Hadrian

by Grace Burrowes

  They left Hadrian an opening to depart for the safety of his equipage, and before any more neighbors, former retainers, local shopkeepers, or the tinkers coming up from the south could accost him, Hadrian made his escape. He was surprised Avis wasn’t in the coach, but did find Lily Prentiss waiting patiently.

  “Lady Avis isn’t with you?” Hadrian asked.

  “She is not,” Lily said, tugging at pristine white gloves. “She gets out so seldom, and then has a hard time tearing herself away. She can’t help it. Her nature is friendly, but not everyone understands that.”

  An odd observation—Avis was not a garrulous girl at her first assembly. Hadrian attributed Lily’s worry to the protectiveness of a longtime employee toward her employer.

  “I’ll find her.” Hadrian withdrew from the coach and closed the door. His height gave him an advantage, but he did not see his quarry among the faithful gossiping in the churchyard.

  “In the graveyard, most like,” said Mr. Chadwick, at Hadrian’s elbow. With sandy hair starting to thin, a liberal complement of freckles, and friendly blue eyes, Chadwick was the picture of the country vicar. The contented country vicar.

  “Chadwick.” Hadrian extended a hand. “Excellent sermon.” Though Hadrian could not recall a word of it.

  Chadwick smiled the perfect, complaisant smile appropriate to post-service pleasantries. “Had I some warning you’d join us, I’d have got out some of my heavy artillery, but we’re all so glad to see winter retreating, weighty thoughts of any kind are an effort.”

  “Don’t waste your powder on my account. One of the aspects of your position I do not miss is the need to be either witty or profound for twenty minutes every week.” Preferably both.

  “Witty generally garners more listeners than weighty,” Chadwick said. “If you ever want to talk about what else you don’t miss, or even some of the things you do, you know you’re welcome at the vicarage.”

  “You must call on us at Landover,” Hadrian said, trying to mean it, though who was us? “Did you suggest Lady Avis is in the graveyard?”

  “I saw her slip off that way. I’ve invited her to services more times than I can count, but she rarely comes, and when she does, it’s like this. The last hymn concludes, and she vanishes.”

  “Shall we walk?”

  Chadwick had the instincts of a churchman, and he no doubt sensed the flock circling closer the longer he and Hadrian chatted.

  “Lovely morning for a stroll,” Chadwick said, moving off with Hadrian. “The children you sent us continue to thrive.”

  “They’re well and happy, then?”

  “There,” Chadwick said quietly. “The boy patting your off-side wheeler.”

  “That’s a Carruthers, isn’t it?”

  “Deal’s youngest grandchild. They tried and tried, and the Lord didn’t bless them with a baby. It’s a wonder the lad learned to walk, so constantly did his parents hug and fuss him.”

  “And the girl?”

  “Her parents have three boys. The last lying-in didn’t go well, and they’re not to have more. The girl was explained as a cousin’s child, and too many at the cousin’s table. She is well loved and well protected.”

  “Happy endings, then,” Hadrian said. He’d underestimated Chadwick.

  “Will we be a party to any more such happy endings?”

  “I cannot say. Foundlings have a way of turning up when they’re least expected, and I’d hope my successor at Rosecroft would feel free to call on us if the need arose.”

  Chadwick let Hadrian precede him through the lych-gate. “If that should be the case, there are more families here who would open their hearts to a child.”

  “Good to know,” Hadrian murmured, as he spotted Lady Avis on a bench at the far side of the graveyard.

  “I’ll leave you,” Chadwick said, touching Hadrian’s arm, as if Hadrian sought to commune with the dead rather than one pretty lady. “Please let Lady Avis know how happy we are to have her company.”

  “I’ll do that.” Why wouldn’t Chadwick extend his welcome in person? He was the vicar, the moral compass of the community and leader of the faithful.

  Who doubtless had his own pastoral committee to placate.

  Hadrian ambled across the graveyard where he’d played as a child and attended a few burials as he’d matured. He trespassed on long association and took a seat beside the lady uninvited.

  “Visiting the departed?”

  “Hiding from those yet to depart.”

