“I’ve reconciled myself to losing another baby; I’m not pleased or even content with what is coming on that score, but I have prepared myself for that inevitability.” Philip leaned forward once more, rubbing his face with his hands. “We came horrifyingly close to losing Sorrel the last time. Scorseby says the risk is greater now.” His voice dropped to something closer to a whisper. “I can’t even bring myself to think about it.”
Losing Sorrel would shatter Philip; Harold knew without a doubt that it would. The previous vicar had failed utterly in supporting Layton through the loss of his first wife. What if Harold failed Philip as monumentally should the worst happen?
“Perhaps the heavens will provide a miracle,” Harold said.
Philip didn’t look up. “Miracles are not always heaven’s plan.”
“I know,” Harold said gently. “But we can hope.”
Philip pushed out an audible breath before rising. “Mater might very well be here by now. We had best go greet her before she declares us all the worst sort of sons.”
“Maybe Layton decided to show up as well,” Charlie said with a quick grin. “He’s likely in the drawing room now, solidifying his place as Mater’s favorite.”
“Only one way to find out.” Philip motioned them out. His expression was jovial, but his eyes were not. He, who was always the most light-hearted of the group, was inwardly crushed by the weight of his worries.
Chapter Eleven
Sarah hadn’t the first idea how Scott convinced their uncle to lend them the carriage for the afternoon—the second time in a few short days—but she thanked him again and again.
“We both needed to get out of the house,” he said as they rode up the drive at Lampton Park.
“Why did you settle upon this particular destination?” Sarah still had not entirely recovered her equilibrium from her last encounter with Harold. She wasn’t certain she was ready to see him again.
“I had limited choices,” Scott said. “Mr. Hampton makes our uncle seem magnanimous by comparison, so I’d rather not call there. Mr. Finley was a cad when we were there last, and I haven’t heard anything to indicate that has changed.”
Sarah pretended to be offended. “You know I have a preference for cads.”
“You jest, Sarah, but Mr. Finley is the sort even scoundrels look at and say, ‘That man is a scoundrel.’ Finley Grange ought to be considered a plague house to anyone who cares at all for the safety and well-being of a loved one or”—he looked at her pointedly—“herself.”
She reached across and squeezed his hand. “I remember enough of Mr. Finley that I have no desire to call on him. I promise you.”
Scott nodded, the gesture one of relief.
The carriage came to a stop.
“Having eliminated Hampton House and Finley Grange,” he said, “I had three remaining choices, including Carter Manor. But while Mr. Carter is a fine sort of gentleman, he’s older enough than I that we don’t have a great deal in common.” Scott set his hat on his head once more.
“Which left Lampton Park and Farland Meadows,” Sarah finished the thought for him as she adjusted her gloves.
“Lampton is older than I but not by very much.” Scott looked a little nervous. “All the brothers are fine company. Chances are the family from the Meadows is here anyway. I thought we would enjoy spending time with the Jonquils more than anyone else.”
If only he knew that she was not particularly keen on spending time with one Jonquil in particular. He upended her and confused her. What she needed now, as she was beginning this new chapter in her life, was certainty and reassurance.
The carriage door opened, and Sarah was handed down. Scott emerged behind her. He hooked his arm through hers as they walked toward the front door.
“The Dowager Countess has returned home, I understand,” Sarah added. “I adore her.”
“Everyone adores her,” Scott said. “I felt more at home at Lampton Park than I ever did at Sarvol House. At the moment, I suspect that will still hold true.”
“Uncle makes his home uninviting,” Sarah said. “Lord and Lady Lampton took great pains to do just the opposite.”
“And they succeeded.”
The very proper Lampton Park butler showed them in. Scott provided him with a calling card which, as was proper, the butler took to wherever the family currently was.
“Do you suppose they will be at home for us?” Scott asked out of the corner of his mouth.
“If they aren’t, we will be left with the unenviable task of deciding what message we ought to receive from that.”
“Offense,” Scott said firmly. “We absolutely must take tremendous offense should that happen.”
She grinned. “We could kick up a row decrying our poor treatment to the entire neighborhood.”
“We would be labeled ‘those mad Americans’ and would become quite the anecdote in local lore for generations.”
“Let’s do it,” she said.
Scott laughed. She loved that he was so easily and willingly entertained. No matter the heaviness of life, she found in him the lightness and joy she needed.
The butler returned. He dipped his head. “If you will follow me, please.”
“Seems we will not be afforded the opportunity to complain bitterly this time, dear sister.” Scott twitched an eyebrow. “We could anyway, if you’d like.”
“Perhaps next time.”
They were shown to the formal drawing room. Sarvol House was a fine estate, but it paled in comparison to Lampton Park. Everything about the Park was regal and impressive, yet it was still so inviting and comforting. One never doubted this was a home that housed a family who loved one another. Sarvol House had never felt that way. The changes Uncle had made in the years since Sarah’s last visit only added to the discomfort one felt within its walls.
The dowager countess stood nearby. She looked just as Sarah remembered her, though perhaps a little older. She still wore black, as she had in the more than ten years since her husband’s death. Yet there was nothing in her smile or eager countenance to give the impression of one drowning in grief.
