The Secret of Pembrooke Park(29)

Mrs. Peterman humphed. “Apparently you get what you pay for.”

“You are correct, Mrs. Peterman,” William admitted. “The sermon I delivered today was shorter than I intended, and I apologize. Did you have any concerns about the content itself, or only its brevity?”

“I didn’t much care for the content either. I have half a mind to write to Mr. Morris and tell him his curate spends insufficient time in his duty. Perhaps you ought to spend less time fawning over pretty girls from the pulpit, and more time making sermons!”

“He only welcomed Miss Foster,” Leah objected. “He certainly did not fawn over her.”

William’s mother joined the trio and, with a keen look at William, took the older woman’s arm. “I would be happy to introduce you to Miss Foster, if you’d like, Mrs. Peterman,” she offered. “A charming young woman.”

Mrs. Peterman sniffed. “I think she’s received more than enough attention for one day.”

The woman’s husband spoke up at last. “Now, my dear,” Mr. Peterman soothed, “you overstate your case. Our good parson did nothing improper.” He gave William an apologetic look. “And I for one appreciate short sermons.” He winked.

William nodded. “I shall keep that in mind, sir.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Mrs. Peterman protested. “The only saving grace of your short sermons is that my husband hasn’t sufficient time to fall asleep and embarrass me.”

The old man clucked and gently led his wife into the churchyard.

William glanced at his sister, eyebrows raised. He had never heard her speak so sharply to anyone.

“I am sorry, William. But she vexes me no end.”

“I understand. And I appreciate your loyalty. But remember that she is one of my flock, and I am supposed to love and serve her.”

“I know. But I cannot stand to hear her criticize you. I don’t think she has any idea how hard you work and how much you do for your flock, as you call them.”

“At least she has the courage to tell me what she thinks to my face.”

“Unlike most of the sour tabbies who merely grumble and gossip behind your back?”

“Precisely.” He grinned. “Though I wouldn’t say it quite so . . . colorfully.”

“I hate to see you ill used,” Leah said. “You’re easily twice the clergyman Mr. Morris is. Were it in my power, I would see you had the living in this place.”

“Shh . . .” Mrs. Chapman said, eyes round in concern and laying a hand on her daughter’s sleeve. “That’s enough, my dear.”

Leah glanced around at her mother’s gentle warning, as if suddenly aware of the listening ears around her. “You’re right. Forgive me. Like the Pharisees, I apparently need to learn to bridle my own tongue.”

After the service, Andrew Morgan led his parents across the aisle toward Abigail and introduced them. Mr. Morgan senior was a rotund, handsome man with a smile as broad as his son’s. Mrs. Morgan, a thin, sharp-featured woman, had shrewd eyes that instantly put Abigail on her guard.

“Ah yes. Miss Foster. I have heard of you.”

Abigail smiled uncertainly. “Have you?”

“Yes. Well. A pleasure to meet you. Andrew tells us he has invited you to our little dinner party.”

“Your son is exceedingly polite, Mrs. Morgan. But do not feel obligated—”

“I don’t feel obligated—in this case. It is a pleasure to extend an invitation to you. Your father is in London, I understand?”

“Yes, but he should return soon.”

“And your mother?”

“She remains in Town with my younger sister, guiding her through the season. They are staying with my great aunt in Mayfair but will be joining us at season’s end.”

“Mayfair, ey? Well. I shall include your father in the invitation as well. Tell him he is most welcome.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Morgan. You are very kind.”

The woman was impressed, Abigail saw. She was familiar with prestigious Mayfair but not, apparently, with her father’s financial ruin. Her good opinion—and her invitation—would likely evaporate if she learned the truth.

After bidding the Morgans farewell, Abigail walked out of the church alone.

“Miss Foster!” Kate Chapman called a cheerful greeting and, leading William by the arm, walked over to join her. “I’m so glad you came today. Doesn’t our William make excellent sermons?”

“Indeed he does,” Abigail agreed sincerely, though she had not heard all that many.

“Short sermons, I think you mean, Mamma,” William said good-naturedly.

“Brevity is a virtue in my view, yes,” Abigail said. “But I also found the words convicting and to the point. Virtues as well.”

“Not all would agree with you.”

“Well, Miss Foster,” Mrs. Chapman said, “you must join us for dinner later this afternoon. Cook has left us a roast of beef and several salads. I shall not even have to put you to work this time.”

Abigail hesitated. “I would love to, truly. But Mrs. Walsh has left me a tray, and I don’t think . . .”

Leah said, “You can save it for supper. Mrs. Walsh can’t mind that.”