Page 68 of A Dark and Stormy Knight
The next night had called for cabbage and fish of all things, so he’d introduced her to Russian cuisine. The night after that, she’d given the rather innocuous request for lamb, however the precedent had been set. Morley had whisked her to a Greek establishment where lively men had danced to rousing music, delighting her to no end.
It alarmed him how much enjoyment he gleaned from these outings of theirs. How, for entire hours, he’d forget everything that threatened their future happiness and lose himself in nothing more extraordinary than a conversation.
His wife held little in the way of personal prejudices and was endlessly curious about, and appreciative of, the traditions and people he introduced her to. She’d a rare gift for observation, carefully and cannily picking out the subtleties and nuances of culture whilst doing her best to not offend. She never remarked upon the perceived class of the neighborhoods to which he’d taken her, nor did she make anyone she met feel like less than the most interesting person with which she’d ever held a conversation.
All of her attention was absorbed by whomever was speaking, and he noticed she’d the kind and genuine way about her that garnered them little extras of gratitude wherever they went.
It was why he’d dared to bring her to St. Dismas. Because this was the floor upon which he and Caroline had often slept in the winter. In the borough that’d whelped him and abandoned him.
He’d not been to the parish since before his wedding, and he knew Vicar Applewhite would be bereft he’d not been invited to the wedding.
They’d almost made their way down the aisle as the old blind priest stopped to bid every family a personal farewell, and to cover his anxiety, Morley leaned down to ask Prudence, “What does the little fiend crave for luncheon, I wonder?”
She made a pensive sound. “Do you remember three days ago when we sampled those sautéed Chinese noodles?” She swallowed before continuing, and he’d the notion she’d salivated.
“I do.”
“Somethinglikethat, but not exactly that.”
Instead of clarifying, he allowed her to work through the conundrum, having learned that she’d arrive at a specific flavor and texture eventually, and his job would then be to provide it.
“Butter,” she finally announced. “There must be butter. And… maybe cheese.”
“Pasta?”
Her mouth fell open and her eyes twinkled like sunlight on the South Sea. “Pasta,” she breathed. “Ingenious suggestion.”
“Angelo’s on the Strand, it is,” he decided, realizing that his own stomach grumbled emptily at the thought. “Francesco serves this white wine and butter dish with garlic and scallions—”
She grasped his arm with undue dramatics. “Cease tormenting me or I’ll expire before we arrive.”
He adopted a sly, teasing smile. “I suppose you don’t want to hear about the fresh loaves of—”
“Morley?” Vicar Applewhite turned his face in their direction, the tufts of his hair sticking out in a riot of copper-grey as his grin unfurled a gather of teeth yellowed with age. “Morley, my boy, that you?”
Morley took the blindly offered hand and pressed an envelope into it. “Vicar,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m late this month. There’s extra in there. Just have Thomas count it out and he can take some home to Lettie and Harry, as I know they’ve likely covered expenses in my absence.”
“You know them well.” The envelope disappeared into voluminous robes with the swiftness that bordered on sleight of hand. “I’m sure you had good reason and…well, you’re not beholden to our upkeep.”
“You know I am,” Morley murmured, very aware of how still his wife had become as she watched the exchange with interest. “But I do have reason. I’d like to introduce you to…my wife, Prudence Morley.”
Out of sheer habit, she curtsied to the blind man. “How do you do, Vicar Applewhite? I was very moved by your words today.”
The Vicar’s features lit with an almost childlike radiance of unadulterated glee. “Oh my God! My happy day! I’ve had many prayers go unheeded, Lady Morley, and I’d given up on this rascal hitching himself to anyone ages ago.” Before she could reply, he turned back to Carlton. “I heard we’d a new voice in the congregation. Like that of an angel. Pure and sweet and good. What a blessing. What a blessing! Praise be.”
Disconcerted and embarrassed by the man’s effusive emotion, Morley pressed his cold hand to the back of his heating neck. It’d become concerningly evident to him that his marital status—or lack thereof—had been more disturbing to those in his sphere than he’d ever have guessed. And among those who claimed to care for him, they unanimously approved of his selection of spouse.
“We’d stay and visit…” he began uncomfortably.
“No, no, I’ve tea with the Brintons as soon as they call around to collect me, but you must visit soon. You must tell me everything.” He turned to Prudence, both hands reaching for her.
She took them in her gloved fingers, squeezing fondly as if they’d known each other for a lifetime.
“There always seems to be plenty of demons in this world of ours. And not enough angels. I’m glad our Cutter’s found his own.”
Morley excused them and hurried her to the main thoroughfare, hoping she’d not caught the old man’s slip of the tongue. He hired them a hackney, as he rarely brought his own carriage to this part of the city, and lifted her in, instructing the driver to deposit them at Angelo’s.
She swayed silently on the overwrought springs of the cab as she subjected him to a thorough study before saying, “My sisters and I were raised by borderline zealots, as evidenced by our virtuous names. However, I wouldn’t have thought you a religious man.”
