Page 52 of A Bride for the Baron

Tables were arranged in long lines, and the parishioners gathered around them, awaiting the rare treat of being served their food by the Meriweather Hall staff. Like all the traditions at the old estate, having the feast in the great hall was one that reached so far back in time that nobody knew how it had begun.

Not that it mattered, Vera thought, as she took her seat next to her brother halfway down the great hall from where Edmund sat with Lady Meriweather and his aunt as well as Lord Ashland and Sir Nigel. Lillian slid into an empty chair close to him and gave him such a warm smile that Vera could sense its heat from many feet away. She looked down at the plate in front of her before her expression betrayed her feelings.

A match between Edmund and Lillian would be an excellent one, combining two families who had lived on Sanctuary Bay for generations. Lillian made Edmund laugh, relieving the stress that too often lined his brow. She was beautiful, and, if Vera read her face correctly, Lillian had a tendre for him.

All that was true, but it was also true that the very thought of Edmund marrying Lillian sent a dagger of pain slicing through her heart. It was silly to imagine he might fall in love with her instead of Lillian. More than silly. It could lead to more trouble than she could handle. To be the cause of Gregory losing his living again would be devastating. No matter how many times she told herself that Edmund was a better and kinder man than Nolan Hedgcoe, letting her dreams wander in such a direction was dangerous. Better to relish their friendship and smile when he stood by his bride at the altar in front of Gregory who would pronounce them husband and wife.

A soft moan slipped past her lips, and her brother glanced at her before asking if something was amiss.

“No,” she hurried to say.

“Then why are you groaning? You are not ill, are you?” He lowered his voice. “I’m going to need your assistance even more this week than usual after what happened on the beach.”

“I know, and I am not ill.” She forced a smile as she patted his hand. “Do not let me distract you from your duties.”

“I never do.” He stood and called out for grace to be said before the meal was served.

Vera did not listen to his words as she sent up a prayer of her own. She needed God to help her walk the path He had chosen for her and not let her stray where her own heart yearned to go.

Gregory smiled as a chorus of “Amen” followed his in the moment before dozens of conversations began, and the servants swarmed toward the tables to fill the plates. He sat and turned to answer a question from farther along the table.

Finishing her own prayer, Vera sampled the food placed in front of her. She was becoming accustomed to someone else cooking and serving their meals, but she missed her cozy kitchen. A sob bubbled up from the place where she had forced down her grief at losing her home and almost everything in it. Another loss to add to the others that had shaped her life.

She faked a cough when Gregory looked at her with curiosity. He had enough sorrow of his own, and she would not add to it by admitting she teetered on the edge of tears.

Quietly excusing herself, Vera walked with the kitchen maids out of the great hall. When they turned toward the kitchen stairs, she went in the opposite direction. She wanted to run, but that would draw attention to her. A single word or glance in her direction might shatter her.

Somehow, she found her way outside and into one of the smaller gardens. She sank on to a stone bench beneath an arbor that would, once summer arrived, be covered by a wild explosion of roses. The vines, like most of the plants in the garden, had only begun to green after the cold, snowy winter and the cool, rainy spring.

Her tears burned even more hotly against her lashes as she looked at the beds where the bulbs she had brought from the vicarage were planted. She had remained calm while Edmund had helped her dig them up and while she had pronounced that she would transplant them to this garden until a new vicarage was ready. When she had said that, she had been determined that not even a horrific fire would halt her from doing what she had promised to after she and Gregory came to Sanctuary Bay: make him a peaceful home where he could concentrate on the work he had been called to do.

A shadow crossed the ground in front of her, and she looked up to discover Edmund. She should have guessed he would notice her leaving. He seldom missed anything. Was it a skill he had honed during his time in the army?

“Your flowers will be sprouting soon,” he said.

“I know.” All her efforts to keep her sorrow out of her voice were in vain.

“Now I have distressed you.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“If not me, then something or someone else has. Are you all right?” He ran a finger along her cheek, and she resisted the yearning to lean her face against his palm. “You have been crying.”

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