Page 14 of Indecently Daring

―Excerpt of a letter to Lady Victoria Godwin (daughter of Robert and Prunella Adolphus, The Duke and Duchess of Bedwin) from Miss Emmeline Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight)

12th January 1845, Holbrook House, Sussex.

With the exception of coolly polite greetings in passing, Alana avoided the vicar successfully until Sunday, when there was no other choice but to attend church.

“Do stop dragging your feet,” Cat chided as they walked along the lane. It was gloriously bright again, though still freezing. The lingering cold snap had frozen all the lakes and ponds in the area, and the idea of sitting in a draughty church listening to the Reverend Martin sermonise was not putting Alana in the best of spirits, despite the sunshine. “Come along, we can feast our eyes on your gorgeous vicar and we won’t notice the fact our toes are numb.”

“He’s not my vicar,” Alana protested in alarm.

“Perhaps not, but you didn’t deny he’s gorgeous,” Cat teased her.

Alana huffed, but was too honest to contradict her. The vicar was gorgeous, which was a terrible waste of a fine-looking man if he insisted on being so blasted difficult. Grudgingly, Alana considered why her aunt thought so highly of him if he was as difficult as he seemed and was forced to allow the possibility it might not have been entirely his fault.

Perhaps she had provoked him, at least to begin with. If she’d not been so quick to judge him, this animosity might never have arisen. Cat was right; Alana had been out of society for too long and had forgotten her manners. Her life at Marcross Manor had been rather idyllic but, with hindsight, she ought to have returned home instead of lingering for so long, or returning so often. If she had, she might have realised that Ollie was only a friend, and she might not have forgotten how to interact with anyone who wasn’t close family, or of the four-legged or feathered variety. Mama had suggested as much, had told her it was time to come out and experience society, but Alana had ignored her, and Mama was far too lenient to insist. Alana rather wished she had now, but that was unfair. She’d made her bed, and now she must tidy the sheets.

“Do stop looking so glum,” Cat said impatiently as they followed her aunt and uncle up the path to the church. “I’m reasonably certain you won’t burst into flames the moment you step inside these hallowed walls.”

Alana gave a forced laugh. “Haha. Oh, stop it, you’re hysterical,” she grumbled, though her lips were twitching too hard to make it entirely believable.

Cat snorted and the two of them were sniggering by the time they entered the church, which naturally meant Reverend Martin was there to see it. Cat sobered at once, somehow adopting an angelic expression in the blink of an eye. Alana, by contrast, felt her face freeze in what she suspected was an unattractive smirk, and could only hurry to take her place next to her aunt. Seeing as they were sat in the front pew, it did not afford her an escape for long, and Alana decided it was prudent to examine her toes for the duration of the service.

There was no opportunity to doze off, however, as the reverend launched into a rousing sermon about the dangers of gambling and drinking. He was remarkably passionate on the subject. Unsurprisingly, she supposed, as there had been a rowdy incident in the village Friday night which everyone had been gossiping about all day yesterday. Apparently, the postmistress had been celebrating the birth of her first grandson and had got roaring drunk with Jane Smith, the blacksmith’s wife. Their neighbours on both sides had complained about the noise and a fight had ensued between the women, which quickly escalated once the men got involved. There had been considerable property damage—as the blacksmith was an enormous fellow with an excitable nature—not to mention several sore heads.

Finally, the ordeal was over, which was just as well as the entire congregation had red noses, their breath blowing clouds in the dim interior of the church. Alana was frozen to the marrow and could not wait to get back to Holbrook so she might defrost in front of a good fire. Of course, there was one final hurdle as everyone had to share a few words with the vicar on their way out. There was no way her aunt and uncle could avoid doing so, even if they’d wished to, and they seemed to like the reverend very much. Her aunt seemed almost fond of him. Alana knew this ought to be proof enough she had no business taking the fellow in dislike, but something stubborn niggled inside her at the thought of letting him off for his rudeness.

“An excellent sermon,” her uncle said with an amused glint in his eyes. “I’m sure it fell on fertile ground, going on the rather battered and left over appearance of some of your flock this morning.”

Alana kept her head down, hovering behind her uncle whilst the two men chatted. Glancing around, she could not help but feel amused by the sight of the women in the congregation sending wistful looks in their direction. Her uncle, the Earl of St Clair, was universally agreed to be the most handsome man in these parts, or had been before the Comte de Villen and the vicar turned up.

“Strange, isn’t it? St Clair looks so angelically handsome, he makes the vicar look rather wicked by comparison,” Cat mused under her breath, regarding the two men with a critical eye.

Alana smiled at the observation. “Yes, that’s true.”

“Perhaps it’s just their colouring, the light and the dark? What do you think?” Cat added, pondering this.

“No,” Alana replied, studying the vicar a little closer before turning back to Cat. “It’s more than that. Something in his eyes. I bet he was a right little devil when he was a boy. A shame he’s grown into such a dull fellow. His aunt said as much, too, didn’t she? ‘He’s forgotten how to live,’ she said. Forgotten how to crack his face into a smile, I’d say. I’ll just bet he’s a poacher turned gamekeeper. He’s far too intent on making everyone behave themselves and avoid anything resembling fun. Honestly, I know there was a bit of a scene, but was such a scolding upon the perils of drink really necessary? I mean, Holbrook village is hardly the Seven Dials, is it?”

Too late, Alana saw Cat’s eyes widen with warning, and Alana winced inwardly as she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he’d heard what she said. Drat and botheration.

“Lady St Clair asked me to escort you ladies home, as I’m dining with you this afternoon. If I might have the honour.”

His voice was cool, scrupulously polite, and Alana vacillated momentarily between running away and brazening it out. Well, she was her mother’s daughter, after all.

“How kind of you, Reverend,” she said, smiling brightly as she turned to face him.

To give him his due, he showed no sign of discomposure or displeasure, and offered her his arm. Alana looked around to see Dr Haysom was escorting Cat, who sent her a sympathetic expression, mouthing sorry in her direction.

Alana sighed. She was doomed to put her foot in it with Reverend Martin, it seemed. They were about to leave when Jane Smith, she of the drunken fight, came up and begged a word with the vicar. Alana let him go with relief. She toyed with the idea of walking on with Cat and the doctor, but that seemed rather churlish, and so she stood waiting for him, stamping her feet to get some feeling back into them. A bitter, icy wind had blown up.

On the far side of the graveyard came the sound of children’s laughter. Alana moved towards it, leaning upon the stone wall around the churchyard, seeing shapes moving through the trees. There was a pond down there, no doubt frozen and… yes, the children were messing about, skidding up and down on it. Alana felt a stab of alarm. She had swum in that pond one summer, and it was far deeper than it looked. Though the weather had been cold for some time, the ice might not be as thick as it appeared out in the middle.

Alana called out to the children, but they were too intent on their game to heed her. Too worried to walk all the way around to the gate, Alana hiked up her skirts and climbed over the wall. Sliding on the icy grass, she made her way down the slope and into the trees.

“Get off there!” she called as she went. “Hey, you daft creatures! Get off, it’s not safe!”

An ominous crack echoed through the trees.

“Get off! The ice is—”