Page 63 of Better Love Next Time
“Ah, a fine name. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” she replied in a quiet voice, taking to heart the woman’s words, seeking solace from a stranger. “I am sorry for yours.”
Only Father Dunlevy had provided condolences for her little boy. She had never publicly mourned her son.Julian’sson. And then it struck her, even as that craven thing inside her began to scream. The thing could not hold the truth inside forever. It was too excruciating, too lonely, and wrong. People needed to know Andrew had lived. That he had been loved.
One day she must admit her shame.
Kitty finished the water, her heart pounding at her breast. She would fight back, just as she fought now to have her dreams, a purpose to her suffering.
Before they had exited the shop, the two gossips were once again at the counter with Mrs. Draper.
Kitty’s feet planted firmly on the cobbled street, she inhaled the ripe scent of the market. “Thank you, Althea. I suspect half of Southampton will see Julian’s desertion in a different light by the morning. Shall we proceed to the vicarage?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mr. Welles,proprietor of the Dolphin Hotel, a foremost authority on Southampton, had provided a list of the eight Anglican parishes within the town, and their first visit was St. Michael’s.
In the genteel sitting room of greens and creams, Althea and Kitty had been received with respect, though perhaps not what Kitty would call open arms. Kitty pondered the reason over tea until the vicar said, “Your husband has seen much in this world.”
Julian’s reputation had preceded him. Or trailed after him. Whatever the semantics.
“I remember him as a young man,” the vicar continued, “and if it is not too harsh for your delicate nature…”
“No, sir, I have known Mr. St. Clair since we were children. We have kept few secrets.”
“He frequented taverns where wagering and, ah, other vice could be found. I saved him twice from losing his apprenticeship.”
“You are good, sir,” Althea said. “And Mr. St. Clair hath repented on the error of his ways. Each night Madame and he end their day with quiet contemplation on the Lord’s teachings.His favorite verse, ‘in whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace.’”
The vicar regarded his tea. “Ephesians 1:7. I know it well and am soothed to hear St. Clair has sought God’s forgiveness.”
Kitty mentally crossed herself. At the rate Althea was proceeding, her friend would have to spend a week seeking God’s forgiveness. And Julian, she was suddenly worried for his soul.
Seeing their half hour had come to an end, Kitty rose and bid them good day.
At Holyrood Church, Kitty stood outside the imposing structure of grey and white stone. The steeple was tall and inelegant, the archways off the portico heavy. The windows showed only remnants of painted glass. Her mind drifted back to their wedding over the anvil and the smithy inquiring on Julian’s home parish. “Holyrood, Southampton,” he had said. She remembered Julian’s voice, the baritone, almost a bass but agile like his body. She remembered how he had sounded far away in his thoughts while she had been enveloped in hope.
For the first time in many, many long hours, months,years, she was happy to be alive.
They found the vicarage along a path shaded by nearby homes where the vicar’s sister, Miss Carleton, perhaps thirty, with curling brown hair and lively green eyes, curtsied in greeting and led them to a worn settee.
“I saw you both studying the church frontage and ordered tea, hoping you would visit. Though I should not admit my presumptuous nature,” Miss Carleton said. “Is Mr. St. Clair well? He is, of course, I have seen the both of you walk past.” She blushed. “And in the morning, Mr. St. Clair takes his Grecian exercise.”
Althea cast Kitty a sidelong glance.
Before Kitty could answer, Miss Carleton continued. “He accompanied my brother and me to an assembly in the Long Rooms in June of ’61.” She rolled her pink lips. Like remembering a kiss. “Oh, I shall never forget.”
Wild and wayward Julian and a vicar’s sister. Had he kissed her? Had he picked innocent Miss Carleton’s lock, as well? Had he thought to propose to her? Kitty’s musings turned darker, to when they had been married and her groom had been deep in his thoughts. When Julian had stated his home parish at their wedding, had he thought of Miss Carleton? She felt the haze of melancholy and concentrated on Miss Carleton’s hands as she poured the tea.
“…the ladies in their beautiful gowns,” the vicar’s sister went on. “And the dancing. Mr. St. Clair stood up with me twice. Though my steps are not graceful. No, they are not. But it felt like a dream, and by all accounts, he acquitted himself as a most chivalrous gentleman by completely ignoring the two times I tread upon his feet.”
“My husband is quite the gentleman,” Kitty allowed.
Miss Carleton’s brows pinched as she looked at Kitty’s gown. “You are in mourning.”
“Crecy, my dear,” a man’s rich voice called, “are you talking our guests ears off?”
Vicar Carleton was a youngish man, short in stature with an affable expression and sandy hair. The latter was ruffled from his queue as he had recently raked his fingers through the top of it.
