The Parson's Pleasure Page 17

  Claire was puzzled. “But why would you do that? Lord Sitchville's horse is favoured to win, isn't he? And what difference would it make to Lord Babcock? It is not as though he would be likely to find out."

  For once, her uncle looked ashamed. “Sitchville's horse is not going to win. Tucker is seeing to that."

  It took a moment for the implication of his words to sink in. Then horror invaded Claire's mind. “Uncle Bobby!” she gasped. “You didn't plan with Tucker to hurt Lord Sitchville's horse? Please tell me you didn't. How could you do such a thing?"

  “I've told you,” he said defensively. “I had no idea Babcock would be offering for Lydia! I thought he was angling after you.” He worried suddenly that he might offend her, but Claire did not seem to have noticed.

  “That's completely beside the point!” she exclaimed, astonished by his answer. “How could you be involved in something so dishonest?"

  “I don't have time to worry about that now,” said Robert anxiously. “You've got to help me stop Tucker before it's too late. I thought it would be funny to see Sitch lose a little on the races, but that was before I knew he would be my Lydia's father-in-law. Now it would be like taking the bread out of my own mouth."

  “It would serve you right if you did,” Claire admonished. “I don't see how anything can be done to stop it at this late date. It won't be pleasant for Lord Sitchville to lose the race, not to mention the money he bets on it. But he needn't know that you were involved in the scheme, I suppose, for Lydia's sake."

  Robert snorted, “Not know! He'll know all right if he gets wind of how much I win on the race. He's bound to put two and two together. I should have realized it before, but that fool Tucker made it sound so easy,” he complained.

  Claire experienced a further sinking in her stomach. “Uncle Bobby,” she asked soberly, “how much money did you wager?"

  He answered reluctantly, “Four hundred pounds."

  Claire sprang to her feet. “I must call Papa. He can help try to stop Tucker!"

  “You can't do that, girl!” exclaimed Robert. “Where do you think I got the money? Your father'll cut me off!"

  Claire looked at him furiously. “You borrowed four hundred pounds from my father to use on a crooked scheme?"

  “Of course not—at least, not all at once.” Bobby had the grace to look sheepish. “A little here, a little there—you know how it is."

  “No, fortunately I do not,” she answered firmly. But she turned back from the door. He was right. She could not tell her father. It would cause a rift in the family, justifiably perhaps, but such a rift would only hurt her mother. Somehow, though, Tucker had to be stopped, or Lydia's match to Lord Babcock could be ruined. In truth they all stood to suffer if this came to light.

  “You cannot ride after Tucker? Catch up to him?” she asked Robert. “You could borrow one of our horses!"

  “No,” he answered. “I'm too old to go riding off as fast as I would have to go to catch them. If you can't think of something else, I'm a ruined man!’ He sank back hopelessly in his chair.

  “Too old,” mused Claire aloud. She would go herself, if she were a man. What they needed now was a strong young man they could trust.

  Her heart leaped. Christopher. He was the person to help them. He had seen this coming, for he had worried that Bobby was getting mixed up in something shady. But she would have to explain it to him herself. Robert would take too long, and with his twisted logic might not be able to persuade the rector to go.

  “I have an idea,” she told Bobby urgently as she hurried towards the door. “It's possible that someone can stop Tucker in time. I don't have a moment to explain,” she said as she reached the door. “Just tell my parents that I have gone for a ride. I should be able to report something to you when I return.” And to Robert's astonishment, she ran upstairs.

  Claire dressed hastily for her ride to the rectory. She tried not to think about Christopher's reception, telling herself that she was doing it for Bobby, Lydia and Sophia. She could not let the feelings which she knew existed between them prevent her from seeking his help when she knew that he was the one person who truly could aid them.

  Hurrying out to the stables, she gave her order to the groom, trying to appear as though nothing were out of the ordinary. Then she mounted and rode the short distance at a gallop. When she came in sight of the rectory, Claire rode directly to the stables, expecting to find Gurney in attendance. It occurred to her that the man might think it strange for her to come again unattended. And this time, of course, she could not pretend that her father was close behind.

  Well, she thought, her business would not take long, so there should not be too much conjecture about it.

  But the rector's groom was not in the stable. After calling out to him a time or two she realized that he must be away on an errand, so after doing her best to stable her horse, she made for the house.

  In the fading light of late afternoon, she saw that the doors to Christopher's library were open to the garden and that the light was on. Having felt self-conscious in her second appearance at the stables, she felt even more so at the prospect of meeting the butler with no excuse. In her haste, she had not prepared a story that did not sound lame to her own ears. She decided to walk up to the study doors to see if the rector was alone. Then it would be easy just to slip out the same way after speaking to him, and no one else need ever know she had been there.

  As Claire reached the door, she saw Christopher standing beside his desk. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized how much she had longed to see him. As she hesitated in the doorway, however, wondering just how to make him aware of her presence, she saw something that drove all other thoughts from her mind.

