Page 10 of Dare it all for Love

Dearest Flo,

You poor lamb. I am dreadfully sorry the wretched man embarrassed you so. Bainbridge asked me to tell you he is at your disposal should you wish him to break anyone’s head for you.

Of course, I should be delighted to have you stay, whenever and for however long you wish. Oh, we shall have a marvellous time if you come. I have so much to show you. Only, I think I ought to point out, darling, that men never truly grow up. So you ought perhaps remember that the boys who like you the most are usually the ones who pull your hair, drop worms in your lap, and throw mice under your petticoats.

―Excerpt of a letter from Arabella Grenville, The Most Hon’ble, The Marchioness of Bainbridge (daughter of Mrs Alice and Mr Nathanial Hunt) to Miss Florence Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight).

11th August 1839, Holbrook House, Sussex.

Florence smothered a yawn as the vicar addressed the congregation, not that he was a boring fellow. Indeed, as vicars went, Reverend Martin was rather entertaining. He was also young and handsome, as had escaped not one of the women in the audience. There was a deal of whispering and giggling among the younger females as he spoke, causing the older generation to mutter and scold at intervals. Florence was tired, though, and no matter how entertaining the vicar, she only wanted to go home for a nap. Last night she’d slept ill, her mind filled with worry. She was certain Henry was not taking the events he’d described as seriously as he ought. Someone was making a point and, if Henry did not get to the bottom of it quickly, who knew what the person responsible might do. If they kept getting away with their pranks with no consequences, surely they would only grow bolder.

Then there was Grace.

Though her own troubles had filled her mind of late, she had not forgotten her friend. Yet Grace refused to confide in her, at least for the moment. Goodness, but when had life become so complicated? Florence stared at the back of Henry’s neck. He sat with his sister and her husband in the family pew at the front of the church, close enough to touch. Florence’s fingers itched with the desire to reach out and stroke his hair where it curled over his collar. It was thick and glinted in differing shades of gold. His sister’s hair was a light brown, as was Henry’s, but so much time in the sun had bleached it, turning some locks a bright blond, others a soft amber, and still others all shades in between. She sighed.

Vivien, who was sitting beside on her right, leaned closer.

“I’m tempted to do something wicked, just so he’ll come and save me,” she whispered.

Florence followed her gaze to Reverend Martin and giggled, only to be severely hushed by an old woman in the pew behind them. Naturally, this only made Vivien snort with amusement, which in turn made Florence want to laugh harder. She bit her lip to hold it in.

Henry turned, his hazel eyes meeting hers just as Vivien added, “You’ve got to admit, Florence, for a man of God, he’s quite edible.”

Florence ignored Henry and looked at the vicar.

“Yes,” she said, her words very deliberate. “Yes, he certainly is.”

Henry glowered at the pulpit. The smug young pup. He didn’t doubt the man knew full well that all the young women in the church were fluttering their eyelashes in his direction. Not that Henry cared. It was of no consequence to him who Florence Knight found handsome. Not in the least. He’d not give it another thought. Indeed, Reverend Martin was exactly the kind of man Florence ought to be interested in, though she could look far higher than a mere country vicar. Her mother was the Duke of Bedwin’s sister, and her father one of the richest men in the country. With her beauty, connections, and vast dowry, she could snag a titled fellow with ease. She could certainly do far better than a vicar, or him for that matter. Henry battered down an unwelcome surge of resentment and reminded himself he was being ridiculous. She was in her twenties, and he’d just passed forty. Whilst that was hardly an unusual age gap, it was… he just… well, it….

Her father would kill him.

Finally grasping at a reason which was solid and undeniable, he relaxed. Besides, he did not wish to marry, and any entanglement with Florence Knight would end with a swift trip to the altar, the one destination in the world to which he had no desire to travel.

The interminable service over at last, they filed out of the church. Henry stood with his sister and her husband, Jasper, as people milled about chatting and came to speak to them. They were popular among the local people, he realised, noting how many of the congregation wanted to speak with the earl and his lady. Two young women came arm-in-arm, one—an attractive blonde—clutching a posy of flowers.

“Good morning, Lord St Clair,” they chorused, blushing rosily at the handsome earl.

Jasper smiled at them. “Susan, Nancy. Good day to you both.”

“I wanted to thank you, my lord, for letting me have the day off tomorrow to visit my sister. It’s very kind of you,” said Susan, the blonde girl with the posy of wildflowers.

“Think nothing of it. Please send your sister our regards and tell her we miss her at Holbrook.”

“If you would like to go the kitchen this evening, I’ve had Cook make up a basket for you to take to her,” Harriet added, smiling kindly at them. “New mothers need their strength building up.”

“Oh, my lady,” Susan said, her eyes sparkling. “That’s so very kind of you.”

“A pleasure, Susan. Please tell your sister we miss her at the house, but hope she is very happy in her new life. Her husband is treating her well, I trust?”

“Oh, yes, Lady St Clair. Rachel married a fine fellow. If only we’d all be so lucky,” she added with a sigh and a wistful glance at the earl.

“Those are pretty flowers,” Henry observed, some sixth sense telling him Florence was watching the exchange. “From a sweetheart?”

The girl blushed and lowered her gaze, avoiding his eye.

“Oh, no, sir,” she said, staring at her toes. “They’re for my gran.”

“Come on, Susan,” her friend urged, tugging at her arm. “We’ll be late back if we’re not careful.”