Randolph patted his shoulder. “Good man. We should talk later.”
Francis nodded and his employer strode away.
after the room had cleared, leaving Francis to face his judge, the bishop put down his pen and waived Francis to a chair nearer his desk. When Francis arrived, he said, “You seem to have taken a misstep in marrying Miss Bartlett, one that will affect your career in the church because of her profession. I do not doubt that you think you have done the right thing by marrying her and that you love her. I hope her feelings are equally engaged because I believe she needs to prove she is suitable as a clergyman’s wife.”
“I’m sure she will do so, especially in St Paul’s Parish, your grace.”
“I’m not so sure staying in St Paul’s is the best way forward. The scandal, you know, won’t be forgotten quickly. Men like Marchmere and Travener will make sure of that.”
“Their own behavior doesn’t bear the light of day being shone on it.”
“That’s as may be, but they are titled men and as such can get away with much. A woman…an actress to boot…married to a clergyman, cannot. That is the way of this imperfect world.” The bishop said wearily.
This is not going well.“But it’s a world that needs changing, your grace. And Clarissa and I could be part of that change, rather than a dirty secret.”
“I don’t believe our world is ready for that change yet. And I must act in a manner that is appropriate for our times, while compassionate.” His wide brow was furrowed and his face serious.
The lead weight in Francis’s stomach expanded. Would his fears be justified? Every ounce of intuition he possessed screamed that a good result wouldn’t come from this meeting.
“I shall instruct Reverend Randolph that you should be dismissed from your post as curate of St Paul’s Parish. I suggest you find an appointment as far from London and the scene of your indiscretion as possible. Perhaps a position in Wales? There, your wife can prove her suitability for her role, away from the prying and judgmental folk of London.”
Francis’s heart shriveled to nothingness. He was to be unemployed. Exiled from his parish, from his mission work, from his city, from his family. And it would mean the end of Clarissa’s dream of a career in the theatre—
If she would accompany him at all.
Chapter Twelve
Clarissa woke late that morning. She hugged to herself the exciting knowledge she and Francis had come to an agreeable new understanding about their marriage. Francis had bid her goodbye at dawn with a kiss that had turned into far more before he extracted himself from their bed. She hadn’t wanted to let him go to his early morning appointment.How wicked of a clergyman’s wife!
She buried her nose in the sheets and inhaled the sandalwood and citrus scent of him. As she stretched languorously on the soft mattress, she smiled to herself at the memory of their extremely satisfying activities.
Her body had heated immediately when he kissed her. At first, anxious to confide her revelation to him, she had stopped him before she got distracted by their kisses. But once the words were said, there had been no stopping for either of them until they had proven their desire for each other in the most pleasing way. Francis was so clever to know ways to enjoy intimacy with each other that didn’t threaten her career.
A knock sounded on the outer door. She ignored it. Perhaps whoever it was would go away if she didn’t answer.
Another more insistent rap sounded.
Clarissa sighed and hastily donned her chemise and added her silk robe over the top. She finger-combed her hair. She should not be answering his door, but they already needed to find new accommodation, so there couldn’t be more than a little to-do about her presence here as Francis’s wife.
After another loud knock, Clarissa carefully eased the door open and peeked around it.
A young blonde lady, wearing a fashionable outfit of the best quality, stood in the hallway. A uniformed footman stoodbehind her. The woman’smouth dropped open. Shesnapped it closed.
Who could this be?“How may I help you?” Clarissa asked, using her best enunciation. Aunt Dora’s money had not been wasted on her elocution lessons.
“You may help me by telling me what you are doing in the Reverend Brody’s rooms,” the lady demanded with all the righteousness of rank and wealth.
“And who are you to be asking, madam?” Clarissa pertly responded, unwilling to show obeisance to this stranger.
“I’m Lady Dalton. And you are?”
Clarissa puffed out her chest. “I am Reverend Francis Brody’s wife.”
“His wife!” The woman almost screeched the words. “Since when?” she demanded.
“Since a week ago. Why areyouenquiring after my husband, Lady Dalton?”
Her eyes widened. “I’m his sister.”
