Page 37 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“I should see to that tea stain,” she said, gesturing to the carpet. “What must you think of me, letting my guests mop up after me?”
“The pattern is such that it won’t be noticeable,” he said. “If you soak it in water, the rest of the stain should come out. The trick is to soak it right away, rather than let it dry.”
“Are you giving me household tips, vicar?”
“It’s a poor man who’s incapable of taking care of himself,” he replied. “A bachelor—particularly a vicar who must live frugally—is almost as good a preserver of household items as any woman. Though I would ask you not to repeat that to my housekeeper. Mrs. Clegg is very particular about her duties, and though I aim to maintain a degree of self-sufficiency, like any unmarried man, it is my fate to rely on her to keep my life in order—until I have a wife, of course.”
“And do you intend to instruct your wife in household tasks when you are married?”
He shook his head. “No, Mrs. Ward. First and foremost, I intend to love her. With every fiber of my soul.”
Her eyes widened, then she nodded, slowly. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I believe you will.”
Her voice carried an undertone of sorrow. What had she known of love? It was plain that she loved her son and was growing to love Frannie Gadd, the child she’d taken to her heart.
But did anyone loveher?
She seemed to believe herself undeserving—but everyone deserved to be loved. Even those who had committed the worst sins of all. Creatures such as Sir John Fulford—the product of a world ruled by men, a man who took what he wanted no matter the consequences. And creatures such as Eleanor’s sister—the woman who’d tried to destroy an innocent to further her own ends.
But today was not a day to dwell on the undeserving—it was a day to give the deserving a purpose.
“Mrs. Ward,” he said, “what say you to accompanying me on my visits to the poor of the parish?”
“Me?”
“There are many in the village in need of a little help—widows with no means to support themselves, new parents, struggling with a sick child…” He hesitated. “A new mother unwilling to return to service, yet fearful of angering her husband. You are right that I cannot help them all, but I do what I can, and I encourage others to do so, though few listen to me.”
“And you believeI’lllisten?”
“I believe you capable of so much more, Etty.”
She colored and looked away. Why did she dislike compliments? A creature as beautiful as she—and a former debutante—must be used to praise on a daily basis. But perhaps she’d grown to recognize it for what it was—soulless flattery.
“If not for your sake, then would you consider accompanying me for mine?” he asked.
“Yoursake?”
“I’d rather haveyouaccompany me than Lady Fulford.”
“So my most favorable quality is that I’m not Lady Fulford?”
“That is a quality all women share.”
A smile twinkled in her eyes. “For shame, vicar,” she said.
“Lady Fulford has been threatening to bestow her presence on my visits,” he said. “Not for the purpose of soiling her hands with work, of course.”
“Of course?”
“I’m afraid that she’s taken to suggesting that her daughters accompany me, Mrs. Ward. They are of marriageable age.”
Her mouth twitched into a smile. “Ah, I see—you wish me to protect you from predatory females?”
Put like that, it made his plight sound rather pathetic.
She let out a soft laugh. “I’m only teasing you, vicar.” Then she paused, and her laughter died.
“Mrs. Ward?” he asked. “Are you well?”
