The parishioners left the sanctuary, all except the viscount, who glowered from his bench.
Was he wishing to speak with Father? Dread shuddered through me. I hoped the two of them would at least come to a reasonable understanding regarding Mr. Perry’s land. Father couldn’t undertake finding a new vicarage or a lowly curate position at his age.
I slipped to the back of the church, hoping for another chance to speak with the viscount, but he marched past me. Again, he refused to glance in my direction, his desire to escape evident by the stomp of his boots.
“Lord Hawthorn,” I said, my voice louder than I intended and holding a decided note of challenge to his bad manners. “A good day to you.”
He pivoted, his boots squeaking on the polished floor.
“Miss Littleton, isn’t it? My apologies. I scarcely recognized you.” His flinty gaze moved from my face to the plumy white ostrich feathers surely dancing from my bonnet, courtesy of the breeze rippling in from the open doors. He seemed to catch the error of his blunt speech at the last moment and added in a low voice, “A lovely change.”
The inclination to behave for the sake of my father dissipated like dandelion puff in the breeze. I arched an eyebrow at the viscount’s offhand comment and uttered in an equally clipped tone, “Come now. There’s no need for such flattery. I am still the same, whether on the field or in the church.”
The muscle in his jaw jumped, and I felt as if I had piqued him.
“I scarcely know what I’ll encounter. A fairy or a sprite, an antiquarian knee-deep in research, or... perhaps a sheep herder.”
My mouth dropped open in the most undignified manner. “I beg your pardon?”
He leaned forward, that tantalizing scent of leather and sandalwood teasing my nose again. His hard gaze pinned me to the floor. “Miss Littleton, you wouldn’t happen to know who dug holes on my property or let my sheep loose?”
Shock filled me, though I did like his use ofantiquarian.
“I confess you have me at a loss, my lord. Neither I nor the Perry family would ever consider trespassing onyourland, even for research purposes. Although, if you allowed it, I should like to see that hole.”
A dry chuckle escaped him. “I bet you would. You’ll find naught but stones. There is nothing of value hidden on my land. Although, you did warn me about the greed of others and the swarm of treasure hunters soon to devour us. Have a care, Miss Littleton. I intend to plant more trees for my orchard and lay the foundation for a service road to cut from the orchard to the brewery. Do not stand in the way of true progress.”
My nostrils surely flared at the thinly veiled insult while my heart dropped at the breadth of his plans.
“I hope, Lord Hawthorn, you won’t forbid my father and me from our ministering visits. I have dear friends who happen to be tenants of yours. Mrs. Eacher is one of them.”
His hard expression morphed into a smirk. “Ah yes. Your afternoons of reading gothic novels. I confess I’ve never met a vicar’s daughter who enjoyed such fiction.”
Heat bloomed across my cheeks. “My father and I have worked hard to cultivate our relationships in Bramnor.” Then I added, as if stabbing him with a pin. “Might I add how good it is to see you at church. My father has so looked forward to having you join our humble congregation. Will you be joining us next Sunday?”
He offered the barest nod. “I shall. Your father preached an excellent sermon.”
Apparently, he had manners, even if dusty. Too late, I rememberedFather’s warning not to cause offense. Struggling to retrieve my tattered manners, I plastered a bright smile on my face.
“And how do you find Hawthorn Abbey and the surrounding estate so far, despite your adventure of missing sheep?”
“It will be to my liking soon enough.” He narrowed his eyes as he regarded me. “Perhaps we shall encounter each other again, out in the field.”
“Mr. Perry’s field,” I corrected firmly. “I look forward to the magistrate’s assistance in this affair.”
“Rest assured, I have already sent out inquires,” Lord Hawthorn replied in a frosty tone.
As we stood in the center aisle, regarding each other warily, I had the impression of two fencers parrying gently and tapping the foils for weakness before lunging for the kill.
I wanted to return to the subject of the dig, to press him further, but something in his hard gaze told me this wasn’t the moment. Better to retreat and save my strength for another day.
With a sharp nod, as if reaching the same conclusion, he turned away, his attention already shifting from our skirmish to the larger battlefield of church society. My breath caught as he approached my father, the two exchanging a few terse words. I remained rooted to the spot, watching as the villagers quickly closed in around him, drawn like moths to a flame. His rigid posture and clenched jaw betrayed his discomfort, but he stood his ground, engaging with the fawning parishioners with a politeness that appeared to be more duty than desire.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. Eleanor Hawkins and her husband, one of the landed gentry, approach Lord Hawthorn. Both smiling wide enough to cause cheek spasms. I slipped away, leaving him to the delight of the other parishioners.
Another man paused at the nave, hovering at the back of the crowd before lunging forward to the small group clustered aroundthe new viscount. Mr. Barron, of all people, dressed in a navy coat of fine wool and a flamboyant gold waistcoat. I paused to observe as he bowed, snapping his heels together after pushing through a cluster of tittering misses, all daughters of the Hawkinses, to make himself visible. Only my friends, the Perry family, ducked out of the church, leaving before I could speak with them.
Mr. Barron waved his hands. “My good viscount, how fortunate we are to have you within our humble valley. I extend a warm welcome to you.”
