certainly do my possible. Now I really must rest. Don’t let my minx of a daughter tire you out. She can be exhausting!”
Beau leaned to kiss his sister’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, Ellie. I’ve missed you.”
She gave him a quick hug. “And I you, big brother.”
Beau’s smile faded as soon as he exited his sister’s chamber. Having the determined Elspeth play matchmaker for Mrs. Martin was a complication he certainly didn’t need. The mere idea of that lady giving herself to any other man, even in marriage, roused in him immediate and violent objections, though he would hardly voice them to Ellie.
For one, Mrs. Martin responded to him as she did to no other man in Merriville. True, he was hardly a disinterested observer any longer, but in his most professional assessment she’d displayed no such attraction to the squire, nor had her behavior indicated she harbored marital intentions.
Remarriage was certainly one remedy to her current insecurity, the most conventional remedy, but not the only one. He had the power and resources to make her permanently safer and more comfortable than any prospective husband Ellie could bring up to snuff, particularly the aging and only modestly well-to-do squire.
And Beau would make her happier. As lovers, partners and friends, they would please each other. He would stake his last shilling on it.
When—if—eventually they parted, Mrs. Martin would still have the option of remarriage. Only by then, their liaison would have left her socially and financially secure enough to take such a step out of desire, not necessity.
The vague discomfort occasioned by the very idea of Ellie marrying off Mrs. Martin faded, and Beau’s mood brightened. He was delighted to have his sister here—he much preferred having all his family about. Especially since—a double blessing—Ellie’s condition meant that her arrival no longer signaled the departure of Mrs. Martin.
Ellie would certainly attempt to befriend the widow, who was more likely to confide in his sister than in him. Through cautious questioning of his sibling, he’d probably discover more of Mrs. Martin’s circumstances. Even better, Ellie might be able to coax her to join them at dinner or for tea. His spirits quickened at the thought of spending more time with her, even in company.
Of course, if Ellie did get her matrimonial plans in train, it would be the lady’s choice whether she preferred a discrete and long-term liaison with Beau, or marriage to some beau of Ellie’s choosing.
He’d just have to make sure her choice fell on him.
Later that evening another caller joined them. The vicar, Reverend Eric Blackthorne, had stopped by daily with prayers and encouragement during the crisis. Upon learning Lady Elspeth had arrived, he felt obliged to come by at once and pay his regards, he informed Beau’s sister as they sipped tea, his own mama having been a good friend of her mother, the late Lady Beaulieu.
In virtually the next breath, Mr. Blackthorne requested that Mrs. Martin be bid to join them. Perhaps prompted by his recent conversation with Ellie, Beau was suddenly struck by suspicions he had not previously entertained concerning the reverend.
Beau’s initial satisfaction when the footman returned to report Mrs. Martin begged their pardon for declining the invitation, as she was already on her way to relieve Dr. MacDonovan, turned to irritation when the reverend announced he would visit them both in Kit’s chamber.
Best to determine the nature of this unexpected complication immediately, Beau decided. With brisk efficiency he eluded the squire and Ellie in the salon and insinuated himself into the sickroom call.
“Your mother, Mrs. Blackthorne, was a friend of my mama’s?” Beau asked as the two men took the stairs.
“My mother, Lady Islington, was her friend,” the vicar corrected. “My father is Viscount Islington.”
Blackthorne of Islington. Of course. Annoyed with himself for not picking up the family connection upon their first introduction, Beau continued, “Richard, Baron Islington, is your brother? We were college mates.”
The reverend slanted him a glance. “My eldest brother, yes.”
Netted at that dig about his age, Beau nodded. So the vicar wasn’t a country nobody, but scion of an important family. A detail that would surely be noted by his scheming sister.
“Do you intend to stay much longer, my lord?” the vicar asked. “I understand Kit is quite improved.”
Beau’s instinctive wariness deepened. Wanted him out of the way, did the vicar?
“That depends on Kit. Of course, I have pressing business in London, but I cannot depart until I am sure my brother is well and truly out of danger.”
The vicar nodded in turn and the two men continued to the sickroom without further conversation, frosty awareness settling between them. During their previous meetings Beau had been too preoccupied by worry over Kit to take much notice of the vicar. It now appeared the man cherished as little enthusiasm for his presence here as Beau felt at this moment for the clergyman. An unsettling realization.
The frostiness, on Beau’s part, grew chillier as he analyzed the vicar’s behavior toward Mrs. Martin. The reverend was too well bred to single her out, instead conversing easily with Mac, encouraging Kit, and exchanging no more than a few polite sentences with Mrs. Martin.
Even so, Beau had no trouble determining from the warmth of the vicar’s tone toward her, the glances that periodically strayed to the lady’s downcast face even as he conversed with the doctor and Kit, that the reverend held Mrs. Martin in more than a pastoral regard.
Mac left to seek his dinner, the other two men walking with him. But when the vicar halted at the doorway, Beau stopped, as well. With Kit having dozed off again, Beau would be damned if he’d give the insolent fellow the opportunity for a private chat with Mrs. Martin.
Clearly as irritated by Beau’s persistent presence as Beau was by his, the vicar said, “You’ll wish to dine with the doctor. Please, my lord, feel free to do so. There is no impropriety in my remaining here with Mrs. Martin.”
Was that a subtle rebuke? Beau’s temper stirred. “I know you would never overstep the bounds of your calling,” he replied. “But having lived for a week in constant anxiety over Kit, it still soothes me to be near him.”
Counter that, he thought, watching the vicar struggle for another argument to urge Beau’s departure. Obviously failing, Mr. Blackthorne replied, “As you wish, my lord.” Walking to the chair where the widow sat beside her dozing patient, he said in low tones, “How are you, Mrs. Martin? I trust you are watching after your own health.”
She did not look up, nor was there a shade of flirtatiousness in her tone. “I am well, thank you, sir.”
“In any case, with Lady Elspeth here, you should now be able to return home.”
Before she could reply, Beau intruded into the conversation. “My sister is in a delicate condition and must conserve her strength. Mrs. Martin has consented to remain here and continue to nurse Kit in her stead.”
Barely concealed annoyance colored the brief glance the vicar shot to the earl. “Indeed.”
“A true compassionate, Christian lady is our Mrs. Martin,” Beau said,
