“I do not,” I say, working to keep my voice soft but firm. I won’t have her endangered. I will not have her harmed.
“Mr. de Lacey,” Mr. Perry interjects once more. “I do not mean to interfere in a personal matter. But I must agree with your wife. And I have reason for doing so. After those events by which you were so right to be alarmed, I set about investigating the origins of the trouble. And it is my belief that the animus is motivated, yes, by Mrs. de Lacey’s, uh, reputation, but also—in no small part—by the late Mr. de Lacey’s…”
The man trails off as if unsure how to phrase what comes next.
“You needn’t mince your words about my father forthe sake of anyone here, Mr. Perry, I assure you,” Annabelle bites off.
“His lack of, shall we say, stewardship of Trescott. The resentment has been building for years, I believe. I tried to tell your father, Mrs. de Lacey, butyouknow how he could be. Very proud. And he didn’t like to let go of a shilling, even if itwasto save a pound.”
“Indeed,” Annabelle concurs dryly.
“With generous treatment from you, Mrs. de Lacey, relations between yourself, your husband, and the parishioners could be quite cordial.” He stops then, as if weighing whether he wants to say more. “And as to the matter of your marriage, well, I do not think it will have an ill effect. If I may say, sir, you are popular with the people of Trescott, particularly the ladies, as vicar. I don’t think they are disposed to look ill on the marriage—with a little encouragement.”
Annabelle laughs. “No, not really? My family’s reputation in Trescott will be fixed by Alfred’s amiability.”
Mr. Perry chuckles.
I, however, do not feel amused. Not least because it feels as though Mr. Perry and Annabelle are laughing at me.
“How can you be certain that they don’t condemn our union?”
Mr. Perry sees my lack of amusement and schools his features.
“I am sure some would condemn it, Mr. de Lacey. But that is a rather melancholy prospect—for a bright young man such as yourself to be swallowed up into sin. And rather a useless conclusion for the people here. It would be much more useful to them if you charmed Mrs. de Lacey and made her liberal.”
“She was always liberal,” I say. “She has been helpingthe cottagers since she inherited. Iwasvicar after all. I knowthat.”
“Yes, of course, but if people here choose to credit you for what your wife has arranged and credit love for their new prosperity—well, I don’t see harm in it.”
Love. That is not the word that my wife would use to describe our relationship. I feel a twinge in my chest. Stupid, that.
My wife takes my hand. She wants to chase away my dismay and, as usual, I am not averse to being cajoled by her.
“We should send the people of Trescott a gift announcing our nuptials. I suspect we have enough cider to send to everyone in town. And then maybe we will not have to fear being ambushed on the open road.”
“That would be an excellent start,” Mr. Perry says.
I sigh. I am not sure why the conversation makes me cross. I suppose it is the reminder that there are people not just out in the world somewhere, but close to us in Trescott, who have wished my wife true harm. I hate the idea of appealing to such people. They don’t deserve it.
“Alfred,” Annabelle says. “My father—he treated people here harshly. He was ungenerous and a bad master. If this has the added benefit of making it safer here for us, then we have all the more reason to pursue it.”
I suspect that she knows the idea of correcting a moral wrong will appeal to me more than appeasing the violent.
“And if we are ever to have a child?—”
She says the last part in a soft voice. I am sure Mr. Perry heard her all the same—it is impossible that he would miss the statement. But I know the words are for me alone. Their effect is immediate. Of course, if we ever come back to Trescott with a child, we could notrisk the babe being harmed by the men who threatened Annabelle.
“Very well,” I say, squeezing her hand and turning towards Mr. Perry. “Let’s bribe them until they are as in love with my wife as I am.”
Mr. Perry flushes at his raw declaration—and when I turn to Annabelle, her cheeks are a bit red as well.
Good.
I want no one mistaking where I stand: Annabelle above everything.
Chapter 43
Annabelle
