A Bride for the Baron. Jo Ann Brown

lovely thought, Miss Fenwick.” He squeezed her hand, and she pulled in a sharp breath. She had not realized he still held it, for it seemed natural to have her fingers enfolded within his. “With this beginning to inspire us, who knows what other blessings lie ahead of us?”

      “Blessings? Finally some good news.” The voice came from behind her. She drew her hand out of Lord Meriweather’s and turned as the others did to see a pudgy man. His greatcoat was worn at the elbows, and the collar was frayed. His dark hair needed to be cut. Any hint of a shine had vanished from his boots.

      Lord Ashland stepped forward. “Ah, Brooks, I should have known you would be here posthaste.” He motioned toward the rest of them. “You know the vicar and Miss Fenwick, of course. Have you met the new baron?”

      The chubby man nodded his head toward Vera and her brother, then dipped his head more deeply toward Lord Meriweather. “Haven’t had the pleasure until now, though I did see you at Sir Nigel’s fall assembly. Too crowded to get to you so we might speak, my lord, that night. So many art lovers eager to admire Sir Nigel’s latest masterpieces. I assumed eventually our paths would cross again.” Mr. Brooks looked from the ruins of the church to the burned-out vicarage. “Vicar, I would guess you are the best one to bring me up-to-date on this tragedy. If you have the time, that is...”

      “Of course, Mr. Brooks,” her brother said.

      Mr. Brooks motioned for Gregory to walk with him away from the others. When Lord Ashland made to follow, Mr. Brooks gave him a stern look that stopped him in midstep.

      The viscount scowled, then stamped toward the carriage. “Coming, Meriweather?” he called over his shoulder.

      “In a few minutes.”

      Vera was grateful that she stood far enough away from the viscount so she could not discern the words he growled under his breath.

      Lord Meriweather watched Lord Ashland for a moment, then shook his head and sighed. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Miss Fenwick, who is Brooks?”

      “Cuthbert Brooks is the local justice of the peace.”

      “That man is the justice of the peace?”

      Vera kept her voice low. “Do not let his self-effacing image fool you. He is a brilliant man when it comes to keeping the peace in the Sanctuary Bay parish.”

      “He has been of little use with stopping the smugglers.”

      “But there has been less violence than in other places along the shore.”

      “Possibly because the smugglers know better than to upset their well-placed leader.”

      “That is something I cannot forget,” she whispered.

      “Nor I.”

      Vera was astonished when Lord Meriweather glanced at where Lord Ashland was climbing into the carriage. Did the baron have suspicions about the viscount’s involvement with the smugglers?

      She had heard enough whispers to know that the smugglers took their orders from someone of wealth and prestige. The viscount fit that description, as did Sir Nigel. Mr. Brooks was not as plump in the pockets as the other two, but he held much sway in the parish as the justice of the peace.

      “As a good host,” Lord Meriweather said with a sigh, “I should escort Ashland back to Meriweather Hall. I have no idea why he wanted to come here.” He glanced at the baptismal font.

      “With the recovery of the font,” she said, “the parishioners are going to be even more eager to have the church rebuilt.”

      “I agree.”

      “We need to start making plans for the interior. I can meet with you tomorrow whenever you wish. Or the next day if that is better.”

      “If you think that is the best time...”

      Vera kept her face serene, so he could not discern how sympathy welled up within her. The poor man could not make a single decision. Facing each one seemed to scourge him.

      “Let’s not set a definite time now. I will make a list of what I think we need to do,” she said, “and, when I’m done, I will bring it to you for review. Your expertise will be invaluable.”

      He nodded and turned to leave; then he paused. Facing her, he said, “One question, Miss Fenwick, if I may.”

      “Of course. Any time.”

      Again his smile came and went like lightning on a hot summer night. “It is a difficult question to ask. It has come to my attention that it is being said that you and your brother have offered assistance to the smugglers. Is there any truth in that rumor?”

      “None!” Both anger and pain riveted her. Anger that he would give that rumor any credence. Pain that such a lie could lead to her brother losing the living in Sanctuary Bay.

      “I’m glad to hear that.” He tipped his hat toward her. “I will see you at Meriweather Hall, Miss Fenwick. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

      She nodded, but she knew she would never be able to ask for what she needed most now: answers. She wanted to know who was spreading spurious tales about her and Gregory. She ached to discover if, upon first hearing them, Lord Meriweather had contemplated sending them away from Sanctuary Bay. And, as much, she longed to find out how she could halt herself from feeling the warmth of his touch, a warmth that could lead her into ruining everything...again.