The Vagabond Vicar by Charlotte Brentwood

Author:Charlotte Brentwood [Brentwood, Charlotte]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780473302689
Published: 2014-10-13T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

True to his word, Henry Russell was a strong ally from that point forward. He seemed to have spread his own version of the gospel – the doctrine of Brook the Brave. William noticed a definite increase in respect from most corners of the village. He began to execute his regular duties with a new enthusiasm, sensing the past feelings of resentment towards him falling away.

On a stormy day a week after the accident, William sprinted home through the rain. He ran up to his bedroom and peeled off his sodden jacket, before stripping off the soggy shirt. He was about to unbutton his breeches when the door burst open.

Emma sailed over the threshold, humming a country air.

“Oh Emma, I say –”

At the sound of his words, her eyes flew to him, then grew as round as saucers, and her mouth fell open. “Oh, Mr Brook!” Collecting herself, she threw her gaze heavenward. “I’m terribly sorry. I thought you were out on your visits.”

William laughed softly, even as colour crept up his chest. “It is quite all right, Emma. I was caught in a sudden downpour and had to return home to change. Are those for me?”

Emma glanced down at the pile of freshly starched, ironed and folded shirts she held to her bosom. “Oh yes!” She held them out to him, and when she saw his bare torso again she reached new heights of crimson, her eyes finding the ceiling once more. “Here you are, sir.”

William took the shirts and set them on the corner of the bed. “Just when I needed a new shirt. You are a treasure, Emma, always anticipating my needs.”

“Th - thank you, sir. I’ll be off, sir.” She curtsied three times as she backed out of the room.

William shook out one of the shirts and held his breath for a moment, until he was sure the door was firmly closed. Then he let himself laugh for a few moments, before wincing as he put on the shirt. It was starched far too stiffly for his liking, and it felt more like leather than linen on his bare skin. Still, he didn’t have the heart to criticise her. He’d certainly injured her maidenly sensibilities. He wondered if she would be able to look him in the eye for the rest of the week.

She seemed to have recovered her dignity two days later, when she encountered her master in the hallway shortly after a knock at the front door. As had become an all too frequent ritual, they bumped into each other as he exited his library.

“Really, Mr Brook, you must let me answer the door,” she said with an air of vexation. “A gentleman does not greet his own visitors.”

William raised an eyebrow and his mouth quirked. “I apologise, Emma. It shan’t happen again.” He gestured toward the door. “Do proceed.”

The maid turned on her heel with her nose in the air and marched down to open the door. Before opening it, she hissed, “Go and sit in the parlour!”

William started.

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