Page 24 of Atone, Adonis

He knew this visit would not be easy but he came prepared for that. And any sign of poverty or decay would only help.

The Bishop stood at the window, gaunt and gray-haired, his veined hands clasped behind his back while he watched the rain strike the glass in what seemed to be increasingly icy streaks. The temperature outside was dropping, as Fred was certain it would soon be in this room as well.

“My lord Bishop,” he began. “You have received my letter.”

Bishop Ellicott turned slowly, his lined face drawn into a grave expression. “I have.” His watery eyes flicked back to the window where hail now rattled against the panes. “And I must confess, I am sorely troubled by your request.”

“Then you may spare yourself that trouble. I did not come for absolution.”

“No.” Bishop Ellicott cleared his throat. “You came for a license to marry the sister of the man whose parents perished by your recklessness.”

“I came for a signature. Nothing more.”

“This will not go well, Lord Chester. You fled after the Farrow tragedy, a calamity laid very rightly at your feet. And now you return, ten years gone, to claim the daughter as your wife? It is unconscionable.”

“I am aware of the history.”

“And with Thomas too ill to put a stop to this folly.” He shook his head. “Good heavens, he was once your closest friend.”

Fred bit his tongue. The Bishop was every inch the toad he remembered. If he thought for even half a moment the man’s concern over the Farrows was genuine this would be a very different conversation. But he didn’t.

“What will it take,” he asked at last, “to secure your signature? Name your price.”

The Bishop sniffed and sat behind his desk. “I will remind you, sir, that I am a servant of God, not some common card sharp to be bought at your convenience. You shall not make use of this Church—nor of that family—to varnish your reputation.”

Fred turned his back, fists clenched. And then before he knew it he’d wheeled around, and was advancing on the Bishop’s desk, until he practically loomed over the seated man.

“I have no illusions about my reputation. You need not rehearse its failings. But I will have that license.”

The Bishop recoiled slightly. “No.”

“Why not?”

“What would they say of me if I granted it? Do you even know what they say of you, the Darling of Dorset turned dark? No, I will not sully my name, nor that of Miss Farrow, with this profane alliance.”

Fred’s lip curled as he tried to calm the surge of anger he felt toward this sham of a man who had done nothing for the Farrows when they’d most needed help. “It is no concern of mine what is said of me,” he all but growled. “I am here at Thomas’s bidding. I will give the lady my hand, because I am an Earl and she will be a Countess. And then no one can touch her.”

“You think too highly of yourself. You are no one’s savior.”

“And you are?” His fists tightened again. “Would you have me believe you care so deeply for the Farrows?”

“They are of my flock,” the Bishop replied with disdain. “Unlike you.”

“Then where were you when their parents died and there was no income to be had? Not offering Thomas a position in the rectory or he would not have gone to war, where sickness laid him low. Where were you when he required medical care and could not pay the doctor’s fee? Not providing it from parish funds, certainly. And when their aunt died, did you step in then? Lend assistance to Miss Farrow as she buried her kin? No. No to all of it. You did nothing. So do not parade your concern before me now as if it were genuine. You fear only the whispers in the pews and the chill in the collection plate. Hear me, Bishop: if you fear the papers will ruin you, know this, I will ruin you.”

Bishop Ellicott paled but still said primly enough, “I am not an easy man to threaten, my lord.”

Fred studied him for a long moment. “Tell me something, is there anything I might do… any truth I might tell you…that would convince you to sign this license?”

“No. The Church cannot sanction what the conscience condemns.”

Fred held his gaze a moment longer, then leaned forward, letting one expensively gloved hand rest lightly upon the desk. “Lucky for me then that the conscience rarely objects to what the purse may purchase.”

“I do not pretend to know what you mean.”

“I have reviewed the ledgers for St. Oswald’s.” It was a lie, but one Fred delivered smoothly. He hadn’t needed to see the ledgers to know the place was falling apart; his visit yesterday by horseback told him all he needed to know. “A cracked spire. A roof one storm away from collapse. Today’s might just be the one that does it.” His gaze deliberately moved to the window where the hail was still coming down. “Ice is awfully heavy, is it not? And no funds for repair. It is a shame, truly, that such a bastion of the community has fallen so far.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”