Page 2 of The Case of the Curate

“Can’t keep it anyway when I got no job, no earnings.”

“…or you could marry someone who’s not the father.”

“That’s what I thought,” she admitted. It was, after all, one reason she had come to Chadleigh on market day, in the hopes of encountering such a paragon. “Only he’d be mad as fire when he found out. I’m four months gone, and no baby’s that early.”

“Oh, I think you’d have to be honest. After all, you want a good man, and you have a lot to offer a lucky suitor.”

She stared at him. “What, a stained reputation and a little bas—”

“Is your reputation so stained?”

“Not yet,” she said bitterly. “I been good since I come down here. I was trying. Apart from just the once. But then, it only takes once, doesn’t it?”

“It does, and it isn’t fair that women bear it all. But there we are. You need to have a think, decide if you’d rather keep the child if you could, or if there’s anyone you know you’d be prepared to trust and marry. Or we can talk Lady Chadbon into taking you back on after you’ve been away looking after some mythical relatives. I’ll speak to you again in a few days and we can make more definite plans.”

She stared at him with something like wonder. The knot of fear in her stomach had miraculously loosened, and for the first time in weeks, she knew something close to hope. Even if all his talk was just a gentleman’s ignorance and wishful thinking, he was taking her problem seriously.

“You’re not alone, Dinah,” he said gently, and those dratted tears started again. He winked. “Now, shab off before you get the curate into trouble.”

And she actually laughed as she walked away from him, because just maybe, with Lord Rupert at her back, everything would work out.

Chapter One

“You must meet our new curate,” Lady Chadbon declared.

It was an uncharacteristic greeting, uttered as soon as Kate walked into the salon where Her Ladyship’s guests had gathered before dinner. Arriving alone to stuffy political parties was something Kate had got used to since her marriage. But as the daughter of a baron and the wife of an increasingly prominent member of Parliament, she was surprised to be fobbed off on a mere curate.

However, it appeared no insult was intended, for Lady Chadbon linked arms with her as she spoke, an indulgent smile upon her lips, as if she were bestowing a treat.

“My dear, he is young, and truly something out of the ordinary,” she whispered as they approached the black-coated backs of three gentleman in a group with two bejeweled older ladies. “Mr. Grande!”

The tallest of the three men turned at once, and Kate felt her jaw drop. Then laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep within—all the fun of a mischievous childhood controlled only by the learned restraint of adulthood.

“Allow me to present our new curate, Mr. Grande, who is helping our vicar during his convalescence. Mr. Grande, my dear young friend Lady Ambrose.”

The curate was indeed something out of the ordinary, somehow both poised and indolent. Humor gleamed in his very worldly hazel eyes, which crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her. Straight, dark hair that was almost black had been carelessly pushed back from his lean, handsome face, probably by his fingers rather than a comb. His expression was one of friendly interest, with more than a hint of unclerical appreciation.

“Lady Ambrose.” He took the hand she had apparently offered, bowing over it with careless grace. He glanced up, and for an instant, laughter blazed at her before his eyelashes swept down.

“Mr. Grande,” Kate managed.

Lady Chadbon beamed and bustled off to intercept new arrivals in the room.

Resisting the urge to seize him by the arm and drag him to one side, Kate merely stepped a little away from the nearest group, and he followed.

“What on earth are you up to here?” she demanded.

“I was invited.”

“Mr. Grande? The curate?”

“You should hear my sermons on virtue. In any case, who the deuce is Lady Ambrose?”

“The wife of Sir Gilbert Ambrose. Member of Parliament,” she added, for no good reason she could account for.

He blinked. “Seriously? Aren’t you too young to be married?”

“I am one-and-twenty!”