Lady in the Mist - Laurie Alice Eakes [132]
“Why?” was all Tabitha could think to say, as she tucked her abandoned fingers into her pocket.
Dominick snorted. “I wanted the church to refuse to ordain me.”
“You couldn’t simply engage in riotous living?” Tabitha asked, then laughed. “That was a silly question. I expect the church wouldn’t be surprised if a young aristocrat engaged in riotous living while a student.”
“Precisely.” Dominick half smiled. “And believe it or not, I didn’t want to engage in that kind of behavior. Drinking to excess and gaming and . . . other forms of debauchery didn’t appeal to me. I had a deep faith in God that said those things were wrong.” He sighed. “A pity it didn’t tell me that destroying the credibility of men serving God, most of them sincerely, was wrong too. I felt so self-righteous, so certain that all vicars and curates were like the ones my father kept around him in the livings he controlled. When I uncovered a new slip in proper behavior, I rejoiced in the man’s fall from grace as more grist for my scandal mill.” His tone dripped with self-loathing.
Tabitha laid her hand on his arm but said nothing. She couldn’t work out how she felt about his revelation enough to express any emotion or reasonable reaction.
“Of course, no one knew who was writing the letters except for one of my Oxford tutors,” Dominick continued, still using that note of disgust. “He advised me to stop, that I was hurting men who didn’t deserve to be hurt. He told me God would forgive them if they asked, and it wasn’t my place to force these men to confess or lose their positions. But I wouldn’t listen.”
“And did anyone lose his position?” Tabitha asked.
“No.” Dominick shook his head, sending his hair shimmering in the sunlight. “But one man lost his wife.”
“What?” Tabitha stiffened.
Dominick gave her a sidelong glance. “Despicable, aren’t I? I discovered he’d had an indiscretion a few years earlier. A print shop made broadsides about it, and a few days later, his wife left him.”
Tabitha caught her breath.
Dominick plunged on. “He went after her, publicly begged for her forgiveness. She gave it, and on the way home . . . on the way home . . .” He covered his face with his hands. A shudder ran through him.
Tabitha wished they were alone so she could wrap her arms around him, absorb some of his pain instead of making him bear it alone. She settled for tugging one of his hands down and holding it between both of hers in silent support.
He kept his other hand over his eyes as he choked out, “She died . . . in a carriage accident. I—I as good as killed her.”
“Did you make him misstep in his marriage?” Tabitha pulled his other hand from his face. “Did you make her run off instead of staying to talk things out with him?”
“No, but—”
“Then you didn’t kill her.” She squeezed his hands. “Yes, you probably shouldn’t have exposed their private concerns to the world, but they made their own choices.”
“A pity their son didn’t see it that way.” Dominick’s voice was dry, his face tight. “He left his mother’s funeral to find out who had written that broadsheet. He exposed me for writing the letters and challenged me to a duel. You know the rest.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I have damaged too many lives and you are much better without me, but I don’t want you to be—without me, that is. It’s merely that . . . Tabitha, I must make up for the lives I’ve damaged. If I can save lives, prevent a war, even prevent more young men from being stolen, perhaps then I can find my way back to my earlier relationship with the Lord. But I can’t do it as a bondsman. My uncle was wrong. But we couldn’t think of another way to get me here.”
“Maybe that’s what God wants of you.” Tabitha inhaled the magnolias and glanced at Dominick’s face to remind her of God’s beautiful creations. “If He is involved in our lives and we want Him to be, then it’s possible He has a reason to keep you here in bondage.”
“What, more punishment?” Dominick snorted. “I suppose it’s nothing