Page 13 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
Oh, Robert—if only I could be more like you. You’d know exactly what to do.
Yes, sometimes Andrew envied his brother. And envy was the one sin that a second son—especially the second son of an earl—could never be free from.
Chapter Seven
“What is, love?”
The sermon began and the congregation fell into a hush.
Etty settled Gabriel on her lap and ignored the sharp glance from the woman in the row in front of her. It was the same woman from last week, whom Etty now knew to be the squire’s housekeeper. Clearly the parishioners took a proprietorial approach to their seats in the church. Everyone seemed to be sitting in exactly the same position as last week—the innkeeper and his wife, who’d seemed pleasant enough when Etty passed the inn on her way to the market during the week, and the farmer and his family, including James, the lovely young man who’d delivered the leg of pork.
And, of course, the squire and his stiff-backed family, right at the front in their position of prominence.
Sir John and Lady Fulford, the innkeeper’s wife had said when Etty asked their names, uttered in the hushed tones of the subservient villager. Clearly the Fulfords considered themselves superior to the rest of the village.
What might they have done had Etty stridden to the front and occupied their pew, rather than hiding at the back again?
“Love thy neighbor,” the vicar declared. “We have all heard that spoken many times. But how many of us have paused to ponder the meaning of love, and the many forms it takes?”
Etty sighed.Every waking hour, vicar.
Her definition of love had undergone such a change in the past two years, from material desires to selfish needs, until it finally settled on her son. The love a mother bore her child—a mother who would die for him if fate required it.
She settled Gabriel on her lap and kissed the top of his head.
“Mama,” he said softly.
“Hush, my love,” she whispered, pulling him into an embrace.
“For many of us, love can be selfish,” the sermon continued. “What we may describe as love is often, in fact, a selfish wish for our own gratification. We might express love for another person only because wedesirethem.”
The squire and his wife stiffened. Doubtless they considered the subject ofdesireunsuitable for the vicar to discuss in public.
“Or we may express love for an object merely because we find it pleasing, or because we believe that our lives are the better for owning that object. In which case, what we believe to be love is merely envy and pride. Who among us here today has committed such sins and sought absolution by convincing ourselves, and others, that we have acted out of love when, in fact, we have acted out of a selfish desire for our own gratification?”
The vicar cast his gaze over the congregation, and Etty cringed.
He might as well have been speaking about her—toher.
“But desire is not the only form of love.” His voice softened. “The purest form of love is that which we harbor for others—where we place their welfare above our own convenience. That is the embodiment of love, where we seek to perform acts of kindness and devotion—not for reward or consequence, but for the simplest of reasons.” He paused, and his lips curved into a smile. “Because it’s the good thing to do. Not what isright—forbeing right implies a sense of superiority, of following rules and traditions set by others—but what isgood.”
A murmur of whispers rose, and the vicar’s smile broadened as he raised his hand.
“Permit me to explain,” he said. “While I would not, of course, condone acting in a manner that contravenes the law of the land, or disrespects the long-held traditions that we hold dear, I would ask you to always look into your hearts and question whether your actions would stand the ultimate test—the test of whether those actions would better serve the word of the Almighty, who asks us to love one another without condition or desire for reward.”
Etty’s cheeks warmed with shame. Most sermons were delivered with such harshness, as if the man in the pulpit had declared himself to be both judge and executioner upon the souls he preached to—and ordered them to comply with his instructions, lest they face an eternity in the fiery pit of hell. Such sermons had only ever given rise to anger and indignation within her heart, against a mortal man who wished to wield his power over others. But this man before her now, who spoke with such gentleness and warmth of spirit, was making no demands of his flock. He was merely asking the congregation to be kind to one another.
And it was his very kindness that spoke to her soul, laying it bare for her eyes to see, and opened her eyes to her own cruelty.
She glanced up to find him looking directly at her, understanding in his expression, as if she’d also revealed her soul to him.
“We hear tales of the great deeds of men,” he said. “Deeds that further the cause of our world, or accomplishments in remote lands, such as Waterloo, that defend our countrymen against the tyranny of our enemies. But what of the deeds undertaken at home, deeds that go unobserved andunacknowledged? All of you—young or old, men or women—have the power to change the world. The smallest act can be the purest if delivered with selfless love. And, if it ignites a spark in one heart, it can bring forth a flame to light the whole world. To bring light to the world, we do not need to ride to war. An act of love could be delivering alms to the needy, or taking time from your busy lives to comfort another. Or it may be as simple as tolerating a crying child in church.”
Etty’s heart fluttered as she clung to her son.No—it must be a coincidence.He couldn’t be referring to last week—could he?
But his gaze remained fixed on her.
“Children should be cherished,” he said. “And we must always listen to them. Most of us abide by the rules of the society in which we live—we might refrain from speaking for fear of causing offense, or we inhibit our feelings for fear of retribution. We restrict our natural responses to the world around us. But children—in their early years, when their souls are pure and untainted—have yet to learn such inhibitions. Children express themselves freely. When a child cries, they’re telling us that something is wrong. Those of us who disapprove of, and shush, a crying child are placing our own comfort, and our wish to conform to society, over the need to right that wrong.”
