The Vicar's Frozen Heart (8 page)

“Mr. Colson. Mrs. Tompkins sent along food for you and the boy,” she said quietly.

He whirled around and faced her, all semblance of the warm emotion he’d shown Drew Payne gone. What remained? A face made of cold granite. He did not speak, only stared at her with those uncompromising icy-silver eyes of his.

“I take it the poor woman passed,” Eliza said.

“About fifteen minutes ago,” he answered, his voice as frosty as his glare.

“How sad for the boy. What will become of him?”

“There are plans in place. I have discussed it with the viscount during our correspondences.”

Eliza was not sure quite what to do or say. She held out the basket to him. “There are bacon butties in there and slices of seed cake.”

Tremain did not look at the basket or acknowledge it, but kept his eyes firmly on her. With an intense look on his face, he took a step toward her, and instinctively she backed up. He took another and then another, until her back came in contact with the crumbling brick wall.

“Why you appeared here at this moment, I do wonder.” His deep voice was gravelly, but the words softly spoken. “With death all around me, you materialize to remind me there is life.” Tremain stood close, the basket she held in front of her the only thing that lay between them. He leaned in; their lips were barely an inch apart. Her breathing became ragged, her insides rolled and knotted. “Make me feel, Eliza. Prove to me that I do live. Kiss me.”

* * * *

Tremain did not care that he made such a forward request. After watching a good woman like Ruth suffer for months on end only to die in agony, he selfishly wished to feel--something. Standing this close, he noticed Eliza possessed a smattering of small freckles across her bandaged nose. Funny he did not notice it before, but then he’d never been this near. He inhaled; the faint scents of the pub filled his senses. Tobacco smoke, beer, and a scent all her own, a mix of light floral that reminded him of a spring garden of wild flowers. And jasmine.
Yes
.

Eliza stared back at him, not flinching from his gaze or his nearness. Slowly, she moved toward him, reached up, and rested her petal-soft lips against his. Despite the chill in the air, her lips were all warmth and fire. The sensation tore through him, heating his blood. His tightly held restraints fell away, and he cupped her face and dove in, probing her with his tongue until she opened and allowed him access. With a groan, he took the kiss deeper, desperation fueling him onward. How tempted he was to toss her little basket aside and press her against the wall so there would remain no doubt of the desire he experienced. His cock throbbed and hardened, and for a blessed moment he no longer felt any pain in his wretched, mangled leg--or in his heart and soul.

The kiss grew fierce. Eliza moaned and returned it with equal lust. How he wanted more. He wanted to feel everything. Through the haze of yearning, the back door creaked open. With haste, he let go of Eliza and stepped back, snatching the basket from her hands.

Mrs. McKinley stood in the open doorway. “Vicar? Bob Taylor be here with the coffin.”

“Yes. I will be along directly.” Amazing he could keep his voice steady, for inside he was a bubbling cauldron of unknown emotions. The door closed and relief unfurled in his chest. He was certain the neighbor had not witnessed their kiss. Since Eliza entered his life he tempted censure and fate at every turn. “Thank the Tompkinses for the food and I thank you, Miss Winston, for bringing it along.” He gave her his best coldly polite tone, one he’d honed through his misery.

Eliza frowned and flame crackled to life in her emerald eyes. “You are the most infuriating and annoying man I have ever met!”

“So I’ve been told at various times in my life,” he replied.

“You can’t keep doing this. Pull me close then push me away. I abhor such games,” she snapped.

“I assure you I do not play games. I also assure you this will never happen again.”

Her laugh was brief and brittle. “Liar. It will. You know it will.”

“Go back to the pub, Miss Winston. Now,” he commanded.

Eliza curled her lip at him, then turned on her heel and marched out of the alley. He reached for his cane, which he’d left propped against the wall, and leaned on it for support. The slow, pulsating stab of pain in his leg returned.

Eliza was quite correct. It would happen again and he had no earthly idea how to avoid it.

Tremain and Drew arrived at the vicarage at about five in the evening, the sun nearly set. Since he had known Ruth Payne’s passing drew near, Tremain made all the arrangements beforehand and the small funeral would take place tomorrow. For tonight, her body rested in the shed behind the inn. There would be no viewing, no wake, as per her instructions. Bob Taylor would bring the coffin on his wagon tomorrow for burial. The grave was already dug in the churchyard. Good thing the ground was not frozen. A small graveside service with a few mourners would see the poor woman laid to rest.