  He was looking at a letter in his hands, but what concerned her was the expression on his face. It was one of shock, as if the letter contained some news he could not believe. Claire felt the awkwardness of her position. She was certain she would be noticed if she tried to slip away without speaking, and at last, preferring not to be caught spying upon him, she stepped into the room. Yet the news in the letter held the rector's attention so strongly that he did not even then notice her presence.

  Forgetting her own embarrassment, she stepped quite close to him, and said in a voice full of loving solicitude, “My dear, what is it?"

  At that moment—and it was only then that he became aware of her—Christopher swung around, the look of shock still on his face. Without a word, he clasped her to his chest, holding her tightly as if for dear life.

  For what seemed like minutes he held her thusly without speaking, and Claire did not protest. It was heaven to her to be resting safely in his arms, even if for only a while. She had forgotten all about Bobby and Tucker, and her only thought was that something momentous must have happened to unsettle him, but whether it was good or bad she had no clue.

  At last he drew back slowly, as though waking from a dream. She expected him to release her entirely, but instead he held her by the shoulders and looked searchingly into her eyes as he spoke.

  “I love you,” he said. The simplicity of his statement and the intensity in his voice took Claire's breath away. In them, she sensed the total breakdown of the barriers he had put up between them, the effort they had cost him, and his entreaty that it might not be too late for her to forget them.

  Choked with emotion and unable to speak, she raised a hand to caress his cheek, and she smiled at him through her sudden tears.

  Christopher's gaze locked with hers. Joy and relief swept through him. Without waiting to answer questions, he took her in his arms again and kissed her with all the pent-up feeling he had restrained for weeks and weeks. Claire responded to his caresses with all her heart.

  After a time, in which he kissed her again and again, but gently, as if afraid to stop, he held her away from him and chuckled unsteadily. In a low, husky voice, he said, “Does this mean you love me, too, Miss Oliver?"

  “Oh, yes,” she answered softly. “I always ha
ve."

  Christopher pulled her back into his arms. It did not seem to be the time for explanations. He had wanted to hold her for so long.

  After a while he forced himself to hold her away again. She had not drawn back, but he knew it was time to explain, and taking her by the hand, he led her to a small sofa. Claire unconsciously put up a hand to rub the back of her neck, and he looked at her quizzically.

  “Am I too tall for you?” he asked.

  She blushed, finding it hard to meet his gaze, so suddenly had everything changed. “Perhaps a little,” she admitted.

  “We can remedy that,” he asserted, and, sitting down, he drew her onto his lap. Now their faces were at the same level, and Christopher could not resist kissing her again.

  Finally he sighed contentedly and released her. Claire knew he wanted to speak of his news but was finding it hard to know where to begin.

  “You must have known that I loved you,” he said. “It was probably from the first, though I was so absorbed with my purpose here that it was too late before I saw the danger to myself. I thought all along that I would not marry—could not in fact marry one such as you, but I did not realize at first that your heart might be in danger, too."

  Claire assured him that it was by kissing him softly around his face, before he smiled and went on.

  “As soon as I realized what was happening, I tried to make you understand why it would be impossible for us to be happy together, even though I wanted you more than anything I've ever wanted in my life. Did you understand, Claire?” he asked, holding her tightly again as if to prove it.

  “Yes,” she said gently, “but something has happened to change all that, hasn't it.” It was not a question, but a statement.

  Christopher heaved a great sigh. It was pregnant with both the burden of having something to tell and an enormous relief, which was nevertheless not free of pain.

  At last he said, “My cousin is dead."

  Claire did not know what to say. The news came as a total surprise to her, and the suddenness of it—the realization that all their pain of being apart could be ended by the death of someone—came as a shock to her.

  Christopher looked apologetic. “I should have told you immediately,” he said. “I should have said something before I took advantage of being with you. But I had just read the letter and, forgive me, the only thought in my mind at the moment was that now, perhaps, I would be free to love you. And then there you were. It was as though I had been granted a wish."

  Now that the shock was subsiding, Claire hastened to reassure him. “Do not think that you behaved wrongly. You have never been a hypocrite and there is no reason to start being one now just because your cousin is dead. He gave you no reason to love him, and I shall not think better of him just because he is no longer here to torment you."

  She paused a moment, then said, “And this came as a total surprise to you"—she hesitated—"Christopher?” It pleased her to use his Christian name. She had used it in all her thoughts and now it was hers to speak. “You had no news that he was ill?"

  “None at all,” Christopher said, still incredulous. “He was never ill a day in his life that I know of. That was one of his most unattractive traits, that he was somehow able to pursue his dissipation with such energy and never be the least bit weary.” His tone was now quite matter-of-fact and Claire was happy to see him become more like himself. She did not like to think of his feeling guilt for not caring more about his cousin's death.

  “He was thrown by a horse and broke his neck,” he explained. “The letter said he died instantly. It was from his new wife,” he added, “and I must say in my defence that she does not sound any more bereaved than I. And he did not suffer, she said, so we needn't be concerned over that."

  He was completely himself again. The shock of the news had passed, and with no affection for the man to give him pain and no need to justify himself to Claire, he could now give his attention where he most wanted to give it. He hugged Claire tightly with a moan of satisfaction.

