the news.
“Congratulations. Babies are wonderful,” he offered carefully.
She nodded her thanks. “It’s because of the baby that I’m here. Indirectly. Something … has come into my possession. I might have been inclined to hurl it into the Ouse a year or so ago, as I am hardly impartial in the matter. But I’ve since learned a thing or two about … love.” She glanced up at him almost defiantly, as if love was blasphemy or too indelicate a subject for a vicar. If only she knew the conversation he’d had today. “And I believe this is about love. I … I want to do the right thing. I would like to have it off my conscience before the baby is born, and I wish to bequeath it to someone who, shall we say, is required by duty to exercise his conscience and judgment about what to do with it.”
Trust the former Miss Redmond to arrive at that interesting definition of a vicar’s duties.
She extended her hand and uncurled her fingers; he leaned forward and looked down into her palm.
It was a moment before recognition settled in. The woman in the miniature was younger, more radiant, softer, more innocent. And hopeful.
“It’s my cous—it’s Miss Olivia Eversea, isn’t it?
“Yes.”
He stared down at it, puzzled: Why would Violet possess a miniature of Olivia?
And then all at once he thought he understood, and the little hairs rose on the back of his neck.
“May I …” He took it from her palm, turned the miniature over, and saw the girlish script there.
“Yours forever. O.”
He thought of the Olivia he knew now—still lovely, but brittle, too thin, too glib, deflecting suitors so skillfully they scarcely knew they were being rejected. There was only one person in the world to whom Olivia would give a miniature signed Yours Forever.
He risked a question that was likely unfair, but Violet had come of her own accord, and in truth he didn’t care whether it was fair. He thought only of Olivia.
“Did your brother Lyon give this to you?”
He watched her closely. It amused him distantly to think that Violet was struggling both with the fact that he was related to the Everseas and that it would likely never do to lie to a vicar.
“Yes.” A hush, that word.
The silence in the room beat like a heart.
He knew his next question wasn’t necessary, or even fair. He didn’t care. He asked it anyway, for Olivia’s sake. His voice was steady, almost disinterested, even as his heart slammed in his chest, steady and hard, like a soldier’s boots coming down.
“Recently?”
He watched Violet almost like a predator. She breathed in and out. In and out. In and out. Any moment, she could answer the question that haunted Pennyroyal Green. All of English Society. And the Everseas and Redmonds in particular.
She reached for her teacup. The surface of the tea ruffled; her hands were trembling.
“I think he meant her to have it. I hoped you would decide whether to return it to her.”
He knew then, definitively, that she’d seen him. If she hadn’t seen him, she knew where he was.
The knowledge slammed into him. He drew in a breath, held it. No one had seen Lyon Redmond in years. He’d disappeared. No one knew where he’d gone. Only that the golden child, the eldest Redmond, had allegedly disappeared when Olivia Eversea broke his heart, breaking the hearts of his family, stirring old wounds and animosities between the Everseas and Redmonds that always festered beneath surface politeness.
But not one person knew the whole truth of what had happened before he disappeared, either.
Unless it was Olivia, and she never said a word about it.
“Is he
He composed his face into neutral planes and braced himself for a confession that would shave years off the life of an ordinary man. Given that this was Violet (nee) Redmond, he would not be surprised to learn the father of the child was the Archbishop of Canterbury, but he pitied the Archbishop if the Earl of Ardmay ever learned the news.
“Congratulations. Babies are wonderful,” he offered carefully.
She nodded her thanks. “It’s because of the baby that I’m here. Indirectly. Something … has come into my possession. I might have been inclined to hurl it into the Ouse a year or so ago, as I am hardly impartial in the matter. But I’ve since learned a thing or two about … love.” She glanced up at him almost defiantly, as if love was blasphemy or too indelicate a subject for a vicar. If only she knew the conversation he’d had today. “And I believe this is about love. I … I want to do the right thing. I would like to have it off my conscience before the baby is born, and I wish to bequeath it to someone who, shall we say, is required by duty to exercise his conscience and judgment about what to do with it.”
Trust the former Miss Redmond to arrive at that interesting definition of a vicar’s duties.
She extended her hand and uncurled her fingers; he leaned forward and looked down into her palm.
It was a moment before recognition settled in. The woman in the miniature was younger, more radiant, softer, more innocent. And hopeful.
“It’s my cous—it’s Miss Olivia Eversea, isn’t it?
“Yes.”
He stared down at it, puzzled: Why would Violet possess a miniature of Olivia?
And then all at once he thought he understood, and the little hairs rose on the back of his neck.
“May I …” He took it from her palm, turned the miniature over, and saw the girlish script there.
“Yours forever. O.”
He thought of the Olivia he knew now—still lovely, but brittle, too thin, too glib, deflecting suitors so skillfully they scarcely knew they were being rejected. There was only one person in the world to whom Olivia would give a miniature signed Yours Forever.
He risked a question that was likely unfair, but Violet had come of her own accord, and in truth he didn’t care whether it was fair. He thought only of Olivia.
“Did your brother Lyon give this to you?”
He watched her closely. It amused him distantly to think that Violet was struggling both with the fact that he was related to the Everseas and that it would likely never do to lie to a vicar.
“Yes.” A hush, that word.
The silence in the room beat like a heart.
He knew his next question wasn’t necessary, or even fair. He didn’t care. He asked it anyway, for Olivia’s sake. His voice was steady, almost disinterested, even as his heart slammed in his chest, steady and hard, like a soldier’s boots coming down.
“Recently?”
He watched Violet almost like a predator. She breathed in and out. In and out. In and out. Any moment, she could answer the question that haunted Pennyroyal Green. All of English Society. And the Everseas and Redmonds in particular.
She reached for her teacup. The surface of the tea ruffled; her hands were trembling.
“I think he meant her to have it. I hoped you would decide whether to return it to her.”
He knew then, definitively, that she’d seen him. If she hadn’t seen him, she knew where he was.
The knowledge slammed into him. He drew in a breath, held it. No one had seen Lyon Redmond in years. He’d disappeared. No one knew where he’d gone. Only that the golden child, the eldest Redmond, had allegedly disappeared when Olivia Eversea broke his heart, breaking the hearts of his family, stirring old wounds and animosities between the Everseas and Redmonds that always festered beneath surface politeness.
But not one person knew the whole truth of what had happened before he disappeared, either.
Unless it was Olivia, and she never said a word about it.
“Is he
Similar Books
