‘George.’ His voice was a warning growl.
‘I ain’t never done it, but I seen it done more ‘an once.’
Anthony gritted his teeth. ‘Stop. Talking. I can’t …’ He put his hands over his face. ‘Please, Georgiana, cover yourself with the blanket.’ The last was said in a pleading whisper.
Swallowing, George bent down and picked up the blanket, throwing it over her shoulders and clutching the edges over her chest. ‘I’m covered up,’ she muttered. He opened his eyes.
‘I should not have done that.’ His voice was harsh with regret, and George felt the last of her euphoria slip away. She gave a shrug, fighting back tears of disappointment and humiliation.
‘Don’ mean nothin’. Just a quick ‘and job is all.’
‘Is that all it was to you?’ For some reason her answer had made his voice even bleaker.
Blinking, she stepped forward. ‘Wot d’ye want me to say? That it wos the best tuppin’ I ever ‘ad?’ She leaned towards him, her voice low and furious. ‘O’ course it wos. ‘Ow many times you think the likes o’ me ‘as a man touch ‘er gentle like? I ain’t ‘ad no man touch me like you. The only touch I’ve ever ‘ad is a clout across the ‘ead. An’ I’ve ‘ad that so many times from so many turks, I’m lucky I’m not dicked in the bleeding nob.’
Anthony stepped towards her shaking his head, but before he could speak, she waved her hand contemptuously and continued, her voice now sad and resigned. ‘I ain’t lookin’ fer nothin’ from you, Anthony Shackleford. Jus’ a roof over me ‘ead and food in me belly in return for a day’s honest labour. Wot we jus’ did?’ She held one hand to her chest. ‘I’ll ‘old it ‘ere to me ‘til I kick the bucket, ‘cos I know it’s all I’m ever goin to get.’ She stopped and brushed her hand across her wet cheek. ‘But I’ll not be beggin’ yer bloody pardon fer it, neither.’
Chapter Fifteen
Reverend Shackleford had a sleepless night. It wasn’t often such a thing occurred since he generally slept the sleep of the righteous – as he was extremely fond of telling Percy.
But the truth was, he’d told Agnes a plumper three times in as many days, and while he was entirely of the opinion that he had a good reason for each one, he wasn’t completely sure the Almighty would see it that way. And the knowledge that in his experience, too many faradiddles generally came back to bite one in the unmentionables, did not make for sweet dreams.
That said, he couldn’t help but feel that plumper number three was more of an omission rather than an outright lie. He wasn’t sure that such pedantics would buy him much grace when he shared his first pot of tea with the Almighty, but just in case, he thought it would be advisable to go over his excuses to Percy a fourth time.
Percy on the other hand, did not appear to be showing the singular attention that the Reverend felt warranted such a confession. Indeed, Augustus Shackleford was very much concerned that the curate might have actually stifled ayawn.
They were sitting in a carriage belonging to the Duke of Blackmore – unfortunately not the one with the extra deep cushions – a fact the Reverend’s posterior would willingly attest to. It was still early in the morning, and Agnes, as far as he was aware, was currently sitting up in bed with her gossip sheet and hot chocolate.
Naturally, he’d informed her that he was going out on anerrand. Which was perfectly true. What he didn’t say was that theerrandwas in Exeter and was actually theerrandAgnes had insisted she accompany him on not twenty-four hours earlier.
Sighing, Reverend Shackleford leaned back against the comfortably upholstered cushions. There was nothing to be done about it now. He simply had to accept that he was in the suds. So much so, that in truth, his conversation with the Almighty was, at this moment in time, of less concern that the one with his wife. Unless of course the one should lead to the other.
Shaking his head, the Reverend looked out of the window. The dirt road had been replaced by cobbles indicating they were nearing their destination. He looked over at Percy. The curate had moved on from yawns and was now busy snoring in concert with Flossy.
‘Tare an’ hounds, the whole of deuced Exeter will know we’re coming if you two snore any louder,’ Augustus Shackleford muttered irritably.
Percy opened his eyes, stretched and leaned forward to look out of the window. ‘Are we nearly there yet, Sir?’
‘Another twenty minutes or so should see us at the Bishop’s Palace,’ the Reverend answered. ‘Now remember, Percy, try and look intelligent. We don’t want some dry boots coming in and appropriating your position as Blackmore’s next vicar.’
‘What can I say, Sir?’ Percy spluttered, going pink. ‘I’m honoured you have such faith in me.’
Reverend Shackleford patted his knee. ‘You’ve been practising for this role since the day you arrived, Percy,’ he declared emotionally, ‘and while I’ll admit there have been occasions when you’ve been a bit lacking in back-bone – even a bit chuckle-headed if I’m honest…’ He paused and frowned. ‘And even though in truth I’m not entirely certain that the many bangs on the head you’ve sustained over the years have not made you a trifle addled, I’ll not have some affected puppy come in and whip it out from under your nose. Especially seeing as that would mean me and Agnes would have to move out of the vicarage.
∞∞∞
Grace eagerly opened the missive from her best friend and former mentor. ‘What does she say, Mama?’ Jennifer asked, closing the lid on the piano. Though she would have died rather than admit it, Grace was beyond grateful for the respite. Her daughter’s talents definitely did not lie in a musical direction – clearly she took after her… well, the whole family in truth.
The Duchess scanned the letter from the woman the world knew as Miss Felicity Beaumont. However, to those who knew her best, she was Mrs. Felicity Mackenzie.
‘According to Felicity, the Huxley family were very much nouveau riche.’
‘Were?’ questioned Jenny, coming to sit down. Her mother nodded.
‘Apparently, the family was as rich as Croesus.’ Grace looked back down at the letter. ‘The money was made by one Josiah Huxley, a woollen merchant from Manchester. He married very late and had just the one daughter – evidently his wife died in childbirth, and he never remarried.’
‘How sad. So what happened to Josiah and his daughter?’
