Nic turned away from the mirror and met his cousin’s stare. “Of course I know Mrs. Burls. She’s the oldest woman in town.”He shook his head. “I’ve been here a good four months already, so I do know most of your friends.”
“Good, good.” Frederick grinned and moved to the window. He carefully pulled back the curtains and peered out. “It’s a fine day, is it not? Such perfect weather for a walk.” He swung his head and looked back at Nic. “I almost envy you now. I shall have to resign myself to staying in the house and only leaving at night.”
Nic shrugged. “This was your plan. Are you thinking of backing out?”
“No, I won’t back out. The thief must be caught, and this is the only way.” Sighing heavily, Frederick frowned. “I haven’t lived in this area for a year yet, and already people are starting to believe I took the items from the church. It breaks my heart when even the local constable doesn’t believe in my innocence. I must build the trust back with the community quickly.” He motioned toward the door. “So go out, greet the people, and make me proud. I wish you good luck. I shall be praying that you turn out a splendid performance.”
“Oh, trust me, I’ll try my hardest to make them believe I’m you.” Nic smiled wide. “One might even think that I playacted for a living.”
“Well, we certainly did as boys.”
Nic nodded. “That we did.”
After settling Frederick’s hat snugly on his head, Nic reached for the walking stick leaning by the door and stepped outside. The sunlight greeted him with an intensity that made him squint, his eyes unaccustomed to the brightness after spending weeks in the dim interior of his cousin’s home. The adjustment was slow, but gradually the brilliance of the day came into focus.
The weather was nearly perfect for a stroll, though the crisp wind blowing in from the ocean carried a sharper chill than he had anticipated. As he walked, Nic found himself wishing forthe company of a lovely lady to share the picturesque moment with. North Devon, with its lush green landscape and blooming flowers, seemed to be in full celebration of spring. The trees, newly budded, swayed gently in the breeze, painting the town in vibrant colors.
At a certain point, Nic knew he could climb the hill that overlooked the coastline, offering an unmatched view of the bluish-green waters stretching toward the horizon. The thought of it brought a sense of peace—a kind of serenity he rarely felt. The calmness of the scene always stilled his mind, filling him with gratitude for the beauty around him. As much as he hated to admit it, North Devon had a charm he found deeply soothing, more so than any place he had ever been.
He reluctantly tore his gaze away from the breathtaking scenery and turned his attention to another of God’s creations—the friendly, familiar faces of the village. As Lord Hawthorne, he had already met many of Frederick’s acquaintances and, over time, had come to think of them as his own friends as well. Both he and his cousin had allowed the townspeople to believe that Nic had returned home weeks ago, which made his current guise all the more convincing.
The first couple he greeted on his walk were the newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Lambert. Nic had witnessed his cousin perform their wedding ceremony just three months earlier, and they still radiated the happiness of newlywed bliss.
Mrs. Lambert clung to her husband’s arm, gazing at him with an expression of pure adoration as he spoke. It was a small but touching scene that stirred something in Nic’s chest.
He paused for a moment, reflecting on the sight. It reminded him of his good friends, the Worthington brothers, who shared the same look of contentment with their wives. For just a fleeting moment, a pang of loneliness settled in Nic’s heart, and he wondered if he would ever find that special womanmeant for him. The thought of companionship tugged at him unexpectedly.
As quickly as the feeling arose, he brushed it aside, chuckling quietly to himself. What was he thinking? He wasn’t ready to find that kind of happiness—not for several more years. The idea of settling down seemed distant, almost absurd. There were too many adventures yet to be had, and marriage, for now, could wait.
“Mr. Woodland. Good morning,” Mrs. Lambert called out to him. She raised her hand and smiled.
The new bride was a lovely woman, and immediately, Nic wanted to make her smile. “Greetings,” he said, quickening his step until he reached them. He must remember he was the clergyman, not a rogue.No charming the women!Instead, he should thinkholier.“What a pleasure to see you both this fine morning.”
“Indeed, it’s a very lovely day, Mr. Woodland,” Mrs. Lambert said. “How happy I am to see you out. I trust you’re feeling better?”
“Yes, I do feel better.” He stroked his palm over his furry chin. “However, this beard is my only irritation now. I will be relieved when the tenderness in my face disappears and I’m able to shave once again.”
“I do understand your frustration.” Mr. Lambert nodded. “Two years ago I also had some kind of rash and I couldn’t shave for a whole week. I don’t know if I could have gone as long as you have, though.”
Nic shrugged. “It is quite uncomfortable. But at least I’m out of that stuffy house and able to see your happy faces. Tell me, how are you faring since we last talked?”
As the young couple shared the joys of their new life together, Nic found himself laughing along with their stories, his smile so forced it made his cheeks ache. It wasn’t that hewas uninterested in their happiness—he was genuinely pleased for them—but he simply couldn’t relate. Marriage, to him, was a distant and foreign concept.
At least Frederick had experienced it once, though tragically, his wife had died in childbirth six years ago. Nic had never understood why his cousin hadn’t remarried, but then again, perhaps he never would.
Nic’s relationships were fleeting by design, and he liked it that way. He cherished his freedom too much to let anyone tie him down. Women often adored him, and he made it a point to make them feel special, right up until it was time to move on. Nic had always been a charmer, and when it came time to end the affair, most women accepted that he wasn’t the type to marry. Rarely did they harbor any lasting bitterness toward him.
But then his thoughts came to a screeching halt as a familiar face flashed in his memory—Tabitha Paget. An angelic figure he had once wrongfully suspected of murder. It had been six months since they crossed paths, but the image of her lingered as vividly as ever. Her mesmerizing blue eyes, framed by a heart-shaped face, and those lips—remarkably exciting and utterly unforgettable.
In an instant, the carefree laughter of the moment faded, replaced by the haunting memory of a woman he hadn’t been able to forget, no matter how hard he tried.
“Is that not right, Mr. Woodland?” Mrs. Lambert asked.
Inwardly, Nic kicked himself for not paying better attention to the Lamberts. He couldn’t even recall what they had been saying. He chuckled and shook his head. “Ah, Mrs. Lambert, of course it is right, since it came from you.”
The young lady nodded and looked at her husband, giving him a grin of victory. “Did I not tell you? Mr. Woodland is a very intelligent man.”
Mr. Lambert held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not arguing with a clergyman.”
