Never Romance a Rogue by Scott Regina

Author:Scott, Regina
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: bad boy romance, historical romance, Regency romance, romance clean and wholesome
Publisher: Edwards and Williams
Published: 2022-06-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

By the time Owen accompanied Belle, her father and family, and their other guests to services on Sunday, he was resolved to find a way to end his bargain with the spy from Württemberg. Every moment in Belle’s company, every kindness that her family and friends showed him, told him he must change course if he was to count himself any sort of gentleman. If only he knew how to safeguard Jasper in the process.

The duke and his family attended the village church across the bridge. They made for quite the parade in the bright summer sun. The landau went first with His Grace, his wife, their sons, and Belle and Owen. He was cognizant of the honor of sitting beside her on the fine leather seats, even if it was the most expedient arrangement. The royal carriage that followed was already filled with the prince, count, Belle’s older sisters, and two of the Imperial Guards. Mr. Roth was riding with Petunia in the Bateman coach. Behind all the carriages walked the servants, the men in their olive livery and top hats, the ladies in their best dresses and bonnets or feathered hats.

Owen had noticed the solid church of golden stone as he’d ridden through the village when he’d first arrived. The square tower with its bronze cross rose above all the other buildings in the area, except for the castle itself across the canal. Belle’s father led his contingent through a private entrance on one side to the first three walnut box pews on the left of a center aisle, the doors of which held the bowing unicorn crest Owen was coming to recognize as the duke’s. Stained glass windows cast colored patterns on the ladies’ muslin gowns as they filed in after him, past the gilded finials that topped the doors.

Owen hadn’t expected to see Mercutio or his servant in the chapel, so he wasn’t surprised when he caught no sign of them among the villagers that filled the remaining pews. They all seemed so pleased to be there, smiling and nodding to each other. Perhaps they were still feeling thankful to have survived the gale.

He hadn’t made a habit of worshipping regularly since his great-uncle had enforced the practice when Owen was younger. For Uncle Wentworth, church had been about judgment—God’s judgment on sinners and Uncle’s judgment on his neighbors.

“Giving herself airs,” he’d say out of the corner of his mouth to Owen about Mrs. Polhurst, who liked to sing with animation. “The Lord won’t listen to hymns like that.”

“Thinks too highly of himself,” he’d mutter after a particularly inspiring sermon by the vicar. “God sees through his posturing.”

And Owen had seen through his great-uncle’s posturing to the bitter soul within. The blood of his mother’s family might have flowed through the fellow’s veins, but Owen had resolved to be nothing like him, even to attending church.

Belle seemed to worship a different God. Her gaze was on the elderly, round-faced vicar as he spoke, her curls bobbing when she nodded at a particular point she endorsed.

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