Page 28 of A Sense of Misgiving
‘Why are you so determined to have me?’
‘I have never met anyone quite like you,’ he said softly.
Flora laughed aloud. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I am not even especially pretty. You are a handsome man and could have just about anyone you want, but because I have refused you, you seem determined to have me.’ She shook her head. ‘It makes no sense.’
‘I can’t get images of you out of my mind.’ He looked as astonished by the admission as she felt at his making it. ‘Believe me, I have tried, and prayed for guidance.’
‘You will find someone who can be all the things you need her to be. Pamela, for instance…’
‘Your sister does not possess your charm, or your enquiring mind.’
‘She’s biddable, unlike me, I’ll grant you. I should have thought that would be an ideal quality in a cleric’s wife.’
‘Not this cleric.’
Their conversation had taken place outside the hardware store, where they had stood for some minutes, drawing curious glances from passers-by. Flora commenced walking again and Mr Bolton fell into step beside her.
‘I thought my father wanted me back so that I would have to marry you,’ she said reflectively. ‘It would have been a way of securing your loyalty, I suppose, if he sensed he was losing your support. But now that he can no longer count on you, he still wants me back and is going to extraordinary lengths to force my hand. I might almost go so far as to say that he is blackmailing my employer in order to coerce me. Do you have any idea why?’
‘No. We barely speak nowadays. He looks upon me as a Judas.’
Flora flashed a wry smile. ‘I am perfectly sure that he does. If you are not for him, then you are against him. He does not have a forgiving nature, which I have always looked upon as an unfortunate failing in a man of God.’
Mr Bolton’s responding smile enhanced his handsome features. She had misunderstood him, it seemed, and liked him a great deal more now. But not enough to even contemplate marrying him. The feelings that engulfed her whenever Luke smiled at her trickled through her bloodstream like warm honey. Mr Bolton’s smile simply made her think that he should smile more often.
‘Well, I am glad we have had this conversation, and am very sorry to disappoint you,’ she said. ‘But I hope we can be friends.’
‘I would like that,’ he said, sadness in his eyes.
‘Flora, is everything all right?’
Flora and Mr Bolton both turned at the sound of Sam Beranger’s voice. He dismounted and sent Mr Bolton a suspicious look.
‘Hello, Sam. This is Mr Bolton, my father’s curate. Mr Bolton, may I present, Mr Sam Beranger, the Earl of Swindon’s brother.’
Sam gave a curt nod as he subjected the curate to a suspicious appraisal.
Mr Bolton bowed. ‘Your servant, sir.’
He sent Flora a surprised look, probably wondering why a paid companion presumed to address an earl’s brother by his Christian name, and why that gentleman didn’t object to such informality.
‘You know where to find me whenever you have need of me,’ Mr Bolton said, sweeping the hat from his head and fixing her with a probing look. ‘Be assured that I have only your best interests at heart. Good day to you, Flora. Mr Beranger.’
He turned away and did not look back.
‘Good heavens.’ Sam removed his hat and scratched his head. ‘What was that all about?’
‘I wish I knew, Sam.’ She turned to watch Mr Bolton go, still finding it hard to believe that he liked her for herself rather than for the sake of his progression within the church. ‘I wish I knew.’
Sam relieved her of her parcel, carrying it under one arm and leading his horse with the other. ‘Do you have the gig at the Hart?’ She nodded, still distracted by Mr Bolton’s remarkable admissions. ‘Come along then, I’ll walk with you to prevent you being accosted by any more of these suspicious ecclesiastical types.’
‘You are a brave man, Sam Beranger,’ she said, laughing at him.
Chapter Seven
Luke made a concerted effort to concentrate upon the stack of correspondence that awaited his attention. He dictated letters to Paul and dealt with a visit from an aggrieved tenant, but remained distracted. He then had his black stallion Onyx saddled, so that he could ride the estate with Parkin, his steward. Hopefully, that would focus his mind.
‘Come on then,’ he said to Romulus, who looked up from his position in front of the fire the moment Luke stood up. The dog had been snoring, dreaming of chasing rabbits no doubt. ‘You could do with the exercise, too.’
