Page 20 of A Landscape of Love

Rather to his relief, they arrived at church and the carriage stopped. Alex got down first, leaving Hart to hand down his sister. Her gloved fingers clasped his lightly as she stepped carefully down, and Hart was left with no choice but to offer her his arm.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him.

His heart gave a hard thud behind his ribs as he saw the way she looked at him, trusting and happy to be in his company. Nonsense, he told himself. Stop being idiotic. Yet he could not tear his eyes from her. Perhaps it was today’s outfit, a fawn-coloured silk redingote that fitted so tightly about her waist, Hart wondered if he could span it with his hands. Her blonde hair was once again in a neat coil at the base of her neck, and a pretty bonnet adorned with white silk roses framed her lovely face. He was not the only one to notice her. Everyone greeted her with pleasure as he led her through the gathering congregation, and he saw many a man’s eye turned towards her with admiration.

Alex found them again as Hart led her to the front bench, reserved for the duke and his family. “I hope you enjoy the service,” Hart said once she was settled and was about to make his escape when Alex asked him to sit with them.

“No,” Hart said firmly, shaking his head. “That would not be proper.”

“Oh, well, wait for us afterwards, won’t you?” Lord Alex demanded, giving Hart little choice but to agree.

He inclined his head in acceptance of this scheme and went to find a pew at the back of the church.

The vicar was a fire and brimstone merchant, the sanctimonious, judgemental and hypocritical sort of Christian that Hart particularly disliked. Where was forgiveness, the commandment to love thy neighbour and throw no stones? It was missing in this morning’s diatribe, which made Hart increasingly agitated as the vicar’s voice rose. He was in fine form, attacking women who strayed from the righteous path and illustrating how these poor creatures ended in misery and eventually, burning in hell to atone for their sins.

The desire to get to his feet, take Lady Fidelia’s hand and drag her outside became harder to ignore as the vicar warmed to his subject. Hart wondered how she was faring, enduring such vile comments which would be aimed at her if anyone here knew her secret. He hoped she knew he did not judge her or think badly of her. Perhaps knowing that she had an ally here would help her get through the interminable rant.

Finally, it ended, and he did not think he was the only one who let out a sigh of relief. He left the church, taking in a deep breath of clean, cold air to dispel the tightness in his chest. Waiting by the lychgate, he watched for Lady Fidelia, relieved when he saw her walking towards him. She was pale, her soft mouth set in a tight line, but outwardly she appeared composed.

Wordlessly, Hart placed her hand on his arm and she clung tightly to him.

“Where’s your brother?”

Fidelia shook her head and Hart observed her eyes glittering too brightly. He could not have her breaking down in front of everyone. Deciding that Alex could catch them up, Hart walked her straight past the carriage and along the road that led back to the house.

“A good walk will put some colour back into your cheeks,” he said.

Fidelia said nothing, just followed him, clinging tightly to his arm. Hart moderated his steps so she could keep up, but maintained a brisk pace until they were out of sight of the church. He slowed then, glancing down at her.

“Don’t you heed a bloody word that was said in there,” he growled furiously. “Sanctimonious bastard,” he added for good measure.

Fidelia made a hiccoughing sound, and he looked down to find pressing a hand to her mouth to muffle her shocked laughter. She composed herself, dashing a tear from her cheek with her hand. “Thank you,” she said, looking both amused and appalled by his terrible language and yet relieved too. “You always know just what to say to make me feel better. He… He made me feel so… so very wicked and—”

“Stuff,” Hart said fiercely. “You made a mistake. It’s the fellow who took advantage of your innocence and your trust who ought to have a sermon preached at him. He’s the one who ought to face the fiery inferno, and any God I believe in would only pity you for the suffering you’ve been caused, and so I shall tell that miserable old devil if you wish me to.”

“Indeed, I do not but… but you don’t think I shall go to hell, then?”

Hart turned to her in outrage, seeing the fear in her eyes and furious that this beautiful girl who had likely never done or said anything wicked in her entire life should fear such a fate.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said frankly.

She gave a startled laugh, and he patted her hand.

“Of course you’re not going to hell,” he said, his voice milder this time, but no less sincere. “You’re a good person who made a mistake. God doesn’t send such people to hell. You’re quite safe.”

“How kind you are,” she said, gazing up at him with a soft look in her eyes.

“I’m not,” he said. “I just can’t abide hypocrites.”

“Well, I think you are kind, and quite the nicest man I have ever met. I am so glad to count you a friend, Mr De Beauvoir. I—I may consider you a friend?” she queried, hesitant in the light of the scowl on Hart’s face.

He rearranged his features, wishing fervently he had not gone to church that morning, except then Fidelia would have been alone and there would have been no one to reassure her that she was not wicked and would not go to hell.

“Of course,” he said, wondering what the devil he was playing at. He was supposed to be staying as far from her as he could get, and now they were friends. Bloody marvellous.

“And you will come to dinner tomorrow night?”

Hart suppressed a sigh. Hell and the devil. “I will,” he agreed, wondering just how much worse he could make the situation in one evening.