‘You’re right, Percy lad,’ the Reverend sighed at length. ‘My self-sacrificing nature gets the better of me sometimes.’ Much to Flossy’s chagrin, the curate was no longer holding his brandy glass above the little dog’s head, so she contented herself by licking the drops off his waistcoat instead.
‘I understand Miss Jennifer is returning to Blackmore ahead ofthe season’s end,’ Percy commented thinking it best to change the subject.
The Reverend tutted. ‘Made a bit of a cake of herself by all accounts.’ He shook his head. ‘Taking after her mother and aunts I’m afraid. Chit’s a Shackleford in all but deuced name.’
‘Oh I don’t think she’s quite as bad as all that,’ Percy chuckled. ‘Do you know what the Duke and Duchess intend to do about her misconduct?’
‘Sending her up to Scotland with Peter according to the note I received from Grace.’
‘Well, there you are, Sir,’ the curate exclaimed slapping the arm of his chair. ‘Why don’t you accompany her north? She is your granddaughter after all and I’ve no doubt she would benefit from your … err …wisdom.’
The Reverend frowned and took a sip of his brandy. ‘It’s a deuced long way,’ he declared pensively at length.
Not as far as West Africa,was on the tip of Percy’s tongue, but concerned his superior would think him flippant, he said instead, ‘Just think, you’ll have her undivided attention for the whole journey. What an opportunity that would be to gently direct her feet back onto the path of righteousness.’
The Reverend grunted. ‘I never managed to do it with the rest of ‘em. And anyway, how the deuce would you manage without me?’
Percy was entirely sure he would manage perfectly well with his wife Lizzy’s assistance. However, he really didn’t want to hurt the Reverend’s feelings, and knowing the clergyman wasn’t quite ready to hang up his cassock for good, Percy was more than happy to spend the summer looking after parish affairs without Augustus Shackleford’s oft ill-timed interference.
‘I will do my best, of course, Sir,’ he answered with anexaggerated sigh, ‘though I cannot help but think this is an opportunity that may never present itself again. Miss Jennifer is at a very impressionable age…’ he paused and gave a small self-conscious cough, stifling the sentiment that Jennifer Sinclair’s pliable years had been and gone, if they’d ever existed at all… ‘and I feel certain she would benefit from your guidance.’ In truth, he’d never been less certain of anything in his life. He couldn’t name one of the Reverend’s offspring who’d actually reaped any benefit at all from their father’s guidance. Guilt swamped him.
Unaware of his curate’s internal spiritual battle, Augustus Shackleford nodded his head thoughtfully. ‘I can’t argue with you there, Percy,’ he murmured. ‘But I doubt Agnes would agree to travel all the way to Scotland.’
Percy was entirely certain that Agnes would chain herself to her chaise longue before climbing into a carriage heading in the direction of the heathens on the other side of the border, but naturally he didn’t vocalise such an opinion. ‘Mayhap she would be perfectly content to remain in Blackmore with myself and Lizzy here to offer succour,’ he suggested carefully.
The Reverend narrowed his eyes and steepled his fingers, making a show of considering Percy’s words. As a man of the cloth, Augustus Shackleford would never deliberately eschew the Almighty’s work, however onerous it might be.
That being said, if he could do it with his wife at the other end of the country…
∞∞∞
‘Absolutely not, I forbid it!’ Grace immediately bristled at Nicholas’s highhanded words. Unfortunately, he hadn’t yet finished. ‘How you can possibly think foisting your father onto Malcolm and Felicity while they are five hundred miles away andsafeguarding our childrenis even a remotely good idea is beyond me.’
In actual fact, Grace herself was of entirely the same opinion. However, her husband’s imperiousness brought out the worst in her, and she heard herself retorting in a tone just as highhanded, ‘Well then, if you think it such a bad ideayour grace, perhaps I should accompany them myself.’
Nicholas took a deep breath and counted to ten. ‘It’s not that I think Augustus is not to be trusted,’ he began carefully.
‘Do you not?’ Truly, it had been a long time since Nicholas had seen his wife so up in the boughs, and he knew he’d handled things badly. Unfortunately, her words had caught him completely unawares. He was not to know that his wife’s anger was in the main because she completely agreed with his assessment of the situation.
They’d been in Blackmore a mere two days when her father paid her a visit. That should have been warning enough, but unfortunately she’d been so taken aback at his request to accompany Jennifer and Peter to Scotland that she’d found herself entirely bereft of tried and tested excuses. In truth, most of her anger was directed at herself.
‘Why does he want to go?’ Nicholas’s question abruptly averted their burgeoning quarrel.
Grace sighed and sat down on the drawing room window seat. ‘Truthfully, I think he’s bored,’ she answered with a grimace. ‘Percy does most of the day to day running of the parish, and I think my father feels at rather a loose end. He mentioned he hadn’t had occasion to spend much time with his grandchildren as they were growing up.’
‘Thank God!’ Nicholas’s comment was heartfelt, earning him another glare.
‘I think perhaps we should discuss his request with Malcolm and Felicity,’ she answered, making an effort to swallow her ire.
Nicholas nodded. ‘Peter too will need to have a say. If we are to trust him to make decisions concerning Caerlaverock, then we cannot burden him with the Reverend if he is unwilling.’
‘I’m certain he will be delighted to spend time with his grandfather,’ Grace retorted indignantly. Then she looked at her husband’s incredulous expression and burst out laughing.
Chapter Three
Brendon Galbraith stared at his father in exasperation. ‘Ah ken ye’re not best happy wi’ the situation,’ he growled, ‘but if we’re to have a say in the matter o’ the land hereabouts, it'll be best done workin’ wi’ the laird, not agin him.’
Dougal Galbraith drained his whisky. ‘I’ll nae be workin’ wi’ no bloody Sassenachs,’ he muttered.
