Lord of Scoundrels - Loretta Chase [109]
"I had better make haste," Jessica said, rising. "Otherwise I shall be late for church."
He rose, too, the polite husband, and escorted her downstairs, and watched while Bridget helped Her Ladyship into shawl and bonnet.
He made the same joke he'd made every previous Sunday, about Lady Dain's setting a good example for the community and Lord Dain's considerateness in keeping away, so that the church roof didn't collapse upon the pious souls of Athton.
And when Her Ladyship's carriage set off, he stood as he had the four previous Sundays, at the top of the drive, watching until it had disappeared from view.
But this Sabbath, when he returned to the house, he did not go to his study as usual. This day, he entered Athcourt's small chapel and sat on the hard bench where he'd shivered countless Sundays in his childhood while trying desperately to keep his mind on heavenly things and not upon the hunger gnawing at his belly.
This time, he felt as lost and helpless as that little boy had been, trying to understand why his Heavenly Father had made him wrong inside and out and wondering what prayer must be prayed, what penance must be paid, to make him right.
And this time, the grown man asked, with the same despair a little boy had asked, decades ago: Why will You not help me?
* * *
While Lord Dain was struggling with his inner demons, his wife was preparing to snare one of flesh-and-blood. And, while Jessica had faith enough in Providence, she preferred to seek help from more accessible sources. Her assistant was Phelps, the coachman.
He was one of the very few staff members who'd been at Athcourt since the time of the previous marquess. Then, Phelps had been a lowly groom. That he'd been retained and promoted was proof of Dain's regard for his abilities. That he was called "Phelps," rather than the standard "John Coachman," evidenced high regard for the man personally.
The regard was returned.
This did not mean that Phelps considered His Lordship infallible. What it meant, Jessica had learned, shortly after the contretemps at Devonport, was that Phelps understood the difference between doing what the master ordered and doing what was good for him.
The alliance between Jessica and the coachman had begun on the first Sunday she'd attended church in Athton. After she'd alit from the carriage, Phelps had asked permission to do his own kind of "meditatin'," as he put it, at the Whistling Ghost public house.
"Certainly," Jessica replied, adding with a rueful smile, "I only wish I could go with you."
"Ess, I reckon," he said in his broad Devon drawl. "That muddle yesterday with that fool woman'll be all over Dartymoor by now. But Your Ladyship don't mind a bit of gawkin' 'n tongue waggin', do you? Shot him, you did." His leathery faced creased into a smile. "Well, then. You be teachin' the rest of 'em, too, what you be made of."
A few days later, when he drove her to the vicarage for tea, Phelps further clarified his position by sharing with Jessica what he'd heard at the Whistling Ghost about Charity Graves and the boy, Dominick, along with what he himself knew about the matter.
Thus, by this fifth Sunday, Jessica had a good idea of the kind of woman Charity Graves was, and more than ample confirmation that Dominick needed rescuing.
According to Phelps, the boy had been left in the care of the elderly Annie Geach, a midwife, while Charity wandered Dartmoor like a gypsy. Annie had died about a month before Dain had returned to England. Since then, Charity had been hovering in the Athton vicinity. Though she was rarely seen in the village itself, her son, left mostly on his own, was encountered