“Sarah Sarvol.” The dowager spotted her, and pure joy filled her face. “And sweet Scott. Oh, I’ve not seen the two of you in years.” Without warning, they were both engulfed in an embrace. “You’ve grown up so much. It has been far too long since you were here.”
Sarah grinned, pleased with the warm reception. Then she saw the hint of emotion in Scott’s face, and her heart seized.
The dowager held him a moment longer. “It has been too long, Scott. I have missed you. Letters are simply not the same.”
Letters? Had Scott been writing the dowager? At least someone in the Jonquil family welcomed letters. Harold had been quite clear all those years ago that he did not care for correspondence, at least not from her.
“I cannot tell you how much I have valued your letters. They have been like manna.” Scott hugged the dowager again. He was very seldom emotional. Sarah didn’t know what to make of it.
“Please have a seat,” the dowager invited. “The boys will be back in a moment.”
Scott sat beside the dowager, looking twelve years old again. Sarah sat across from them, watching with surprise and curiosity. There was an unmistakable familial note to her brother’s interaction with their hostess.
“I was so sorry to hear about your father’s passing,” the dowager said. “And to travel so far without your mother must be difficult.”
“We miss her, of course,” Scott said. “But she would not have been happy leaving the only home she has known.”
“Losing one’s home is a difficult thing for a lady.” She spoke as one who knew. Her attention turned to Sarah. “How are you managing? Your role must be terribly undefined at the moment.”
That was a remarkably succinct explanation. “It is a to
uch awkward.”
The dowager turned to Scott once more. “I remember all too well your sister’s tendency to tuck her worries behind a very determined flavor of optimism. Are things more difficult than she is letting on?”
Scott’s shoulders drooped a bit. “It is worse than I anticipated.”
“Is it? Your letters indicated you were bracing yourself for a great deal of misery.”
Scott truly had been writing to her. Why had he never said as much? Sarah and her brother were as close as two siblings could be, so near in age they grew up almost as twins. Surely he had at some point considered that she might appreciate hearing about the Jonquil family.
Then again, she had not been entirely forthcoming with him. She had not told him in any detail what had happened with Harold. Perhaps they didn’t know each other as well as she had always thought.
“Our uncle is unhappy, and he works very hard to make certain everyone else is as well,” Scott said. “He is demanding and insulting, and he is particularly unkind to Sarah. I don’t know how to stop him from being so vicious to her.”
“He was unkind to little Caroline when she was a small child, thankfully too young to have any memory of it,” the dowager said. “Layton eventually stopped taking her to see him. It was better for her to grow up without a grandfather than to be mistreated by him. For a very brief time, we thought he might have been softening, but it did not last.”
Scott shook his head. “I wish I could say I am surprised that he would unleash his vitriol on a child, but I am not. He is a thoroughly unpleasant person. I find myself wondering how Sarah and I will endure living in his home for whatever time he has left. It could be years if he keeps holding on.”
Sarah felt the blood drain from her face as a wave of cold realization swept over her. Could she live for years in her uncle’s home, in that drafty, isolated corner of it, forced to decide between being entirely alone and being castigated?
“If there is ever anything you need,” the dowager said, “please come call, either here or at the dower house. I know Philip and Layton are older enough than you that you were not particularly close friends during your visits, but those few years’ difference mean very little now that you are all grown. And I have so few of my sons with me now; I will happily act as surrogate mother whenever you are in need of one.”
“I will accept your offer,” Scott said, taking her hands in his. “Expect me to arrive unannounced on your doorstep at inopportune moments.”
The dowager smiled kindly. “I hope you do.”
Sarah wasn’t entirely certain she hadn’t been forgotten. She had always been fond of the dowager and had been received with unwavering kindness and joy, but Scott, it seemed, had found in the dear lady something of an aunt and substitute mother. Sarah pushed back the tiny twinge of jealousy, reminding herself that Scott was lonely too and that the dowager appeared to long for her own children. They would be good for each other, even if Sarah did not appear to have a true place in their connection.
Voices floated in from the corridor, deep, rumbling, shockingly similar voices. The brothers, no doubt, were about to step inside. Mater’s eyes shifted to the drawing room doors, an eagerness in her expression that spoke volumes of her adoration for her boys.
“This room is about to be a lot less peaceful,” she said with amusement.
“It’s the way you like it, I’d wager,” Scott said.
The dowager laughed. “You aren’t wrong.”
The brothers came in a moment later. Heavens, the resemblance between them all was a bit startling. Seeing so many of them together made it impossible to miss. Tall and lean, golden hair with varying degrees of curl, blue eyes, identical smiles. And at the moment, a well-hidden but visible heaviness in their eyes.
What had happened? Her attention turned to Harold—old habits were difficult to overcome—but his neutral expression offered no clues.
The dowager rose and motioned to Scott and Sarah. “We have visitors.”
“So we do.” Philip offered a bow so flamboyant Sarah couldn’t hold back a laugh. “A pleasure, dearest neighbors. We welcome you to our humble abode.”