  “You abandoned me, Avis Portmaine. I suffered all manner of fawning, cooing, and teasing.”

  “Teasing?”

  “Wandering back into the fold. Napping through the sermon for a change, the usual lame jokes.”

  “They are coping too, Hadrian.”

  “With?”

  “Harold is a good neighbor to one and all. Anybody in need could prevail on him, and he’d lend a hand. Your neighbors are worried you’ll not continue that tradition and with reason, when times have been difficult.”

  “I wasn’t off in Peru. I know what the past few winters have been like. I know how many widows the Corsican’s armies created. I read the Times, the same as Harold no doubt does.”

  Why was it every bench in every churchyard had the same hard, damp, chilly, uncomfortable quality?

  “You’ve been gone for twelve years,” Avis said. “People change.”

  “People also run off and leave unsuspecting friends at the mercy of Gran Carruthers. That woman has claws, so tightly did she pinch my forearm.”

  Avis rose, all unassisted. “She cut a dash, back in the day. You mustn’t begrudge her a moment on the arm of a handsome fellow.”

  “Back in German George’s day.”

  “Is there any part of you that’s glad to be back, Hadrian?”

  He was about to say no. He felt that out of sorts, and that honest, but Avis was regarding him with such patience, such concern, he surprised himself.

  “I am glad to see you again. Glad to see that you are thriving and your life has meaning, and you still have the kindest smile a man ever beheld.”

  “You say that so seriously.” That smile he’d mentioned graced her features, conjured by his compliment, and inside him, something eased. He could still make a solitary lady smile.

  Hadrian winged his arm. “Your companion awaits us in the coach. If we make a dash for it, we might elude capture by the enemy.”

  “Or we could take the path around the outer hedge, then there’d be no dashing needed.”

  Hadrian acceded to that suggestion because it would give them more privacy, and Avis apparently craved solitude, despite Lily Prentiss’s comments to the contrary.

  “When did you acquire Miss Prentiss’s services?”

  “She was Vim’s idea, seven years ago or so, when it became clear my future lay at Blessings. She’s mostly my companion and a little bit my secretary, and eyes and ears belowstairs. Her papa was a churchman, who, like you, stepped down from his pulpit, though I’m not entirely sure of the circumstances.”

  “Lily’s your curate.” A thankless post and a handy ecclesiastical cupboard for storing unmarried clergy. “I never had a curate. The livings I took were too humble.”

  Hadrian had surprised her. His determination to minister without a curate had surprised him too.

  “Your brother holds an old title, you’ve family wealth, and you’re astute. Why the modest livings, Hadrian?”

  Rue had asked the same thing, repeatedly, suggesting she’d aspired to be the wife of a bishop, not a garden variety rural vicar.

  “I had no need of coin, and the church is full of worthy men dependent on their flocks. Those fellows were motivated to take on the more ambitious parishes, and then too, Rue wanted to remain close to her sisters.”

  They reached the coach, sparing Hadrian further interrogation. Lily Prentiss’s relief was palpable, though Hadrian was forced to leave the ladies to pry Harold away from a discussion with one of the local squires.
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  “He wanted Hamlet.” Harold settled in beside Hadrian on the backward-facing seat. “Can you believe such nonsense?”

  “What could he have been thinking?” Hadrian did not roll his eyes, while Avis took an inordinate time to adjust her skirts.

  “Exactly.” Harold thumped his cane on the roof, and the coach moved off. “That dog hasn’t left my care since he was a pup, and God willing, I’ll be the one to plant him. Did Chadwick grill you terribly?”

  “He’s a smart fellow. He has the vocation.” A relief, that. To find a true churchman contentedly ministering to the flock in Hadrian’s back yard.

  “Chadwich knows the only good sermon is a short sermon,” Harold said. “Miss Prentiss, you are blessed with a particularly pretty soprano.”

  The rest of the journey to Blessings continued in that vein, while Hadrian watched the greening countryside go by and wondered if next Sunday, he could skip services without causing a storm of gossip.

  Though—novel thought—what would the gossip matter when Hadrian was no longer a vicar?

