A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(79)

She could also commiserate with the difficulty of his gardening task. She’d had a time cleaning out the beds around Pentreath. She’d done it herself since there were no servants to spare for such a task, save for when Mrs. Branwell found a moment to help.

She parked the cart and tied up the pony.

The vicar came out to greet her. “How is everyone at Pentreath, my lady?” he asked. With a wave of his hand, he invited her into his home.

“Pentreath is fine. And how are your wife and children?”

“Mrs. Morwath is at market day in the village. She enjoys her time there since two of our daughters usually meet her and they have a time of it.” He had several married children and a host of grandchildren. “And how is Lady Dewsberry? Did I hear that she is out of town?”

That was the good news. Arabella had been a glum presence until she had written to her brother in Hertfordshire inviting herself for a visit. Over the weeks since she had been moved to the dowager’s cottage, both Cassandra and Soren had made efforts to call on her several times a week. Each call was met with her stiff disapproval.

However, when her brother had said she could visit, and Soren agreed to hire a decent coach and provide pin money, her attitude had been what some might call happy. Soren swore he’d seen the inklings of a smile upon her face.

“I hope she returns a changed woman, my lady,” Mr. Morwath said.

“I agree, Vicar.”

He led her to the cramped space he used for his office. She remembered it well from her childhood. Books were piled everywhere. Just as she’d done as a child, she sank down to the floor so she could plunge into them.

Cassandra said, “My favorite part of the week was calling upon you and borrowing another book.”

“Many of these are going to waste. Take what you like. None of my children became strong readers. Not like you.”

“What of grandchildren?” she asked. “Won’t you want these for them?”

“My hope is that they will attend your school.”

She smiled. “Then that is my hope as well.” As she went through the books, she shared with him the stories she and Logan told each other. “Even my lord is taken with our tales.”

The stack of books beside her began to grow.

“I would like to hear Lord Logan tell a story sometime.”

“We should invite you and Mrs. Morwath over for dinner. We have been so busy we haven’t been able to entertain but the time will come.” She looked at the pile she was building. “I admit I’m greedy. Many of these bring back memories of what was happening in my life when I read them.”

“After your mother died, I always hoped they would give you some solace, my lady.”

“They did.” She smiled at him and opened a book of Aesop’s Fables. “This was a favorite. And I’m taking so many, I must pay for them.” She would as soon as she received her money.

“I don’t ask for payment. The parish has needed a decent school for a long time. I’m pleased that you and your husband are taking an active interest in the area.”

“As we should.”

“Aye, you grew up here.”

A thought crossed her mind. She hadn’t intended on going in this direction. However, he was someone she trusted. She closed the book on her lap and said, “May I discuss something that has been weighing on me?”

“Of course. I’m available to you, my lady.”

She looked up at him, realizing that he would be the first person to hear her secret. And then she realized she had already confided in him many a time before. When she would visit to borrow a book, she would share how much she missed her mother, and sometimes talk about Helen and her stepsisters. He’d always given her encouragement and sound advice.

“MP Holwell is not my true father.” She paused a moment to reflect and then said, “There was a time when saying those words aloud would have caused me great distress. Now, thanks to my lord’s loving support, this is really nothing more than a statement of fact. And yet, I sense I should feel something.”

His brow furrowed, his expression grave. “Such as?”

“I don’t know. Sadness. Regret. Relief. I do wish I knew who my real father is. Or was.” She looked up at him. “He could be dead as well. I hardly remember my mother.” She touched the pearl she wore on its ribbon around her neck.

“You are very much like her.”

“You knew her?” He’d never said as much. “I thought you came to the parish after she died.”

“Actually, I had met her at my last posting. I tutored her.”

This was new information. “Just like you tutored me?” He had come to Lantern Fields and taught her some lessons. “That is an interesting coincidence. And a fortunate one.” She ran her thumb along the spine of the book. “My lord said that there might be someone around here who knew Mother and her secrets. That I might someday discover who my father is.” She raised her gaze to him. “Would you have an idea?”

A look crossed his face. There was no mistaking that it was regret. She expected him to kindly tell her no.

Instead, he took the book from her and held her hands to help her up. He sat her on a stool so they were almost at the same level.

“I have a confession of my own, my lady. I ask you to hear me out, but first, I must beg you to please not judge your mother harshly.”