“Abode, yes,” Sarah said. “Humble . . .” She narrowed her gaze and shook her head.
Philip grinned in response. She had always loved his cheerful, easily amused personality. “This one is definitely my favorite.”
Scott pressed an open-fingered hand to his heart. “You wound me, my lord.”
Philip scratched at his chin. “Are Americans allowed to call anyone ‘my lord’? I am almost certain it was forbidden by the treaty ending our war.”
“Which war?” Sarah asked a bit cheekily. “Our two countries did have another one quite recently.”
Philip nodded. “And yet we’ve managed in the last minute to not shoot each other. It is a miracle of international proportions.”
“Perhaps the key is that Sarah and I were born here,” Scott suggested, matching Philip’s exaggerated tone of solemnity. “We have a divided loyalty.”
“Or we are simply exemplary people,” Sarah countered.
Philip laughed. He turned to two of his brothers. “Corbin, Jason. I am certain you remember Scott and Sarah Sarvol. Charlie, you might not remember them from their last visit.”
“How young do you think I am?” Charlie scoffed.
“Perhaps what he thinks you are is forgetful,” Sarah suggested with a twist of her mouth.
Charlie’s look of offense melted into amusement. “Or mutton-headed.”
She nodded solemnly. “Older brothers do have a tendency to be rather bacon-brained when it comes to their younger siblings.”
“Do we now?” Scott said.
“Yes,” Charlie and Jason said in unison.
Corbin simply smiled.
Philip assumed a woeful expression. “I am a man at a mark, and my own family are wielding the weapons.”
“That the truth is a weapon is not our fault,” Harold tossed in.
Sarah was pleasantly surprised. Harold hadn’t often participated in his brothers’ banter, even years ago, but she would have assumed this new version of him never did. She was glad to be wrong about that. Combined with the fleeting glimpses she’d had of half-formed smiles, Sarah held out some hope that he was happier than he seemed.
Harold crossed to his mother. With a look of tenderness that would have melted even the hardest of hearts, he took her hands in his. “You were gone a very long time, Mater.”
She smiled softly. “Did you miss me, Harold?”
“I always miss you when you are away.”
She pulled him into a hug, as affectionate as the one she had offered Scott and Sarah but with an added air of fierceness. “Thank you for your determined correspondence with the vicar in Shropshire. Knowing you were aware of us helped me feel less overwhelmed.”
“Knowing Charlie wasn’t going to die helped me feel less desperate.” He squeezed her once more before stepping back. “And having you back helps me feel less alone.”
It was a moment of vulnerability that tugged fiercely at Sarah’s heart. His parishioners and neighbors received staid, methodical interactions. One never forgot one was seeing a vicar. So often, though, what one needed was a fellow human being walking the difficult path of life.
There was not time to contemplate the sight, as chaos erupted in the very next moment. A flurry of skirts and golden hair rushed across the room, shouting, “Grammy! Grammy!”
The dowager was nearly knocked off her feet by a little girl throwing herself against the lady’s legs.
“You’re home, Grammy!”
“Caroline.” The dowager lowered herself to the girl’s level, pulling her into her arms.
“You were gone so long,” Caroline said. “Why were you gone forever?”
“Charlie hurt his legs and arm. He needed me to
look after him.”
Caroline stayed in her grandmother’s arms but turned to face the rest of the room. Her gaze settled on Charlie. “You hurt your legs?”
Charlie nodded. “Broke them both.”
Good heavens.
“Like Aunt Swirl?”
Charlie didn’t seem to know how to answer that. “Not exactly the same.”
“Are your legs better now?”
“Mostly.”
Sarah had been struck by Caroline’s appearance that first Sunday; she still was. The girl reminded her so very much of Bridget, despite having Layton’s coloring.
“This lot have been making disparaging remarks about older brothers,” Philip said to Layton. “You weren’t here to defend us, so I had to simply endure it. A sore trial, I assure you. And Miss Sarvol added fuel to their fire. I was outnumbered.”
Layton, who had always been his older brother’s partner in mischief, just shook his head. “Keep me out of it,” he muttered and took a seat a bit apart from the others.
Philip watched him a moment before turning a concerned, questioning gaze on Lady Marion, who held her little boy in her arms.
“Something is weighing on him,” she whispered. “I haven’t sorted out what yet. But I will, mark my words.”
“I learned long ago never to doubt you.” He reached for his nephew, who reached back eagerly. The transfer was quickly made from mother to uncle. “Good afternoon, Henry. Have you had a good Sunday?”
Henry grabbed Philip’s lower lip and giggled.
“I cam’t talk wif your han im my mouf,” Philip said.
The little boy only laughed harder.
“Twoublemaker,” Philip added.
Caroline pulled away from her grandmother and moved to where Charlie sat, climbing onto the settee beside him. “I’m sad that you hurt your legs. Did Minus know?”
Who was Minus?
Charlie grinned. “I was with Minus when I hurt my legs.”
Fear pulled at Caroline’s features. “Did Minus break his legs too?”
Charlie pulled her up close to him. “No, sweetheart. Minus was fine.”
The Heart of a Vicar Page 11