Page 79 of The Lord Meets His Lady

“You’ll be looking for Vicar Pemberton.” The blacksmith walked them to his doorway and pointed to a simple stone cottage beside a somber, dark-gray church.

They strolled into moonlight, her ungloved hand wrapped around her new husband’s arm. In his other hand, he raised a rolled-up document. Their marriage license.

“Now you’re free.”

Three words said on an unlit village road. Was there sadness in his voice? Lord Bowles untethered Khan, choosing to walk to the vicarage. It wasn’t far to get there. Her new husband slipped the single sheet of paper inside his coat pocket. A marriage license. The binding document shackled some and set others on a path to a lifetime of happiness.

What would be her fate?

Lord Bowles wrapped Khan’s reins around a post in front of the vicarage. Fingertips touching her mouth, she faced the stone cottage. Her journey was over. She was free, yet her feet refused to take the narrow pathway leading to the front door. Candlelight twinkled from windows trimmed with frilly, white lace. Giggling children and a warm, matronly voice sounded from the front walk.

A family.

Was her grandmother happy here? Would she be happy here?

“Your grandmother must’ve married a vicar,” Lord Bowles said, standing beside her.

A vicar. Would they accept her?

She stared at the lace-trimmed windows. Her stomach lurched. “Happy to be rid of me?”

“Happy to see you at last finding what you came north for.” He paused, following her sight line to those windows. “But you won’t know what’s in store for you until you knock on the door.”

Genevieve’s muscles tensed. Her skin was cold, and she started to shake. “I can’t make myself go.”

“You’ve come this far,” he said gently. “You can do this.”

Lord Bowles took her hand and wrapped it over his forearm. In an instant, staring at the sweet stone cottage, she was a young girl again, shunned by the milliner’s daughter on Lumley Court. The memory stung her eyes. She sniffed, the wetness gathering in her nose, and stood taller. The family inside the vicarage might slam the door in her face. She’d never erase the taint of her birth and her mother’s choices.

For all her courage journeying north, this was the hardest step.

She leaned close, needing her new husband’s strength. “Yes. I can do this, but I’m grateful to have you at my side.”

Together, they put one foot in front of the other, taking the short path to the green door, the sounds of laughter growing louder in the cottage.

Grinning, he knocked thrice. “The irony of me delivering you to a vicarage isn’t lost on me.”

She wanted to laugh. He was trying to lighten the moment, but standing there, waiting, her chin dropped to her chest. Her ripped hems swayed from the toe of one shoe to the other, the silent tic telling.

Would her grandmother want her?

Muffled footsteps came, and the door opened.

“Good evening. May I help you?” Light bathed a slender man of middling years in a gray coat. He looked to Lord Bowles and then Genevieve, his chipped-tooth smile friendly.

Could he be an uncle, perhaps? Throat tight, her mouth dry, she opened up her mouth to say something, but no words came out.

Lord Bowles covered her hand with his, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Vicar Pemberton, pardon me for disturbing you at this late hour, but my wife and I are looking for a long-lost relative. We were told she’s here.”

The vicar’s pale-eyed assessment flitted over them.

“This is highly unusual,” Lord Bowles went on. “But we are Lord and Lady Bowles. We’ve just come from across the river to seek your help.”

“Of course.” The vicar stepped back, opening the door wide. “Please enter.”

A row of coats hung from hooks on a high-backed settle. Seven of them. Genevieve’s heart thudded. A sizable family. Despite the cold, her palms dampened. Lord Bowles removed his hat and cast a sidelong glance at her. Her jaws refused to work. She implored him with her eyes to take over. Her new husband stroked his thumb across her fingers still resting on his arm. The small, solicitous touch could be a promise.I’m here.

Lord Bowles was shod in well-worn hip boots, but his manner and posture spoke of excellent breeding. She was glad to have him at her side.