Page 41 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
But that pathway was closed, so she was back to her original plan. Which meant the very next mail coach. But first, she had a meeting that she’d planned to attend yesterday before Mr. Hallowsby had interrupted everything. She was not in the best frame of mind to meet with the vicar or his son, but there was no help for it. She was a practical girl, and this had to be done before she left for London. She didn’t want the vicar to think she’d up and run off with Mr. Hallowsby.
She laughed at the thought.
An hour later, she was sober as she approached the vicar’s house. Normally, this was the last place she ever wanted to be, but one day this might be her home, so she needed to face her predicament square on. She smoothed out her hair and her dress, then knocked with quiet authority, only belatedly realizing she’d forgotten to bring a pie.
Damn it. Charlie liked her pies.
The door was opened by the housekeeper—a plump, rosy-cheeked woman who nevertheless looked down her nose at everyone, especially Maybelle, even while smiling sweetly.
“Hello, Mrs. Pursley,” she said, dropping into a respectful curtsy. “Is the vicar in? I have need of counsel.”
“Well, of course you do, Miss Bluebell. I’m sure he’d be happy to advise you.”
Maybelle did her best not to react to the condescending tone. “Thank you. And is Charlie—”
“He’s around here somewhere, but you won’t be needing him. It’s the vicar who will set you straight.”
“Of course.” Old biddy. First thing she’d do upon marrying Charlie was see that witch sacked.
Maybelle followed meekly inside, her eyes downcast, her demeanor excruciatingly correct. And humble. Vicar Ott hated proud women. Which meant he had a distaste for most women in the county. Lord, how did he ever give rise to such a sweet-tempered son?
She was shown into the man’s study. He’d been eating, as the crumbs of some sort of bread littered his desktop and the front of his shirt.
He stood when she approached, looking smug as he extended his hand. “Miss Bluebell, how are you faring? It has been my intention to visit you this last week and more. The Lord must have been whispering into my ear, but now, here you are of your own accord. Excellent. Most excellent.”
If the Heavenly Father had been whispering, then why hadn’t the vicar listened? This would have been so much easier if he’d come to her.
Humble, she repeated to herself. Be humble.
“I’ve come to speak to you frankly, Vicar Ott.”
“Of course, of course. You can tell me anything.”
She’d thought of a dozen different ways to approach this. Soften the man up with buttered rum cookies, then prove to him that she was educated inThe Bibleand the church. She could show him an example of her handwriting. She had a clear, fine hand, where his was tight and crabbed. Hard to hold a quill in his thick sausage fingers. If she showed him she could help with his work, then things would go much easier.
But she had been so angry with Mr. Hallowsby that she hadn’t prepared. And a lack of preparation meant disaster unless she was quick-witted.
Or starkly logical.
“Vicar, it is my understanding that you object to my attachment to Charlie.”
“What? What? I…of course, Charlie’s mind wanders every which way. It’s not for me to say where his attention lies, but I’m sorry to say that he is not attached to you, Miss Bluebell. Not at all.”
“Really?” she asked, throwing doubt into her tone. In truth, Charlie was much too distractable to attach to anything but his books. It was what she most liked about the man. He was genial, kind, and prone to vague philosophical statements that made one ponder. There was nothing objectionable about the man, and best of all, he would have a tidy living in his father’s place provided someone helped him manage.
And that someone was going to be her.
She lifted her chin and spoke plainly. “What Charlie thinks is between him and me. Here is what I came to tell you. I am leaving tomorrow for Oxfordshire where I will get a copy of the register of my parents’ marriage. That will finally put to rest any question about my legitimacy.”
“What? Of course, I never doubted—”
“You did. Often and directly to my mother’s face. But I shall prove you wrong. What’s more, my father is elevated in London society. So you could gain an educated, capable daughter-in-law who has influential relations. In the peerage.”
“The peerage! I cannot credit—”
“It doesn’t matter. I shall prove it.”
The man heaved a deep breath, then patted her hand. “My dear, if you need to leave for a time to…um…” His gaze dropped to her belly. “To grieve your lost mother for a period of months, then I can only—”