Unpacking the contents of the basket, he bade Drew sit at the table as he passed him one of the bacon butties. The lad remained quiet during the trip from the village and while he settled him in the guest room. Tremain poured him a glass of milk from the pitcher. “It’s cold and fresh. I have an icebox, if you can imagine. Eat up, lad.”

Tremain sat, picking up his mug of hot tea and taking a sip. He watched the boy slowly take small bites, his expression blank as if in shock. Death had a way of numbing those left behind.

“Will...will I live here with you, Vicar?” Drew whispered in between bites.

“For a few days at least. One of your mother’s final wishes was that you continue with your education.” Hawksgreen did not have a school, but many of the children traveled to nearby Cranbrook thanks to the generosity of the viscount. Drew had not attended in many months, electing to stay home and care for his mother. Tremain could not fault the boy. It showed compassion and a sturdiness of character that spoke well of him. It was one of the reasons the viscount wanted the child cared for.

“You’re going to send me away to school? Far away?” Drew’s lower lip trembled.

“No. Do not worry yourself. Not for a couple of years at least. The viscount is going to hire someone to tutor you so when you do attend a boarding school, you will be at the same level as the other lads.” Tremain gave Drew a brief smile. “In a few days I will be taking you to the estate to live.”

Drew’s eyes grew wide. “I’m going to live with The Hawk?”

Tremain hid his smile of amusement at the viscount’s nickname. “No, he’s not in residence. But Mr. Dibley, his steward, lives there along with a few members of the staff. Also, there will be a governess for you. You will be learning the ways of a gentleman. Your mother died in peace knowing you would be given every opportunity at life.”

Drew frowned. “But...but why me?”

Why indeed? Drew would grow up to be a fine-looking lad with his clear blue eyes and thick, tawny locks. He was intelligent and kind, and it seemed a damned bloody waste to let him founder in menial, empty jobs such as working at the local grain mill. Truth of it? Drew was an experiment. Tremain wanted to give back to humanity and this deserving young boy seemed a good place to start.

“Because you deserve it, lad. Now, eat your butty. There is seed cake when you finish.”

Drew nodded and bit into the sandwich. A governess. Eliza’s arrival proved to be providence after all. He would wait a few days and then head to town to offer her the position.

* * * *

The funeral commenced without a hitch and the weather cooperated by providing another sunny, cool day. When Tremain completed saying prayers over the grave, the few mourners from town headed to the vicarage for a small repast provided by the Tompkinses. Eliza did not attend, as she stayed behind with a few other employees to ensure that the running of The Rusty Cockerel remained smooth. Tremain spoke with the Tompkinses about his idea of Eliza becoming a governess, and they agreed wholeheartedly with his plan, including not telling her until he could broach the subject with her.

Four days later, he and Drew made their way toward Hawkestone Estate. The church and vicarage were situated on the far southern tip of the property, and the house itself sat on a small hill overlooking the valley and village of Hawksgreen.

The place consisted of about forty rooms, not huge as manor houses go, but a fair size for the country seat in which it sat. Georgian in style, the red brick house had plenty of pillars, chimneys, and windows. Bordering the estate, the surrounding grounds were not ostentatious, but simply kept. Of course in January, all looked bleak. At least most of the snow had melted.

Since the viscount was not in residence, only a barebones staff remained. Besides Mr. Dibley, there was a footman who acted as underbutler, a housekeeper, cook, two maids, and a groundskeeper who also looked after the stables.

Treves, the young footman, greeted Tremain at the front door and showed them into the study. After several minutes Mr. Dibley entered, holding out his hand in greeting. “Well, good to see you again, Vicar. And this must be the young lad we’ve heard so much about.” Dibley turned to Drew and held out his hand. “Good to meet you, young sir.” Drew blinked, then glanced at Tremain, as if not sure what to do next.

“Take Mr. Dibley’s hand and shake it, lad, and reply in kind,” Tremain encouraged.

Drew did. “Good to meet you...sir.”

