Who knows how he will feel if he ever discovers the truth. Or if I fall pregnant.
In that case, he will not be the type of man to relinquish me or the babe easily.
These thoughts are enough to make me want to escape back to London and leave Trescott—and Alfred Saintsbury—behind.
I would, indeed, if I could bear it.
But right now, leaving him would be far too painful.
I turn back to the house, discontent.
When I reach the breakfast room, however, I am surprised to see that Alfred already sits there.
“I must admit,” he says, “I would have preferred breakfast in bed.”
“I wanted air,” I say. “But it is good that we are not in bed. Because we have things to discuss. And in bed we will only get distracted.”
A rakish man would chuckle at this characterization. But Alfred merely gives a kindly smile.
“What must we discuss?”
“You must be prepared for what comes next.”
“My ruin you mean.”
“Yes. The scandal sheets and the newspapermen will be run away with themselves. The proper vicar who turned out to be nothing but. You will become a figure ofridicule.”
“That will make it difficult to carry out my professional duties.”
“Yes,” I say. “But not impossible. And with time the scandal will die down.”
“I am not sure the village will be so sanguine. They were prepared to attack you not so long ago.”
“If I must hire protection, then I will. We will not cower to the village. Or the newspapermen. They can all hang. You will keep your post. And if you want to take a break from being so assiduous about your duties given the circumstances, then I would advise you to have Mr. Peabody carry out the bulk of your responsibilities for now.”
His color is heightened. But he manages to look almost unruffled given how much his life has been upended.
“The newspapermen and the hack writers will probably say worse things than you can even imagine now. I cannot control them. Material circumstances I can control. The church I can control. But the press I cannot.”
“I understand.”
“I also want to reassure you,” I say, knowing that I must speak of it even though bringing reality into the room with us is painful. “That once our liaison is through I will provide for you. There may come a day when it does not suit either you or me for you to remain in Trescott as vicar. I will provide you with an income so that you may always be comfortable even after our liaison has ended.”
His eyes flare with anger.
“When you tire of me, you mean.”
“Yes,” I say. “Or you tire of me.”
“I won’t tire of you, Annabelle.”
“You cannot know that,” I say, my throat catching. I clear it. I hate myself for my sentimentality. “You are not experienced when it comesto love affairs. One day there may be other women that you would like to bed. You may grow to find me contemptible.”
“I will never tire of you,” he says. “I will love you until the day I die.”
“Even still,” I say. “I want you to know that you will never have to struggle for an income.”
He pauses. “Thank you,” he says stiffly. “I appreciate that once you are through with me, you will treat me well.”
