Page 19 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

“Ah, Josephine.” Simon gestured to their visitor. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Jonathan Wood. He is standing as the Lambsthorpe rector while Mr. Gooch visits family in Scotland.” Simon then introduced her as his sister, Lady Josephine.

“My lady,” the rector said, dark eyes taking her in, his expression somber. “It is a pleasure to meet another member of the esteemed duke’s family.” He could not be much older than Simon, for all his solemnity.

Josephine came deeper into the room, eyeing the man with some interest. “I did not know Mr. Gooch would be away so long as to necessitate someone else taking his position. How long do you anticipate filling that need at Lambsthorpe, Mr. Wood?”

His dark hair and eyes put her in mind of the hero she had created in her novel. That he shared a vocation with the fictional gentleman also piqued her interest.

“I expect to remain until autumn,” he stated with a slight bow of his head. “I am at the archbishop’s disposal.”

“We are fortunate to have you, Mr. Wood,” Simon said in his lordly voice. “I hope you will keep us informed of anything we might do to make your stay in our community more enjoyable and fruitful.”

“Thank you, my lord. It was a pleasure to meet you. As well as you, my lady. Sir Andrew.” The rector bowed to each of them in turn.

“Are you leaving so soon?” Josephine’s mind raced with the possibilities of interviewing the gentleman, though she remained perfectly poised. Years of training as a duke’s daughter meant keeping a great many of her emotions to herself. “Allow me to walk you to the foyer, Mr. Wood.”

Her back was to Simon, so she did not see his reaction, though she could not miss the way Andrew’s eyebrows raised. He needn’t act surprised. She was a perfectly polite hostess in her mother’s absence. Walking with a new acquaintance down a corridor shouldn’t elicit his comment or notice. Yet she felt a challenge in the way Andrew watched her, so Josephine kept her spine as straight as a lightning conductor as she took Mr. Wood’s arm at the door.

It wasn’t any of Andrew’s business how she chose to execute her hostessing duties in her parents’ home.

Once out of the library and in the main corridor, Mr. Wood’s gaze strayed to the tapestries and paintings on the wall. “Your family’s home is quite magnificent, my lady. I understand your mother is responsible for its current design?”

“Yes, she began work on the castle directly after marrying my father. The castle was much plainer in appearance before. There is a model of it my father kept, and I have always found my mother’s vision much prettier than the fortress-like block it was before.” She paused at the top of the staircase. “Have you seen our chapel, Mr. Wood?”

“I have not yet had that pleasure,” he admitted, somewhat less stiffly than before. “Is it anything like what they have at Chatsworth?”

The name of that gloriously large estate had become synonymous with grandeur. As it belonged to another one of England’s dukes, Josephine had enjoyed the privilege of staying at Chatsworth on more than one occasion. She was quite familiar with it. “It is not so large, nor so elaborate. But then, we do not have as many visitors at once, not the way the Duke of Devonshire does.”

“A shame,” he said, “because this part of the country is breathtaking.”

She sensed no artifice about him or the compliment to her father’s lands. Josephine gestured to a turn in the corridor. “It would also be a shame for you to come all the way up our steep hill and not at least peek in at the chapel. We can step into the family’s balcony to save time, if you wish.”

The rector hesitated, his dark eyes uncertain. Then he reached inside his coat and drew out a pocket watch on a thin silver chain. Once satisfied with what it told him, he put the watch away and offered his arm to her. “If you would lead the way, my lady, I would like to take advantage of your generous offer.”

The entrance to the family’s private balcony, tucked away as it was in the same stairwell that servants used regularly, was an assuming arched doorway. Josephine opened the door and entered with the same sense of belonging she felt every time her family held services in the high-ceilinged chamber.

“The family has kept a chapel here for hundreds of years. After the fire that destroyed the old castle, the chapel was restored and embellished to look a bit more gothic. But that painting over the altar has hung here since the seventeenth century, when the eighth Earl of Montfort purchased it in Spain.”

The rector stood at the rail, both hands upon it, looking out over the small chapel. “How many people can your family’s chapel hold, Lady Josephine?” he asked, his eyes sweeping from the white-arched ceiling down to the black marble floor between the pews.

“I think we have had as many as sixty people here before, at my youngest brother’s christening. Father has often said he wishes to use the chapel for regular Sunday meetings.”

Mr. Wood’s eyebrows arched as he turned to her, and his question stumbled from him, almost as though he did not mean to ask it. “Why has he not yet done so?” His cheeks pinked, and the young priest turned away. He gestured to the room below them. “I mean—of course, it is not my business—I merely meant that the chapel is quite beautiful. It is a shame it is not used regularly.”

“You ought to ask my father when he returns.” Josephine watched as the man’s face went pale, then pinked again. She had been right about him. As stoic as he appeared in her brother’s presence, he wasn’t a man used to masking his emotions. “I think he would enjoy discussing the possibility with a younger man than Mr. Gooch. Our vicar is wonderful, of course, but he is quite set in his ways. The chapel has been so long out of use that he sees no reason to petition for a new perish.”

The rector’s brow creased as he turned his attention again to the chapel beneath them. He looked to the tapestries on the walls, then up at the windows which allowed natural light to flood the room. “If you do not think it presumptuous, perhaps I will.”

Though she longed to ask the rector a dozen questions about himself, Josephine refrained. She longed to reassure herself of the characterization of her fictional vicar. Instead, she saw Mr. Wood out all the way to the open guardroom, which served as the foyer of the castle. She thanked him for coming, then stood in the center of the room and watched as a footmen led him to the door.

Josephine turned on her heel and happily walked to the steps, already planning her visit to the vicarage, where Mr. Wood lived during his stay. To fix the mistakes of her novel, whatever they were, a better understanding of her hero was in order. What better way to get to know her character than to find someone real who was in the same profession and of similar age?

Her good fortune nearly made her forget all about Andrew and the troublesome way he had nearly learned of her secret the night before. She needn’t fret about him. Instead, she had to figure out how to slip from the castle without her brother or a guard accompanying her.

When she arrived at the family gallery to meet with her grandmother, Josephine was in the best of moods. Nothing suited her so much as making plans—especially secretive plans.

* * *

Watching Josephine follow the rector out of the room had left a strange feeling in Andrew’s gut. Not that he thought the gesture anything other than polite. A good hostess would see a single guest to the door, especially one in a position of respect in the clergy. But something had struck him as different in the lady’s interaction with Mr. Wood.