Page 48 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“Then the law is an arse!” she cried. “Why can you notdosomething? Do you care so little for Loveday and her kind? I hadn’t thought you to be so unfeeling, but perhaps you are—more content to take tea with Sir John and Lady Fulford than sully your hands with the young women whose lives they destroyed. Or is that why you continue to visit Loveday—out of guilt?”
“For heaven’s sake, woman, will you desist?” he roared, his eyes blazing with fury.
She shrank back, and he closed his eyes, then drew a hand across his forehead. When he opened his eyes, the pain in them tore at her soul.
“Oh, Etty—Etty,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “Do you not think I’m doing all I can to help these people? Much as I’d wish to, I have no means of my own—nowhere to keep them safe. And so I must be content with the next best thing.”
“Which is?”
“To ensure that they can survive their environment.” He let out a sigh. “I know what I do is woefully inadequate. But it’s the best I can do within my capabilities. Loveday is not alone. There are many more like her—the world is filled with such women.I cannot help them all. But in helping each one a little, I am making a difference, however small, to many. I would rather ease the suffering of many than leave them unattended.”
He turned to face the sea, tilting his head toward the sky.
“I understand your anger,” he said. “But I am but one man trying to make a difference—a lone man among those who are content to perpetuate their superiority. And so I do what little I can. I cannot remove Loveday and take her to safety, for the world is not a safe place for a woman in her position. All I can do is remain close by. Her husband is less likely to treat her ill if he knows I am to visit tomorrow. It may not be much, but it’s what I can afford to give when there are so many others also in need of my services.”
He thrust his hands into his pockets and continued to stare out to sea, as if searching for something—his faith, perhaps.
“You ask what is the point of me,” he said quietly. “That is a question I ask the Almighty each and every night as I kneel beside my bed. And do you know what He says in answer?”
He turned to face her then, his warm brown eyes clouded with misery and moisture.
“What does He say?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” he said. “My prayers are answered with nothing but silence.”
She took a step toward him, and her ankle turned on a stone. She stumbled forward, and he caught her arm. A shock of need coursed through her as he drew her close, and she shivered as the sea breeze caressed her skin.
“You’re cold,” he said. “We need to get you home. It’s getting late—the sun’s almost below the horizon. I’m already in line for a dressing down from my housekeeper.”
He gave a watery smile. “I sometimes wonder whether the life of a vicar isn’t akin to that of a schoolboy. Here…” He offered his arm, and she took it before they continued along the path.
“A schoolboy?” Etty said.
“I’m given weekly compositions to complete, and I must stand up at the front of the class and recite them to my fellow pupils, who often don’t even bother to pretend to pay attention.” He glanced at her. “With a few notable exceptions, of course. The bishop is the housemaster, ready to punish me if I fail to conform to the rules. My patron…” He frowned. “He’s the head boy who bullies the weaker pupils and languishes in his study while I do all his schoolwork. As to my housekeeper…”
“Yes?”
The flicker of a smile played on his lips. “Mrs. Clegg is always ready to admonish me if I’m late for tea. In her eyes, a man who lets his supper go cold has committed the very gravest of all transgressions.”
“Then perhaps you should return to the vicarage forthwith,” Etty said. “I have no wish to be accused of furthering your transgression. I suspect I’m viewed as enough of a sinner in this village as it is.”
“On the contrary,” he said. “To those who matter, you are held in high regard. And none more so than myself.”
Her cheeks warmed at his gentle praise. “Are you saying that you matter, vicar? And, in any case, you know so little of me to be in a position to present an informed opinion.”
“You impugn my judgment, Mrs. Ward,” he said as they reached her front gate. With his free hand he unlatched it, then led her to the door.
“If you knew me better,” Etty said, “I’m sure you’d—”
She drew in a sharp breath as he pressed a finger to her lips, and a sliver of need threaded through her body.
“Hush,” he whispered. “I am not one to form judgment on another through their appearance, and the length of an acquaintance bears no relevance on the credibility of an opinion over another. There are those I have known in this village foryears about whom I cannot give you an honest opinion, for they reveal so little—theydoso little. There are others whom I might like, or dislike, based on their actions, their conversation, and whether I enjoy their company. There are those who delight in telling me what my opinion of them must be—who are so caught up in their own self-opinion that they care little for the independent opinion of others.”
He paused, then brushed his thumb across her lips in a gentle caress before placing his palm on her cheek.
“And then,” he said, his voice quieting, “there are those such as yourself. Those rare souls that no ordinary man expects to encounter in his lifetime. The purest of souls who express their opinions directly and openly, no matter the consequences—the bravest souls who possess that degree of integrity that drives them to challenge that which they see to be wrong, no matter the consequences to themselves. They are the rare souls placed upon this earth who are ready to fight the evils of mankind—not by wielding swords and claiming glory for themselves on a battlefield, but by standing up to wrongdoing.”
He leaned toward her until their foreheads almost touched, and she tilted her head up, brushing her nose against his. His chest rose and fell in a sigh and he closed his eyes, a soft groan escaping his lips.
