Page 9 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
And of jealousy. For was she not jealous of the family standing at the front? They had respectability, and were most likely admired for their position in the world—even if their world was this little, obscure corner. Sandcombe might only be a day’s ride from London, but it might as well have been across the ocean that her new home overlooked. And it was ruled by the family standing at the front of the church—the family who hadwrinkled their noses in disdain when they set eyes on her, as if she were nothing.
And Iamnothing now.
The hymn concluded, the last echoes of the voices disappearing into the ceiling. At a word from the vicar, the congregation sat. Etty placed her hymn book on the pew, then adjusted the shawl that held her son close. He stirred in her arms, then stared at her with his deep-set blue eyes.
“Mama.”
“Hush, sweetheart,” she whispered, as a woman in the pew in front turned to glare at her, before resuming her attention on the vicar climbing into the pulpit. The murmur of whispers faded, punctuated by the occasional cough. A brief moment of silence descended, as if the congregation held their breath in anticipation. Then the sermon began.
Gabriel let out a gurgle, and his forehead creased into a frown. Etty recognized the precursor to a bout of crying. No doubt he was hungry, given the voracity of his appetite—yesterday he’d eaten enough of the stew for a boy twice his size.
He let out a low cry, and the woman glanced over her shoulder once more and issued a sharp sigh.
Why was it that children always grew distressed when they needed to remain silent? The woman—and, most likely, the family at the front of the church—believed that children should be hidden away, lest their spontaneous, improper, and uncouth noises tainted the sanctity of a church building.
With luck, the sermon would be short. Unlike Reverend Gache’s sermons—heclearly believed that the number of souls he saved during a service was in direct proportion to the length of his speeches. With even greater luck, today’s sermon would be a little less righteous than Reverend Gache’s pontifications. He had been willing to baptize Gabriel—doubtless due to Papa’s generous donation to the church—but accompanying the servicehad been a lecture on the sins of women, from Eve, the original sinner, to the women who tempted righteous men to stray. Of course, being a man himself, the reverend had said nothing of the men who ruined women for nothing more than their own gratification.
Gabriel let out another cry, and Etty flinched at a ripple of tuts from the surrounding congregants. She held up her forefinger to her son’s face. His mouth creased into a smile as he grasped her finger, curling his fingers around it.
“We are all sinners in the eyes of the Almighty,” the vicar said, his voice echoing through the building.
Sinner.
Yet another pious man resolved to judge those he deemed unworthy.
Would she be forever condemned as a sinner?
“And it is said that we must repent of our sins.”
Somesins, perhaps. Etty cringed at the cruelty with which she’d treated others, including her own sister. But as she cradled the product of her greatest sin in her arms, her heart rebelled against the vicar’s words.
“After all,” he continued, his voice rich and warm, “is that not why each and every one of you is here today? To seek absolution from your sins?”
Etty’s cheeks warmed. Were his comments directed at her, the sinner in the back row?
“What is absolution?” he asked. “Can it be earned merely through an hour’s worship on a Sunday? Do we emerge from the service cleansed of our sins in the knowledge that we might sin again? Or should we set aside time to reflect upon our sins—the consequences of our actions, not just on ourselves, but on those around us?”
A cough erupted from somewhere near the front, followed by a volley of shushing.
“If a man beats his son on Friday,” the sermon continued, “then repents on Sunday, does the Almighty give him leave to beat his son again? Or a woman, who passes by a less fortunate soul without offering help—is she a worthier soul by virtue of attending the service today? When a sinner prays, what is he asking of the Almighty? Does he expect, through the act of prayer itself, to be absolved and given the freedom to sin again? Or should he be asking for something more, the strength to atone for his sins, to understand the suffering of those he—or she—has sinned against? Who is the worthier, the congregant who prays for forgiveness, or the heathen who takes action to mitigate the consequences of their sins?”
Etty glanced up at the figure in the pulpit.Heavens!Was the vicar casting judgment on his congregation—on the overly righteous creatures who believed themselves worthier individuals merely through attending church? What extraordinary words for a man who was, no doubt, living under the patronage of the very people he sought to criticize.
As Etty studied the vicar’s features, her heart gave a little jolt.
It was the man from the cliff path.
From his elevated position in the pulpit, a beam of sunlight illuminating his features, she could see him more clearly. His blond hair shimmered in the light like a halo as he turned his head to gaze across the congregation. His chocolate-brown eyes bore an intelligent, searching expression—as if he could see into a person’s soul at a mere glance, their sins laid bare.
“And what of the sinner who the more righteous among us believe to be beyond retribution?” he continued. “Should they be condemned forever, or should we ask for the strength to understand them? There are those of us driven to sin through necessity, or the persuasion of others. Those whom the more fortunate might condemn as having weak souls, but…”
He paused as his gaze settled on Etty. His eyes seemed to darken as they focused on her, searching her soul for its weaknesses.
And he would find many. For whom, among the congregation, could possibly have sinned more than she?
For a heartbeat the two of them stared at each other, the rest of the congregation seeming to fade into the background, blurred and indistinct, as if they were the only two creatures in the church.
He dipped his head a fraction, as if to acknowledge her presence, and her cheeks warmed at his scrutiny.
