Page 98 of The Case of the Curate

“If I had left it to them, Rupert would still be in gaol and Sophie Nye—”

“Who is this Rupert?” Gilbert demanded, scowling. “He said he was the curate, but a less—”

“He is the curate,” Kate interrupted. “And if you’re worried about Miss Nye’s bizarre accusations about him and me, she spoke only to divert blame for herself. There was never any impropriety between us, public or private.” Except, perhaps, breaking into his prison the second time, but only Salter knew that and there seemed no point in bringing it up.

“Yes, but how did you know he was innocent of the crime?”

“Because he’s an old friend and neighbor, of course.”

An arrested expression entered Gilbert’s face. “Chadbon called him Grande. Is he something to do with Lord Winster?”

“His youngest son,” Kate said carelessly.

Gilbert’s eyes widened. He thrust his fingers through his short, tidy hair. “Oh no. Not Lord Rupert Grande?”

“That’s him,” Kate said cheerfully, although her heart beat uncomfortably fast.

Gilbert groaned, then tugged his hair and released it. Somehow, it still looked tidy. “But Kate, the man’s a known libertine, a rake of the first order and no fit friend for any respectable female, let alone for my wife!”

“Don’t be silly. Even at his worst, he’d never have touched me. We’re like brother and sister. And anyway, he’s being respectable now, settling into his vocation.” Only when she said the words did she suspect that they were true. Bizarre, even incomprehensible, but true nonetheless. “Besides,” she added, since appearance really was what counted in Gilbert’s political world, “no one knows he’s Lord Rupert. Even in gaol, he kept that to himself.”

“Why?” Gilbert asked blankly.

Kate shrugged. “It’s his fresh start. I suppose. Anyway, you still haven’t told me why you’re here. I thought we were to meet again in London.”

“Oh.” He seemed to be readjusting his thoughts from one brain compartment to another. “I heard about the flooding on my way home and knew you would all have been trapped here. I didn’t know how long you would stay to help Lady Chadbon with her extra burden as hostess. So when I found the road open, I took a chance and diverted the chaise here. The postilions were a bit grumpy, but they’ll be paid well enough.”

Impressed that Gilbert could be impulsive after all, she couldn’t help being flattered he had taken the trouble for her.

“Well, I’m very glad to see you,” she said warmly. “I’m sure His Lordship is too.”

“He is. In fact, he has given me another task, which sends me on into the west country.”

“Do I accompany you?” she asked, happy to please either way.

“Actually, no. There is correspondence in London that must be dealt with, and obviously I won’t now be there to do so. I’m sure there is nothing there you cannot handle—even if it’s just to say I shall return in the next fortnight.”

“Very well.”

Gilbert consulted his fob watch. “How late it is. Is the dressing room prepared?”

“It is.”

“Good.” He let the watch drop back into place. “First, however, I have the pleasure of our marital duty. If you would be good enough to oblige me.”

He always added that, even though she always obliged. Sometimes she toyed with saying no, just to see what difference it would make. None, probably.

“Of course,” she said.

She was tired, but he had come to Chadbon Court for her, and the task would be quickly dealt with. He wanted an heir, a complete family, and she knew, because he had explained to her, when she would be most fertile. So far, that was not fertile at all, but he had not yet given up on her.

He marched toward the dressing room door. “Then I shall return in a quarter of an hour.”

“I look forward to it.”

Chapter Twenty

Rupert had originally intended to visit old Mrs. Laurie the following day, but by the time he left the vicarage the morning after the excitement, he had convinced himself to kill two birds with one stone.