  Lunch was a pleasant meal, which Fenwick joined. He queried Harold regarding plans for plowing and planting, the progress made thus far with foaling, lambing and calving, and Harold’s schedule for the rest of the spring and summer.

  Hadrian listened with half an ear, until Fenwick rose. “I’m for a stroll, and you, Landover, have an appointment in the stables. The lads want to make their farewells to you.”

  “Fair enough.” Harold got to his feet. “I’m in need of some movement as well.”

  Fenwick turned his smile on his hostess. “Avie, dearest, you’ll grace my arm?”

  “If I must.”

  “I was such a good boy at table, I think I deserve better than that.”

  “You were a hungry boy,” Avis countered, as she took Fenwick’s arm with easy familiarity.

  “Miss Prentiss.” Hadrian held the lady’s chair, bowing to the inevitable. “Will you oblige me with your company?”

  “I’d be delighted, particularly if we maintain enough distance from Mr. Fenwick that we needn’t overhear his efforts at conversation.”

  “I heard that, Lilith,” Fenwick called as he held the door for Avis. “Your scorn maketh my manly confidence to wither.”

  Lily treated Fen to a scolding silence, and Hadrian to a long-suffering sigh.

  “He means no harm,” Hadrian observed as they gained the back terrace.

  “Men never do, then some unsuspecting young lady can’t distinguish between teasing and worse, and disaster strikes.”

  “You refer to any lady in particular?” A good dozen yards ahead, Fenwick bent close to Avis, all but kissing her cheek.

  Miss Prentiss nodded at the other couple. “You see? He might be stealing a kiss, but Lady Avis won’t realize he’s up to no good until it’s too late.”

  “A kiss stolen under these circumstances is little more than joking between familiars. Do you have an interest in gardening, Miss Prentiss?”

  For she certainly had an interest in digging about in the dirt.

  “The gardens are Lady Avis’s domain, and she does a wonderful job with them.” Miss Prentiss offered this as if she were a mother complimenting a child’s hobby.

  “You have other pastimes, I take it?”

  “I am but a companion, Mr. Bothwell. A friend as well, I hope, but my time is not my own.” Her tone reminded Hadrian of his late wife, and the comparison flattered no one. Rue had tried her best.

  “Shall we enjoy the walk through the birches?” Or perhaps stroll over a bed of hot coals?

  “I’d really rather keep Lady Avis in sight, in case she has need of me.”

  “The daffodils, then.” Hadrian couldn’t criticize devotion to duty, even if Avis was unlikely to recall Miss Prentiss trailed along behind her.

  “How long do you think Lord Landover will be traveling, Mr. Bothwell?”

  “There’s no telling. Harold has been chained to his oar at Landover since early manhood, and he deserves time to ramble and roam.” Nothing less than the truth, damn it.

  The daffodils were in their glory, sending a sweet, sunny scent aloft on the afternoon breeze. Despite the company, the scent soothed Hadrian’s mood.

  “What of you, Mr. Bothwell? Lady Avis says you went from university to your first church post and haven’t taken a holiday since. You could hire a steward and go with your brother.”

  “If the boat were to sink,” Hadrian pointed out, “thus endeth the house of Bothwell.” Then too, Hadrian had not been invited to join his brother, and the notion of sharing a yacht with Harold and Finch held no appeal anyway.

  “My goodness. I suppose you’ll be looking for a wife sooner rather than later.”

  She was still nosing about, however delicately. Maybe, to the daughter of a minister, life would ever be one great churchyard.

  “If I were looking for a wife, the last thing I’d do is announce my task.” Hadrian winked to suggest camaraderie rather than rebuke, but this bantering small talk was tedious and tiring.

  Just what did Fenwick discuss so intently with Avis?

  “I assume you’ve already familiarized yourself with the local ladies?”

  Lily Prentiss was damnably persistent. “I grew up here, Miss Prentiss. I consider many of the ladies cordial acquaintances, but none are under consideration in any other capacity.”

  “They can be very intolerant.” Intolerance was apparently a deadly sin in Miss Prentiss’s opinion. “Lady Avis was sorely tried in her youth, though you may not know the details. The upshot was a broken engagement, and many of the ladies have never forgiven her for that.”

