She clenched her fists at her sides and headed toward the house. She had to cease this incessant woolgathering about the viscount. He was likely on his way to the inn to collect his things and return to London at this very moment. He was only enough of a gentleman to bid her father farewell and gain the redemption he’d been seeking before continuing on his way. She was merely a passing fancy to be discarded when it suited his needs.
Dove walked inside and stomped the worst of the snow from her boots before she took them off and set them by the door. She was removing her bonnet and pelisse to hang them on a nearby peg when her father walked out to greet her. “Hello, daughter. You just missed Lord Markel, but perhaps you saw him on your way home?”
“No, I didn’t. What a shame,” she murmured. She walked toward the kitchen, hoping that her lie was easily concealed as she grabbed an apron and tied it around her waist to begin working on the evening meal. Much more of this subterfuge and she might have to ask for absolution herself. First, she consorted with a man who wasn’t even a proper suitor, and now the lies were rolling easily off of her tongue.
She withheld a sigh and gathered the items she would need for bread. As she rummaged around and placed everything on the counter, her father, who had followed behind, spoke up. “I invited Lord Markel to stay for our annual play.”
Dove hesitated, but then she shrugged. “I’m sure he’s too busy to bother with such a trivial village performance when he has access to Drury Lane.”
“Grander is not always better,” her father pointed out. “Pleasing things can come from modest achievements.”
She paused in her task and had the grace to appear chastised. “Of course, Papa. I’m sorry.”
Silence filled the room for a time as she mixed the ingredients together. It wasn’t until she put it on the stove to rise did her father reply, “I’m the one who is sorry that you don’t have your mother around to talk to about certain things.”
Dove’s heart melted. She walked over and took her father’s hands in her own. Not for the first time, she noted how different they were starting to look, more aged and frail. She didn’t want to think of what her life would be like when he was no longer in it every day. “You are not to blame for Mama’s death. You told me yourself that the Lord decided it was her time. While I do miss her, I don’t regret that you are the one I go to for help. I love you.”
“And I you. The Lord certainly blessed me when he gifted me with you as my daughter.” He patted her hand. “Shall I help you with the evening meal?”
“Absolutely not.” She stood up straighter and pointed toward the door. “I expect you to rest if you intend to oversee the production of the play tomorrow night. I daresay I don’t know who else would narrate the scenes we portray if it wasn’t for you.”
He laughed and held up his hands in surrender. “I will abide by your wishes, as I certainly don’t want to endure your wrath if it is anything like your mother’s was.”
When he was gone, Dove allowed her shoulders to slump. She laid her hands on top of the kitchen counter and took several steadying breaths. It was true that she had never regretted that she still had her father, though there were times she did miss her mother’s feminine advice. But since she hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings, she allowed those emotions to remain buried deep inside and held tight under lock and key.
Exhaling, she recalled her task and got back to work.
Dove told herself she had been expecting the viscount’s absence when he didn’t call the next morning, but there had still been that slight hope that his intentions in becoming a better man had rung true. Now she realized that she’d just made another mistake.
She sighed. Perhaps she should just join a nunnery, because she seemed to lose her composure when a handsome man paid notice to her and made her feel like a desirable woman, and not just a vicar’s daughter.
It might be something to consider, but first, she had to get into her role as the mother of the Messiah.
As she walked with her father down to the church, the sun shone on them, turning the landscape covered with a blanket of white into a ground of sparkling stars. They entered the sanctuary, and she glanced at the wooden benches in neat rows, just awaiting the moment when they were filled once more. The stained glass beyond the altar that depicted Mary with the Christ child, splintered the expanse with a prism of color.
But it wasn’t the Holy sight she’d gazed on so many times that captured her breath this time. It was Lord Markel’s towering height. Even amongst a modest assemblage, he stood out from the rest. Immediately, her lips began to tingle, along with other places on her body, remembering that day at the castle ruins when he had kissed her and she had responded with such reckless abandon.
She had imagined he’d taken his leave of Meriden, but apparently, she’d been wrong. Now the question that begged to be answered was: why had he remained?
“I’m glad to see everyone is here for the first rehearsal,” her father announced. “I trust you all received your parts from Dove?”
As a few nods and murmurs of assent passed throughout, the viscount was the only one who didn’t move. Immediately, shivers of apprehension began to crawl up her spine.
“As you are all aware, Andrew Cummings was wed a few weeks ago, and rather than intrude on his recent marital state, I have found us a new Joseph to partner Dove in the role of Mary.” He lifted a hand and indicated Lord Markel, and then put his hands together in applause, which was joined by the rest of the congregation—except for Dove, who was quite unable to move with the announcement. “I trust that you will treat him as kindly as if he was one of our own members as he is hoping to draw closer to God during his time here.”
As the group began to walk forward and offer their well wishes to the viscount, Dove turned to her father with a grim expression. Now that Lord Markel’s position had been confirmed by the vicar, she said, “Are you sure it’s wise to offer him such an important role in the play? You and I both know that he will likely leave before it is performed. Christmas Eve is yet a fortnight away.”
Her father offered her a gentle smile in return. “Have faith, daughter.” He patted her shoulder and walked away, likely to speak with the rest of the group.
She would do the same once she’d had a moment to compose herself. How could she manage to pretend to be such a spiritual woman like Mary, devoted to God, when it wasn’t Joseph she saw in Lord Markel, but rather the tempting serpent?
“Miss Meriwether.”
She startled at the sound of that deep voice, yet she didn’t know why she should be surprised that he might approach her. Just because she was still unnerved by their last encounter didn’t mean that he was. Even so, she had trouble meeting his gaze directly. But then, that could be because of his smooth appearance, the perfectly tailored clothes, or more likely, the hypnotic way he had of looking at her in a way that made her think he could read her every thought. “Lord Markel,” she murmured.
There was a pause. “I hope you aren’t upset that I offered my assistance in the play.”
“Not at all,” she returned coolly. “As long as you follow through on your promises.”
