she’d twitted him over it, he’d informed her he’d come straight from a house party and his town rig was the least elegant attire he had with him. That had shuther up. She was quite certain she didn’t need to see him in evening dress.
His appearance had apparently robbed Mr. Bosworth of speech, which was nothing short of amazing. Mouth opening and closing, the reverend simply stared.
Adrian regarded him impassively, then one brow slowly rose.
Abby stepped into the breach. “Mr. Bosworth, allow me to introduce Viscount Dere. He was on his way to Bellevere when the storm struck, and took refuge here with us.” To Adrian she said, “The Reverend Mr. Bosworth.”
“Dere? Oh!” The slight hesitation before Mr. Bosworth offered his hand declared he’d heard the stories. He smiled insincerely when Adrian shook his hand, then he looked about. “Your aunt, Miss Woolley?”
Abby looked about, too. “She was around…” Now she thought of it, Esme had been playing least in sight for the last few days. “I think she just stepped up to her room—”
As if on cue, Esme rushed in, waving her crochet. “Found it—oh! Good morning, Mr. Bosworth. Is the way clear then?”
“Indeed, indeed, dear lady. Why…”
For the next twenty minutes, Mr. Bosworth entertained them with details of all in the village. He made frequent references to his hope that the thaw would be sufficiently advanced to permit of a good attendance at Sunday service. For some reason, he glanced at Derewhen making this pronouncement; Abby was at a loss to understand the reverend’s point. Adrian, as far as she could tell, was bored.
When it became clear that Mr. Bosworth was not about to take his leave, Esme surrendered and invited him to lunch. Esme claimed the reverend’s arm into the dining room. Abby, following with Adrian, shook his arm and whispered, “Behave yourself.”
He raised his brows. “I thought I was.”
“You have been—just keep doing so.” As they entered the room, she added, “He’s not up to your weight.”
That got her a smile—one of those slight lifts to the ends of his long lips that made her knees go weak. She was grateful when he handed her to her chair.
The meal passed uneventfully. As it drew to a close, Mr. Bosworth seemed to suddenly recollect the time.
“Dear me, I must be on my way.”
He looked at Abby as he rose; perforce, she laid aside her napkin and rose, too. “I’ll see you out, sir.”
Esme made her farewells with ill-concealed relief. Across the table, Adrian inclined his head.
Abby led the way into the front hall. Opening the door, she held out her hand.
Bosworth grasped it a little too fiercely for her liking.
“My dear, I must speak. Innocent as you are, I’m sure you’re unaware, but it really will not do for Dere to be residing under your roof. No, no—you must tell him to be on his way at once. Now the way is clear—”
“Mr. Bosworth.” Abby neither raised her voice nor drew herself up, but her tone had Bosworth swallowing the rest of his speech. Retrieving her hand, shepaused, then said, “I should perhaps inform you that I have known Dere all my life. I am perfectly au fait with his reputation—I doubt there’s a soul in this village who is not. Be that as it may, I know Dere better than anyone else in Widecombe”—Abby thanked her stars she didn’t blush readily—” and I can assure you I stand in no danger from him. Dere’s a gentleman born and bred, and has absolutely no designs on me.”
Mr. Bosworth opened his mouth; Abby silenced him with an upraised finger. “I am telling you this because I realize you have not lived here long enough to know the whole truth, and I wish you to understand that neither I nor my aunt will tolerate any aspersions being cast upon his lordship’s character. Do I make myself plain?”
With no alternative left but retreat, Bosworth made his with soothing words and promises that he quite saw and understood. With a last
His appearance had apparently robbed Mr. Bosworth of speech, which was nothing short of amazing. Mouth opening and closing, the reverend simply stared.
Adrian regarded him impassively, then one brow slowly rose.
Abby stepped into the breach. “Mr. Bosworth, allow me to introduce Viscount Dere. He was on his way to Bellevere when the storm struck, and took refuge here with us.” To Adrian she said, “The Reverend Mr. Bosworth.”
“Dere? Oh!” The slight hesitation before Mr. Bosworth offered his hand declared he’d heard the stories. He smiled insincerely when Adrian shook his hand, then he looked about. “Your aunt, Miss Woolley?”
Abby looked about, too. “She was around…” Now she thought of it, Esme had been playing least in sight for the last few days. “I think she just stepped up to her room—”
As if on cue, Esme rushed in, waving her crochet. “Found it—oh! Good morning, Mr. Bosworth. Is the way clear then?”
“Indeed, indeed, dear lady. Why…”
For the next twenty minutes, Mr. Bosworth entertained them with details of all in the village. He made frequent references to his hope that the thaw would be sufficiently advanced to permit of a good attendance at Sunday service. For some reason, he glanced at Derewhen making this pronouncement; Abby was at a loss to understand the reverend’s point. Adrian, as far as she could tell, was bored.
When it became clear that Mr. Bosworth was not about to take his leave, Esme surrendered and invited him to lunch. Esme claimed the reverend’s arm into the dining room. Abby, following with Adrian, shook his arm and whispered, “Behave yourself.”
He raised his brows. “I thought I was.”
“You have been—just keep doing so.” As they entered the room, she added, “He’s not up to your weight.”
That got her a smile—one of those slight lifts to the ends of his long lips that made her knees go weak. She was grateful when he handed her to her chair.
The meal passed uneventfully. As it drew to a close, Mr. Bosworth seemed to suddenly recollect the time.
“Dear me, I must be on my way.”
He looked at Abby as he rose; perforce, she laid aside her napkin and rose, too. “I’ll see you out, sir.”
Esme made her farewells with ill-concealed relief. Across the table, Adrian inclined his head.
Abby led the way into the front hall. Opening the door, she held out her hand.
Bosworth grasped it a little too fiercely for her liking.
“My dear, I must speak. Innocent as you are, I’m sure you’re unaware, but it really will not do for Dere to be residing under your roof. No, no—you must tell him to be on his way at once. Now the way is clear—”
“Mr. Bosworth.” Abby neither raised her voice nor drew herself up, but her tone had Bosworth swallowing the rest of his speech. Retrieving her hand, shepaused, then said, “I should perhaps inform you that I have known Dere all my life. I am perfectly au fait with his reputation—I doubt there’s a soul in this village who is not. Be that as it may, I know Dere better than anyone else in Widecombe”—Abby thanked her stars she didn’t blush readily—” and I can assure you I stand in no danger from him. Dere’s a gentleman born and bred, and has absolutely no designs on me.”
Mr. Bosworth opened his mouth; Abby silenced him with an upraised finger. “I am telling you this because I realize you have not lived here long enough to know the whole truth, and I wish you to understand that neither I nor my aunt will tolerate any aspersions being cast upon his lordship’s character. Do I make myself plain?”
With no alternative left but retreat, Bosworth made his with soothing words and promises that he quite saw and understood. With a last
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