Page 98 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“And the truth is?”
“That not all sins deserve punishment,” she replied. “When we’re entrusted with a sinner’s confession, we must show compassion for the sinner and honor their trust.”
“What nonsense you speak, Mrs. Clegg,” he said. “Where did you hearthatfrom?”
“From one of your sermons,” came the reply. “The very same sermon where you declared that a woman’s misfortune is to shoulder the blame in a world ruled by men.” She leaned forward and placed the cup on the desk.
“You brought me a cup of tea?” Andrew asked.
“Coffee, actually.”
“What for?” He peered into the cup at the black, steaming liquid within. “I don’t take coffee at this hour.”
“Neither do you reduce yourself to a state of inebriation,” she replied. “But needs must. You have a guest, and judging by the look of him, I’d recommend receiving him with at least a semblance of sobriety.”
“A guest?” Andrew gestured toward her. “Send him away. He can wait.”
“I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Why? Who is he?”
His stomach spasmed and he swallowed a bolt of nausea. Was it Sir Leonard Howard, come to challenge him to a duel for dishonoring his daughter?
The housekeeper pulled a card out of her pocket and placed it on the desk. Andrew picked it up, his head throbbing as he focused his gaze on the inscription.
Gerard Turnbull
Watkins, Turnbull & Grimley
Chancery Lane, London.
“He said you’d know who he was,” she said.
Andrew nodded slowly. “He’s my father’s solicitor.”
“I thought as much. I took the liberty of giving him tea while he waited.” She pushed the cup toward him and gave a soft smile. “I told him you were resting after a busy day visiting the poor of the village.”
“An untruth, Mrs. Clegg?”
“With the most noble of motives, vicar. And you have engaged in several busy days visiting the poor of the village, so it’s not a complete untruth. Mr. Turnbull was happy to wait. As long as need be, he said. He’s taken a room at the Sailor for the night.”
So, it wasn’t a fleeting visit. Apprehension churned in Andrew’s gut, and he picked up the coffee cup and took a sip, then wrinkled his nose.
By heaven, that was strong!
“I told him you’d be with him in thirty minutes. Will that be enough time to make yourself presentable?”
Andrew nodded meekly. There was no defense against a strong-willed, determined woman—particularly if she was in the right.
“Good,” she said. “I have some feverfew tea infusing, which I’ll bring along in a moment. For your head.”
“Yes, Mrs. Clegg,” he said, fighting the urge to say,Yes, Nanny.
She arched an eyebrow, then gave a smile of indulgence. “You may try my patience, Mr. Staines, but I shall miss you when you leave the parish.”
“I’m going nowhere,” he replied.
“Perhaps.” She rose and approached the door. Then she turned and fixed her gaze on him. “May I speak out of turn?”
