Free The Lonely Earl by Vanessa Gray Page A

him. I shall have to look into the matter.”
    “In the meantime, sir,” Faustina said tartly, “perhaps Crale Hall could put itself out for a dinner for the vicar once a week? That could be worthwhile.”
    The earl considered her thoughtfully. She felt her cheeks flush under his dispassionate stare. But then, to her surprise, he smiled. The smile transformed his face, and something queer happened to Faustina — a moment’s tilting of the world and then righting itself. Something awry with die breakfast ham, she told herself.
    Pendarvis said, “I suppose it is my duty, sir.” He cast a glance full of meaning at Egmont ‘Too bad duty has so many disagreeable facets to it.”
    “I quite agree,” said Egmont, with a glance at his sister-in-law that Faustina intercepted, and, even though she was in total agreement, deplored, with a sinking feeling. Such openness about his feelings, particularly before the earl, boded ill for any future harmony at Kennett Chase.
    Egmont’s remark sailed past Louisa’s unheeding ears. A thought that just occurred to her was engrossing, and with Louisa, to think was usually to speak. “How annoying,” agreed Louisa with youthful enthusiasm, “it must be to have someone of such a very toadying nature at one’s table. Not even edifying, for he never quotes Scripture at one.”
    While the family was digesting this appalling indiscretion, the ensuing silence was broken by a heavy and purposeful step on the flagstone beyond the open door. The earl, remembering only too well his own recent experience with the strange acoustics of the environs, glanced suspiciously at the newcomer. As the vicar himself stepped through the front door, Hugh was dismayed. This family of Kennett were damnably outspoken.
    He need not have been concerned about the vicar’s sensibilities. Mr. Astley gave no sign that he had heard any untoward remarks. Hugh surmised, correctly, that the vicar was incapable of hiding his thoughts. Nor was he capable of believing anything he did not want to believe. Even had he heard Louisa’s remarks, Hugh decided, he would not have taken them literally.
    Mr. Astley was intent upon sharing with everyone the insult he had just received elsewhere. “It is the fate of Duty,” he intoned, the capital letter unmistakable, “always to be misunderstood. For example, the older families in the country would never be guilty of neglect toward one who is as wellborn as they. And it is the strength of England, I might say—”
    “He does say,” murmured Faustina to her cousin, “doesn’t he?”
    “That each of us knows his place. I stopped at Crale Hall, my lord, to pay my respects upon your return to Devon, to take up, I might say, the onerous demands of your exalted station.”
    “And I was not there,” supplied Hugh, without regret.
    “But your brother was,” said the vicar, laboring under a strong sense of injustice, which made him almost human, and therefore more likable. The moment was fleeting.
    “I gather my half-brother was rude,” suggested Hugh. “I must apologize for his ill manners.”
    “Only, my lord, that he did not offer to inform me as to your whereabouts. So I came on to Kennett Chase, feeling that I wished to share my news with Lady Waverly.”
    “With me?” echoed Louisa, startled.
    “Indeed, yes,” he beamed upon her. “And, of course, with Miss Kennett. I know you will both be as delighted as I am…”
    But Louisa Waverly’s thoughts were traveling a different road from the vicar’s. Suddenly, oblivious of the prolix vicar’s ramblings, she turned again to Hugh. “Your daughter, Lady Althea. How old is she?”
    “Approximately six years, I believe,” said Hugh.
    “Alas, too young for a governess,” said Louisa. “But soon she will need to have some woman to instruct her.”
    The vicar, stopped in mid-stride, narrowed his eyes. “You have anticipated my thought, my lady. Only, I would not suggest a governess.” Too late he remembered that