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“I address Devin by his first name, don’t I, Devin?” Joan said brightly, popping into the room. “We already discussed that, and you’ll remember, Mrs. Pettigrew, that I suggested your mores might be somewhat out of date.”

“If you’ll forgive me, Lady Joan, you have no need to engage in the sort of wiles displayed by Miss Astley,” Miss Pettigrew said shrilly. Her hand moved jerkily, but no one in the room had any doubt about what she was gesturing toward. Apparently, she didn’t care for Viola’s bodice. Her mouth was a thin, disgusted line.

“You’re quite awful,” Joan said in a conversational tone. “You seem to have no understanding of dress”—her eyes made a scathing sweep of Miss Pettigrew’s gown—“but I assure you that my stepsister’s bodice is in the forefront of fashion.”

“She—”

“She, as in my niece,” Lady Knowe cut in, her voice sharp as a whip, “will soon be married to the Duke of Wynter, who holds the living of St. Wilfrid’s, the very vicarage in which we now stand.”

“Likely that marriage ought to happen soon, given the way his hands were—” That was the moment when the meaning of Lady Knowe’s sentence sank into Miss Pettigrew’s mind.

She began blinking rapidly.

“My daughter is very sensitive to sin, in all its forms and practices,” Mrs. Pettigrew said, taking a step forward. She had turned somewhat pale. “In her enthusiasm, she misinterpreted what she saw.”

“I expect,” Miss Pettigrew said with a gulp.

“My brother will never countenance such impoliteness toward his daughter,” Lady Knowe said flatly. At that moment she appeared to be a replica of her twin brother. “Mr. Marlowe is no longer welcome at Lindow.”

Devin tightened his hand around Viola’s small fingers. Miss Pettigrew had been genuinely disgusted by a simple kiss. She was not someone whom Devin wanted to have authority over the women of his parish.

Not to mention the fact that he still felt a burning wish to eviscerate her.

Viola spoke before he had a chance to extend Lady Knowe’s judgment to St. Wilfrid’s. “I’m certain that Miss Pettigrew was merely startled by opening a door and encountering people whom she didn’t expect to see. It can be shocking to find . . . to find a couple engaged in a private moment.”

Devin frowned down at her. A moment ago she had seemed mortified, as if someone had stripped her naked in public. Wasn’t she stricken by humiliation after having been caught in the act of kissing a man in a closed room?

Viola was looking at Miss Pettigrew, her eyes compassionate. “I’m certain that His Grace understands that a startled woman might say words she didn’t intend. You didn’t mean to imply that there was anything improper about a kiss shared by a betrothed couple, did you, Miss Pettigrew?”

“No,” the lady managed to gasp.

“Nor that a betrothed gentleman and a lady cannot be trusted together without a chaperone.” She smiled, she actually smiled, at Miss Pettigrew. “I’m sure that on occasion you and Mr. Marlowe have been alone together.”

Devin’s anger was drenched by a sense of wonder.

He had known Viola was kind and had an instinct to save everything from cows to crows. But he hadn’t imagined that she would extend her mercy to the woman marrying the vicar whom she loved.

Hopefully, in the past tense: had loved.

Everything in him suggested that he should ban Mr. Marlowe from all premises that might contain his bride. No more soulful blue eyes around Viola. He could find a weathered, elderly vicar who would run an orphanage with calm deliberation rather than ethical fervor.

But he didn’t want to disagree with his bride.

What’s more, he had a suspicion that Viola was the kind of woman who would listen to advice and make her own decision, regardless of a husband’s attempt to dictate. She grew up in Lady Knowe’s nursery, after all.

“As a devoted mother, I trust my daughter implicitly,” Mrs. Pettigrew said. “If she and Mr. Marlowe wished to talk in private, I would have to discuss it with Bishop Pettigrew, but we would likely allow a brief conversation.”

“As I trust my niece,” Lady Knowe said, turning her stony gaze onto Mrs. Pettigrew. “Which is why I am very disturbed at the implications of your daughter’s statements.”

“I apologize,” Miss Pettigrew said with a gulp.

“There!” Viola said brightly. “I accept your apology, Miss Pettigrew. And now I’d like to see the rest of the vicarage.”

Devin frowned. There was something deeply unpleasant about Miss Pettigrew. He truly didn’t want her in the parish.

But Viola was looking at him, holding out her hand.

“Viola always gets her way,” Lady Knowe told him, as they walked toward the hallway. She’d stopped looking like an avenging angel, sword in hand.