Mr. Dibley smiled. “Well met. We have your room ready. Ah, and here is Anne to escort you. She will be seeing to you until your governess arrives.”

Drew shrank back, leaning against Tremain for comfort. All this must be overwhelming to the poor boy. “It is all right. Go with Anne. I will return in a day or so. Remember, this is your home now. Be brave, lad. Remember your mother.”

Drew looked at him, moisture swimming in his eyes. But he nodded and took Anne’s hand, then exited the room.

“Well, your lordship. Everything seems to be going according to plan.”

“Jon, what did I tell you?” Tremain hobbled across the room and closed the door. “Do not refer to me as ‘your lordship,’ not even when we’re alone. It may slip out when we’re in the company of others.”

“Of course.” Dibley smiled. “Honestly, Hawk. How long are you going to continue on with this charade? It’s a wonder you haven’t been found out. Also, I received a letter from your father, the duke, and he is greatly concerned you have not answered any of your correspondence, particularly from your dear mother.”

Tremain’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “I’ve been busy. Besides, my family agreed to stay away for a while and let me be. But I will answer the letters, particularly mother’s. Dibley, you were with me at Cambridge. Being a vicar is not a ‘charade.’ I took all the requisite courses, have my Masters in Divinity, and am ordained by the archbishop.”

“Steady on, Trey. I only meant you could serve the tenants and villagers just as well, or even better, as Viscount Hawkestone as you can as Reverend Colson.”

Tremain glanced at his close friend. They’d known each other since they were lads. Jon’s father still served the duke as steward. Naturally, when Tremain went off to school, the duke generously offered to pay for Jon’s education as well. Jon was offered the post of steward to Tremain’s older brother, Harrison, heir to the dukedom, but their friendship and bonds were strong, and when the time came, Jon elected to serve Tremain instead.

With his leg groaning in protest at his standing still, Tremain took a seat on the sofa and exhaled in relief as the pressure lessened. Jon sat next to him. “Not in my mind,” Tremain declared firmly. “People will tell a priest far more than someone from the peerage. Besides, this way, both the vicar and the viscount are working in tandem to assure the health and happiness of everyone concerned. It is a sound plan. Even I am thinking of the viscount as a separate entity in my own thoughts.”

“And what of your health and happiness?” Jon asked, his voice soft with concern.

“It is not something I reflect upon.”

“And how long will you play a dual role? How long before you pay your penance in full? It is sheer luck you have not been discovered yet.”

“To answer the first part of your question, I do not know how long. Until I find some modicum of peace, I suppose. Until I have paid back my debt.” Tremain frowned. “Or until the subterfuge is revealed. Thankfully, this corner of Kent is not frequented by my past acquaintances or paramours, so for now, I am safe.”

Jon shook his head. “You are hiding away.”

“Yes, damn it all, I am. I need to heal. I am a damned mess, Jon. Yet every time I help someone in some way, a part of my damaged soul is repaired. I don’t know how else to make you understand. I barely understand it myself.” Tremain laughed cynically. “I am a sorry excuse for a priest. I am neither pious nor overly religious, I hardly pray. It’s why I went into the army instead of the church years ago. I believed my talents would be better served on a battlefield. How arrogant of me. And being a viscount? It’s a bloody courtesy title. It holds no real meaning.”

“I am aware how you disdain it, but you should not do so. You have had a great honor laid upon you and the title is not a ‘courtesy.’”

True. Viscount Hawkestone was an extinct title on his mother’s side, going back more than one hundred years. Tremain did not ask for this accolade, but according to his father, the Queen wished to reward Tremain for his services to the crown by resurrecting the title through letters patent. One did not turn down Queen Victoria. Also, he suspected the Queen wished to please the duke, as his father was a particular favorite at court.

“You accepted the title when you returned from South Africa and I was glad you did. Regardless of what you think, the title does hold meaning, Trey. It holds respect and responsibilities.” Jon folded his arms. “Granted, you are wielding the designation of viscount in a meaningful way behind the scenes, but I firmly believe you could do far more good if you stepped out from behind the curtain and embraced the title and power that comes with it by serving in the House of Lords. There you can effect real change. However, ultimately it is your decision and you know I will support you.”