Pushing the thoughts of Mercedes out of his mind, he turned his attention back to his stomach. Come to think of it, he was feeling a little peckish. Perhaps he would venture downstairs and ask for some bread and cheese. With a bit of luck, Agnes would already be well into her afternoon nap. A nice ripe stilton would go very well with his brandy…
***
Seating herself at a small desk in her bedchamber, Mercedes endeavoured to put the image of the disfigured man out of her mind. Likely, she would never see him again. Indeed, given the horrific nature of his scar, why would she wish to?
Pulling a sheet of writing parchment to her, Mercy took up her quill. Minutes later, she sighed and put it down again. She’d been intending to pen a letter to her friend Victoria, but the words simply wouldn’t come, despite having so much news to impart. Instead, her mind kept replaying the moment the mysterious man had realised she was watching him. The sardonic twist of his lips and the barest, almost contemptuous nod of his head. What was it about him? She imagined he might well have been handsome before his injury.
Leaning back in her chair, she pondered what could have caused such a terrible wound. He didn’t look old enough to have fought in the Peninsular Wars.
Bizarrely, she found herself wondering what colour his eyes were, whether his lips were really as full as they appeared from a distance. Suddenly restless, she got to her feet and went back to the window, staring down into the now empty courtyard. Wouldhe be at dinner this evening? Somehow, she didn’t think so. Even in the short time she’d watched him, she could tell he wore his loneliness like a shroud.
She shook her head impatiently and stepped away from the window. Why the devil should she care whether some wanderer made an appearance? The man was nothing to her - she had much more pressing issues to consider. Resolutely, she went back to the desk, determined to finish her letter before dinner.
***
The Reverend took a sip of his brandy and followed it with the last piece of stilton, closing his eyes, better to enjoy the sharp tanginess of the cheese together with the sweetness of the brandy. As the Almighty in his wisdom understood so well, it was the little things that made life worthwhile.
When he’d come down to the bar earlier, he’d been the only patron, but now the room was more than half full. He glanced down at his pocket watch – there was still a good couple of hours before dinner. If he returned to his bedchamber now, there’d still be enough time for a bit of a nap. Finishing the last of his brandy, he began to push back his chair, only to stop as a large torso abruptly appeared in front of him.
Heart sinking, the Reverend’s eyes travelled upwards until he was staring into the saturnine features of a stranger who looked as though he’d just walked out of a gambling den. ‘May I help you, my good man?’ he queried, his heart undeniably sinking.
‘Would I be right in thinking you a pastor?’ The man’s voice was deep, and his accent suggested he came from the Americas.
‘Indeed, I am,’ Reverend Shackleford responded, his interest piqued. ‘If I’m not mistaken, you’re a long way from home,my friend.’ He ignored Flossy’s sudden stiffening on his lap, followed by a low growl.
‘And not likely to return anytime soon,’ the man responded with a heavy sigh ‘May I join you for a moment? I have something that’s been troubling me that I’m hoping a man of your persuasion might be able to help me with. It should not take long.’
The Reverend swallowed a grimace, instead plastering what he hoped was a welcoming smile on his face. Any chance of a nap was disappearing faster than he could say forty winks. But then, he was God’s representative on earth and all that. The Almighty was just reminding him of that. Mayhap he’d enjoyed the cheese a little too much.
With an internal sigh, he waved at the vacant chair. ‘I am here to serve. May I be so bold as to ask your name?’ He hurriedly stroked Flossy’s head as her grumbles got louder.
‘Reinhardt,’ the man responded as he sat down. ‘Oliver Reinhardt. With a hiddend.’
The Reverend raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘Reverend Augustus Shackleford at your service, Mr. Reinhardt. From your accent I’d taken you from the Americas, but perhaps I was mistaken.’
His companion gave a tight smile. ‘My parents emigrated to Boston when I was still a babe. They came originally from Alsace.’
‘Ah.’ The Reverend nodded politely and waited.
‘Do you perform marriages perchance?’
Reverend Shackleford blinked. Truly the man’s words were the last thing he’d expected. ‘You have a young lady you wish to wed?’ he questioned. The man nodded without expounding.
‘I’m afraid I must ask. Do you have her parent’s consent?’ the Reverend probed.
Reinhardt’s eyes narrowed a little, then he sighed and spread his hands. ‘I am from Boston. Naturally, her parents do not wish to see their daughter taken so far away. But my love is determined to become my wife if a pastor can be found to marry us. I have obtained the required special licence.’
The Reverend frowned. The whole business was beginning to sound extremely havey-cavey. ‘I’m afraid I cannot be a party, however small, to helping a young lady wed against her parent’s wishes,’ he finally responded carefully.
An uncomfortable silence ensued, until at length, Reinhardt gave a light laugh. ‘I was hoping that a man of the cloth might give at least the smallest consideration to true love. But I should have known better. In America, we don’t have your stilted values. Back in Boston, it is common to marry for love.’
He pushed back his chair and stood up, inclining his head slightly. ‘Thank you for your time. I will leave you to your peaceful contemplation.’
And with that he strode away, leaving Reverend Shackleford staring after him in disquiet.
Chapter Three
Nate ate two-thirds of his stew before putting the bowl down for Ruby to finish. He was seated on the stable floor next to Duchess after creating himself a makeshift bed out of the relatively clean straw. It was almost dark in the stall, reducing the objects around him to vague shapes. The half door to the courtyard was shut, but still the wintery weather crept under the gap, blowing a frigid wind across his back.