  “I was at university when Lady Avis came of age,” Hadrian said, because something in Lily Prentiss’s words again rankled—but then, everything rankled of late. “That was a long time ago. How does Lady Avis get her daffodils to grow so large?”

  “Fenwick would tell you it’s a matter of fertilizer, and enjoy conveying the information in as indelicate a manner as possible.”

  “You don’t approve of him?”

  “I don’t approve of any man who thinks Avis Portmaine is available for a flirtation. Ashton Fenwick does not know his place.”

  Hadrian was coming to like that about him. “Isn’t it for Lady Avis to say what his place is?”

  “My regard for Lady Avis is without limit, Mr. Bothwell, but her judgment has been faulty in the past. I will not share details, though you may trust that I have only her best interests at heart when I regard Mr. Fenwick’s attentions with skepticism.”

  Oh, for mercy’s sake . Avis was not some blushing seventeen-year-old fluttering around London in anticipation of her first season.

  “In the next few weeks, Mr. Fenwick will be kept so busy, you won’t have to worry about him attending to anything but woolly sheep and bleating lambs.”

  Thankfully, they’d come full circuit on the tiled slate walkway. Fenwick bowed over Lady Avis’s hand, and Hadrian made a correspondingly appropriate fuss over Lily Prentiss.

  “I’m off to the stables to say my good-byes to Harold,” Avis said. “He’ll try to slip away without any scenes, but the lads have their orders.”

  “I’ll leave you then,” Miss Prentiss said. “Mr. Bothwell, my thanks for your escort.” She left in a swirl of skirts, her curtsy to Hadrian as deferential as her rudeness to Fenwick was blatant.

  “I don’t think she cares for you, Fenwick.” Which was puzzling.

  “She doesn’t care for anybody or anything that comes between her and Avis,” Fenwick said. “Much less my dirty, disreputable self.”

  “You’re reasonably well turned out. Any steward will work up a sweat if he’s earning his salt.” Today Fen was without his sizeable knife, though even in Sunday finery, he bore a piratical air.

  “You don’t know, do you, Bothwell?”

  “What don’t I know?” Hadrian fell in step beside him as they trailed Avis to the stables.

  “My mother was the daughter of a
n Irish earl,” Fenwick said. “My father was a younger son of an impoverished Highland title, and a rascal. He eventually married my mother, though by then I was a busy little fellow with two younger sisters. As it happens, my younger brother might well inherit that Highland title, and so I keep my distance here for the nonce.”

  “You had a mother and a father.” Hadrian slapped his riding gloves against his palm, wondering if he’d ever escape small-minded rural communities. “The same can be said for each of us.”

  “My parents were hardly respectable, Bothwell. Not according to any customs recognized in civilized society.”

  Hence Fen’s swagger and flirtatiousness, in aid of living down to the family tradition of disgrace.

  “I’ve often wondered if Cain and Abel were legitimate,” Hadrian mused. “Who cried the banns and in what church? How did they know what vows to say? Heaven help us, none of Adam and Eve’s offspring could have been baptized, for the custom of dashing cold water at squalling infants hadn’t yet originated. I must conclude that by the lights of Genesis, we are all illegitimate in our antecedents.”

  “Some vicar you are. Did you dazzle the bishops with that thinking?” Despite his flippant tone, Fenwick’s expression was considering—respectfully so.

  “Dazzling bishops should not rank high on any Christian’s list of priorities. Is Miss Prentiss a lady fallen on hard times, that she must be in service here at Blessings?”

  Hadrian asked, because something about the name Prentiss rang a vague, churchly, bell.

  Fenwick slowed his march as they drew near the stable. “The fair Lily is one of Vim’s brilliant ideas. She’s the daughter of some clergyman who put off his collar, though nobody seems to have any details beyond that. Avie had no females about, and Vim was trying to salve his conscience for leaving his sister alone for months on end.”

  “Lady Avis does seem to appreciate the company.”

  Fenwick came to a halt as Avis disappeared into the stables. “You’ve heard the expression, the girls all get prettier when you’re drunk and the pub is closing?”

  “Well, no, not exactly.” Not for twelve years or so.