  “Did you blame me for letting him stand between us?” he asked.

  “No,” replied Claire. “I knew that you would not be happy under those circumstances and I did not want anything that would be wrong for you” She hesitated before speaking again. “I wanted to tell you that the matter of fortune would not weigh with me, and that we could be happy living together—working together—on my income. Now I hope you know that will be true."

  Christopher looked at her dumbly for a moment. Then his expression changed and he suddenly laughed, “But that won't be a problem now, will it?” When he saw the confusion on her face, he added, “Surely I mentioned it?"

  “What?” asked Claire, totally bemused.

  “That I am the ninth earl,” said Mr. Bennett, laughing. “You will not have to support me after all, my darling, though it is kind of you to offer. I cannot believe I didn't mention it to you!"

  “You never gave the slightest hint that you were your cousin's heir,” said Claire with some surprise.

  “Perhaps I didn't,” he admitted, “but, you see, I never really felt that I was. It had been my cousin's fondest wish to cut me out of the inheritance, and I never doubted of his succeeding. His first wife, bless her soul, failed many times to bear him a live heir. I think that with each failure he hated me more—and her, too, I'm afraid. His new wife is young and strong, so I'm told, and my cousin was certainly not too old to father children, so I never expected to succeed him. With all the grievances I had against him, it was better not to think of it.

  “But she did not conceive—there cannot be any doubt of it now, I suppose, for his wife herself informed me in this letter that I am the new earl. We shall dower her handsomely. John cannot possibly have run through the entire estate!"

  Claire could still not believe her good fortune. To have Christopher for her own would have been enough, but she would have feared an uneasiness between them because of his lack of wealth. Now it seemed that everything was to be perfect. A thought suddenly gave her pause. She asked soberly, “What about your work here, and the Church?"

  Far from the concern she expected, Christopher's face lit up with excitement.

  “Don't you see?” he asked. “Now I will be able to do much more than I ever could have done through the Church. I will take my seat in the Lords and take them all on if I have to. It will be wonderful! And I shall not neglect Garby parish,” he assured her. “I will be very careful in my selection of a curate to make certain that what I have accomplished here is not undone. I will expect his work whenever I come to see my beloved in-laws."

  Claire was caught up in his enthusiasm. They sat making plans, oblivious of the time, until Christopher recalled them to the present.

  “You know what the greatest agony was for me?” he asked. “It was to see you with that fool Babcock and to think that one day I might have to perform your wedding ceremony. I suppose I was all wrong."

  Claire looked at him loftily. “I will have you know that I received a very pretty proposal of marriage from Lord Babcock this morning,” she said. “At least, I think that was what it was,” she admitted, and she told him about the morning's events and the years of embarrassment that had led up to them.

  Christopher laughed with the assurance of the victory. “Let's hope he consoles himself quickly with your cousin Lydia, if you are right that that is where his interest lies. I cannot believe anyone would prefer her to you,” he said, “but perhaps I am old-fashioned."

  “But he already has!” Claire exclaimed happily. “Isn't it marvelous for Lydia? We may not find it so,” she said reasonably when she saw the doubt in his face, “but for her it is a glorious match. And he must love her very much to rush over there a scant half-hour after proposing to me. I know he did, because Uncle Bobby—"

  Claire gave a shriek. Then she struggled to get off his lap.

  “Steady!” said Christopher. “Where are you going in such a rush?"

  “We must go!” Claire
said. “You must stop them! That's what I came here to tell you, and I completely forgot about it. It's Uncle Bobby. He's done something terribly wrong. Oh, do let's go!” she said, laughing, but serious.

  Still, Christopher refused to relinquish his hold. He merely laughed and told her not to worry. “If this has anything to do with Tucker and the Derby, I have already taken care of it,” he said.

  “But how could you? I just discovered their plot myself, and Bobby wouldn't have told you. Surely he did not confess it to you!” she said in shocked tones.

  Christopher smiled. “You ought to know by now that that is not your uncle's way. I am not sure that I approve of the confessional, but in Robert Willoughby's case it might not be a bad idea.” He then told her about his encounter with Tucker. “I suspect that Tucker may not be coming back, though. Something tells me that his character is too far damaged to change despite this reprieve. I have been keeping the money for a few days just to let your uncle get anxious. I thought it might do him some good to worry. Teach him a lesson."

  “I would not be too optimistic about that,” Claire said ruefully. “I have to conclude that my uncle is perfectly amoral."

  Christopher laughed with such total delight that Claire felt compelled to ask what he found so funny.

  “I should have been more careful about whom I fell in love with,” he said. “It occurs to me that I am about to inherit Robert Willoughby as an uncle. Do you think he will benefit from our future talks, or do you think he will try to milk me of my fortune?"

  Claire smiled and shrugged, looking at Christopher with love in her eyes.

  “Babcock is an utter fool!” said the rector, pulling Miss Oliver close and kissing her again. “We will just let him deal with Uncle Bobby."

  * * *

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