Seducing Mr. Heywood by Jo Manning Page A

testament to his life and goodness in St. Mortrud’s. It is fitting.” He added, “And the people here would expect it.”
    “Are we to pander to the people of Rowley Village, then?” Lady Sophia’s tone was scathing. What she felt about the people of Rowley Village was patently apparent.
    “Not pandering, my lady, not at all, but an acknowledgment of how important the baron was to their lives, as well as to his immediate family. John and William need a visual memorial, something tangible, in a continuous line from Roger Rowley to their own time.” He pointed to the heart monument and to the imposing timber casket. “It is their heritage.”
    Sophia was unmoved. “I don’t know, Mr. Heywood, if George did not think it necessary…”
    “He evidently thought it necessary to inscribe that poem to Lady Lucy some years after her death. He wanted her remembered, my lady. Why any less remembrance for him?”
    “You are persistent, sir, I must say.” Lady Sophia regarded the vicar with a mixture of amusement and admiration. He was a passionate man, there was no doubt about it, and single-minded, as well.
    “I beg you to think upon this, my lady. A simple wall monument; marble, perhaps, nothing ornate, for that would not suit the man he was. Please, do consider this.” There, he had stated his case for the memorial. Now it was her decision. If she chose to ignore him, a monument to George would not join the solid testaments ringing the walls of St. Mortrud’s, memorializing his valiant ancestors, that long line of Rowleys and the family history. It would be a shame.
    “My lady, though your husband never fought in battle for his kings, nor ventured far from his manor, he wasno less valiant than these others. He was a kind and generous landlord, a good friend, an excellent husband and father. Surely, attention should be paid to such a man?” Charles pressed his suit with the baron’s widow as he had pressed it with the late baron.
    “Sir, you thought a great deal of my husband. Your concern is impressive,” Sophia commented, moved by his speech.
    “I have rarely known his like,” Charles replied quietly. “Attention should be paid, my lady. It is simply his due. And…and it would mean so much to the boys.”
    His trump card, the boys. Charles hated to use it, but…
    Lady Sophia shut her eyes. There it was, that unfamiliar prickling at the back of her eyeballs again. No, not tears! She never, ever cried. It would not happen now. The vicar’s comments were loving and true; George deserved to be remembered. The boys would expect her to show that she cared. And she did care.
She did!
She felt great sorrow, now, more sorrow every day, for that man’s death. He had been kind and generous to her. He had removed the greatest threat to her life, her father.
    Because of George Rowley, she’d had no more to fear from Thomas Eliot, the despicable Earl of Dunhaven, scourge of her young life. She owed George a great deal. The least she could do was acquiesce to the vicar’s request.
    Sophia raised her eyes. “You are right, sir. Please proceed with your plans for the memorial. I hope”—she fixed him with a look that could not be gainsayed—“I hope you will keep me informed as to the design of this monument? Perhaps we can collaborate on its construction? I may have some ideas to add.”
    Charles raised a prayer of thanks heavenwards.
Thank you, God!
Perhaps, in that ethereal sphere, the baron was displeased with him, but this was the right step to take. Charles was sure of it. The memorial that George had refused to consider would be erected after all.
    The Earl of Dunhaven was weary. The channel crossing had been turbulent as usual, and the coach fromDover ill-sprung. His bones ached; he was not getting any younger. That fact galled him. How many years remained to him? He was determined to make the most of them and access to his late son-in-law’s wealth would guarantee an extremely comfortable old age.
    That