Jo Brown - A Bride for the Baron

Somehow her feet carried her alongside her brother. She gripped the banister as they descended the stairs. She heard Gregory ask someone where the baron was but could not focus on whom he spoke with nor the answer. She realized where they were going only when she saw four suits of armor that held swords and lances at the ready lining either side of the corridor.

Gregory knocked on the door of the book room and called, “Lord Meriweather, may we speak with you for a moment?”

“Come in,” the baron called.

Vera walked with her brother into the room that was lined with overflowing bookshelves. More books were stacked in front of them. A rosewood desk was set in front of a large double window. Chairs faced the white marble fireplace.

“Good morning,” Lord Meriweather said with a smile as he stood from one of the chairs.

That smile wavered when Gregory said, “I understand you have asked Vera about our connections with the smugglers, and you need to know that the answer she gave you was not the truth.”

She tried to keep from lowering her eyes when Lord Meriweather looked from her brother to her. Accusation burned in his eyes.

“Are you saying, vicar, that Miss Fenwick lied?”

“No.” Gregory shook his head calmly. “She told you the truth as she knows it. However, it is not the true as I know it.”

“I see. Perhaps,” Lord Meriweather said, “we should sit and discuss this. Miss Fenwick, if you please...”

Both men waited while Vera selected a chair farthest from where the baron had been sitting. She stared down at her clasped hands. It might be futile, but she wanted to prevent him from having a good view of her face. If Gregory had been honest with her, they would not be in this uncomfortable situation.

No, a small voice whispered from her heart, you would have had to spill the truth when Lord Meriweather asked you yesterday. You could have been the cause of Gregory being dismissed again.

At that thought, her throat threatened to close and halt her breathing. The vicarage was gone, and they could be soon, too. Lord Meriweather might believe, upon hearing what Gregory had to say, that a vicar who consorted with criminals did not deserve to preach at the Sanctuary Bay church.

“Very well, Mr. Fenwick,” Lord Meriweather said coolly. “I am waiting for you to explain that extraordinary comment which leads me to believe you have assisted the smugglers.”

She closed her eyes, praying that Gregory knew what he was doing. She did not open them as her brother spoke.

“It was not as you think, my lord,” Gregory said in a quiet, calm voice. “The incident happened several years ago. It was one evening after I had visited a member of the congregation in the village. A man appeared out of the shadows. He wore cloth over his mouth and nose, and his hat hid his eyes. He did not say much, but it was enough to know that there had been a terrible accident and I was needed. A man was dying. I am not a judge. I leave that to God. What I could do was pray with him and offer his family comfort when he died.”

She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling as tears pressed against her eyelids. How could she have doubted her brother’s integrity? One of the smugglers’ greatest crimes might be making them suspicious of each other.

Lord Meriweather did not reply right away. When he did, his voice was strained. “I cannot fault you for doing your duty, vicar. I would never speak badly of any man who did that. But I do have a question.”

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