A pained look crossed the vicar’s face before he took a sip of tea.
Perhaps it was the fever heating within me, but my tongue seemed strangely loosened while my head felt like it had its own rebellious drummer, each beat sending shock waves through my thoughts.
I set down my teacup and rubbed my temples. “I was surprised to hear that you were friends with my uncle. I did not have any semblance of a relationship with him over the years.”
“You received no letters?” The vicar’s frown deepened. He set his cup on the saucer. “Not even one?”
I shook my head and immediately regretted the action as it reverberated through me. “Nothing in all my years living with my mother. We stayed in a cottage, provided by her relatives at Portsmouth.”
The vicar shook his head. “Most unfortunate.”
“Did you know my father?” I demanded.
“He died before I moved to Bramnor.” A careful answer to my way of thinking.
“Then you’ve surely heard the gossip by now. Both men were brutes. When my mother took me from the abbey, it was to save her life. Not a single soul intervened to help her.”
“I am truly sorry. No woman should endure such terror. Nor any child.”
To my surprise, the vicar made no excuses for the men in my family. Instead, he regarded me with sympathy.
“My mother was a brave soul. Despite her meekness of spirit, she had the courage to leave this forsaken home. Her faith never wavered no matter her circumstances.” My fingers flexed over my knee. No longer did I know what hurt more... the battle wound or the fever rising or the pain of remembering my past.
“Your mother’s faith is a gift,” the vicar said quietly.
Yes, it was. If darkness chased my heels, something else lingered too. The longer I spent in the abbey, the more I remembered her lessons and example, but I did not welcome his intrusion into my interrogation. I wanted to knowwhyhe had remained by my uncle’s side. If my uncle promised money or influence, surely the vicar would have seen through such blatant lies.
“So you see, I cannot fathom why any man would want to be friends with my uncle or my father. My earliest recollections are of my father accusing my mother of being unfaithful, even though Ibelieve such an accusation could only be the lie of a crazed man. I do not know who is my father. My uncle or...”
Pressing a fist against my mouth, I curbed myself at the last moment, ashamed to have shared so much. I was not myself. Nor had I ever divulged so much with anyone other than Lewis.
A wave of dizziness swept over me, scorching my skin even further. The room wavered before my eyes. I was aware of a rustle as I tipped forward, caught by the edge of the table, and rattling the teacups. The vicar reached my side, his hand on my arm.
“My lord—”
I licked my lips, trying to answer to assure him not to worry, but my vision faded to black.
15:Bridget
Nothing happens to anybody which he is not fitted by nature to bear.
MARCUS AURELIUS
Hawthorn Abbey appeared almost romantic in the evening with ivy covering the stones. My pulse thrummed despite the peaceful setting spread before me. The sunset revealed signs of new activity along the estate. A line of stakes marked the beginnings of a road cutting through the fields, portions of the ground freshly turned and awaiting the first stones. My pulse quickened at the sight—evidence of the viscount’s determination to bring change, even in his weakened state.
I dreaded this visit, especially when Father returned to the parsonage appearing distressed, demanding I procure Mother’s time-tested tinctures and return with him to tend to the feverish viscount, now rendered immobile with the same fever sweeping the valley.
Considering our last encounter at church, would he even welcome my presence?
Father cast me a worried glance as we approached the main entrance, dripping with Hedera leaves.
“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Molly or Mrs. Herriot, but I am deeply concerned for our viscount. He’s young and quite determined to prove himself.”
“As he should,” I answered drily.
“Even to the point of selling the tapestries, paintings, and silver. He even threatened to sell the library.”
My steps faltered. I had delighted in that library, especially when the former Lord Hawthorn had allowed my father and me use of it. It saved me an extra trip to the lending libraries in Chichester and had been the one saving grace of the former lord. How desperate the viscount must be to part with his family’s items. A measure of pity wormed its way into my heart. A very small measure.
