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“No, and that’s one of the reasons why I’m here. I want you to do something about it.”
“What on earth can I do about it?”
“Dispatch the fellow.”
Devin had a sudden thought. “Is he a vicar?”
“A vicar?” His uncle stared at him. “I should certainly hope not! He’s an earl.”
“Of course,” Devin murmured. “It was just a thought.”
“You’re not talking about that fellow attached to the Wildes, are you?”
“Yes. Mr. Marlowe was the curate at St. Wilfrid’s for two years, and now is vicar in one of the Duke of Lindow’s livings.”
His uncle snorted. “Last week Lady Knowe held an afternoon tea, not with dancing, merely for the young ladies who are coming out this Season. I went along with Hazel, and that fellow attended. The giggling sounded like the north wind coming down a chimney. He has all sorts of ideas, not the sort that I approve of either. Talking about orphanages and getting young ladies excited about going to church. It isn’t proper.”
Devin nodded. Mr. Marlowe’s profile was a powerful lure. But Mr. Marlowe, the protector of small children, blue eyes glowing? All that virtue might rival a title, even that of a duke, the highest in the land.
“I think Marlowe would be a good vicar for St. Wilfrid’s,” he said to his uncle.
Uncle Reggie squinted at him. “You’re up to something.”
He looked back without responding.
His uncle guffawed. “When I haven’t seen you in a while, I always forget that you move us around as if we were chess pieces. The pretty vicar will go to St. Wilfrid’s to replace Otis, presumably?”
“It’s a logical move to make certain that my parishioners aren’t left in the lurch. There was a chance Otis would change his mind over the last few months since he first announced his reluctance to continue as a vicar, but no.”
“I suppose I have to accept it,” Sir Reginald groaned. “I was proud of the fact that this family had produced a man of God.”
Except they hadn’t.
But Devin kept that thought to himself.
“The Duke of Lindow obviously has a spare vicar,” Devin said instead, “since he dragged this one up to London. Moreover, the man has already spent two years in the parish of St. Wilfrid’s. Mr. Marlowe is an obvious choice to replace Otis.”
“You do make it sound quite logical,” his uncle said.
“St. Wilfrid’s will be very good for his career. It’s not every young man who’s offered a living by a duke.”
“That’s true. I’m sure his fiancée will approve.”
“Fiancée?”
“Miss Pettigrew. She attended Lady Knowe’s tea. Can’t say I care for her much.” His uncle hoisted himself to his feet, leaving a patch of yellow powder on the back of the tall chair.
“You might invite Mr. Marlowe to your tea,” Devin suggested.
“I’d rather not,” his uncle said. “I can’t abide all the foolish giggling without a good burgundy in hand.”
“And Miss Pettigrew,” Devin added.
“Want to meet the fiancée, do you? You’re playing a deep game, Nephew.”
“It will give me a chance to sound out Marlowe on the subject of St. Wilfrid’s.”
“I might invite them to dinner if you insist, but not tomorrow. Don’t be late,” his uncle ordered. “No running off to the library either. Even you can endure two hours of conversation and a dance or two. I’ve hired a quartet.”
