After several moments of awkward silence, she thought to announce, “We depart for the village church at nine, my lord.”

Nick blinked once before replying. “That is very well, my lady, but do not mistake that I shall be accompanying you.”

Meredith felt the heat rise in her face and suppressed the urge to snap back that she had not presumed to think he would. But that would be a lie. Of course she had thought he would accompany them to church. It was what respectable Society did on Sundays.

Instead, she merely said, “Your arrival will be known to all of Attingham by now. Your presence will be expected. There will be… talk if you are not there.”

Setting his utensils on his plate with a soft clink, he leaned back in his chair and gave her a long, measuring look. It took every ounce of will not to squirm beneath his heavy regard.

“As you come to know me, you will find that I rarely do what is expected, nor do I live my life for the satisfaction of others.”

She scarcely registered the clench of her fingers around her knife and fork—only heard her biting retort. “How very convenient to live life with no concern save for yourself.” The instant the words left her mouth, she wondered what it was about the man that had her blurting the first thing to pop into her head. That had her reacting rather than pausing to think.

With narrowed eyes, he replied, “Phrase it however you like. I simply do not subscribe to the hypocrisy of sitting in a church surrounded by an overprivileged Society that sings alleluias on Sunday and practices hedonism the rest of the week.”

“I have never heard such sacrilegious drivel in all my life!”

He lifted an eyebrow and asked blandly, “Indeed? Country living has left you quite sheltered, then.”

She scowled, not appreciating his insinuation that she was limited in some way. “I don’t dispute a great many churchgoers fail to practice what is preached on Sundays. They are only human, after all. However, the majority does aspire to live rightly, including members of the very overprivileged Society you yourself are part of.”

“That is where you are wrong. I may have been born to this world, but I don’t belong to it. My father saw to that.” The sudden angle of his head and angry glint of his eyes should have warned her to let it go, to accept that he was a man outside her realm of knowledge and she had no business tangling words with him. Besides, she was doing a poor job of behaving demurely and modestly, as she had only recently avowed.

Even bearing this in mind, Meredith heard herself saying, “But you are here, acting very much the part of lord of the manor to my eyes.”

“Temporarily, I assure you. Even if you should deliver a daughter, I shall find a way out of my obligation to Oak Run, the title… and you.”

She experienced a contrary twinge of hurt at that last bit. Which was absolutely absurd. She did not want to be bound to him any more than he to her. He returned his attention to his food, and Meredith breathed a bit easier, released from his intense scrutiny.

” I will be free again,” he muttered so softly she barely made out his words. They sunk into her head gradually, like a pebble sinking through water and settling at last into a riverbed.

Slumping back in her chair, her eyes narrowed with sudden insight, as if seeing him for the first time. He really wanted no part of Oak Run. His apparent indifference to the news that she carried Edmund’s child was because he was in fact… indifferent. He did not long to take up the title. For him, it was a yoke about his neck—the shackles and dictates of Society. He lived by no code other than his own. His rules were none but his own. Respectability, responsibility, Oak Run, the earldom… he viewed it all as a prison sentence.

Armed with this knowledge, she idly wondered if he would even care about her deception.

Perhaps he would help her carry it out. No, an unlikely possibility and not worth the risk. Still, she felt better knowing she was giving him what he wanted. A way out. Rising to her feet, Meredith dropped her napkin on her plate.

He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s not yet nine. Are you off already to join the pillars of Society?” He snorted faintly. “Don’t be fooled by them, Meredith. None possess the charity in their heart that you hold in your little finger.”

Convinced she misunderstood his words, that he did not mean to compliment her, she gave him a puzzled look. He did not know her well enough to make such a judgment, and he would hardly think her charitable if he knew the fraud she perpetrated against him.

As if to erase his backhanded compliment and remind her of his innate shamelessness, he added,

“Was my half brother such a saint too? Did he attend church with you?”

Meredith suffered the laughter in his eyes and immediately recognized that he knew Edmund.

Probably better than she ever did. Which was not saying much. Edmund’s tailor probably knew him better than she had. The only thing Meredith knew about her late husband was that he had wanted nothing to do with her. Had found her so distasteful that he could not bear consummating their marriage.

Despite her desire to remove the smirk from his face, she could not refute his mocking question.

She shot another glance at her father, unsure whether to leave him alone with Nick. Her father, however, appeared blessedly oblivious to their conversation. A good thing. He would have been appalled to know he sat beside a pagan.

Meredith moved from the table in a dignified swish of skirts. “Excuse me, my lord. I don’t want to be late for the service.” In the threshold, she paused to add, “The vicar dines with us tonight.

Perhaps you can engage him in a discussion on the lack of charity among his parishioners.” With the barest smile tugging her lips, she exited.

* * *

Nick stared broodingly at the door where Meredith disappeared, feeling like an utter ass for needling her. It never seemed to fail. Minutes into a conversation, and she provoked him. He stabbed at a bit of egg, cursing under his breath. It had been a long time since he found himself in the company of a genuine lady. Perhaps he could blame his breach on not recalling how to behave.

But it was more than that. He found it diverting to bait her. So diverting that the room felt empty without her animated presence. It was as if all life and energy had been sucked out with her departure. The sudden, loud slurping of Meredith’s father drew his attention, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. Nick shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips at the prolonged noise. The old man set his cup on its saucer with an unsteady hand and resumed his absent stare out the window.

The full loss of Meredith’s company settled like a heavy weight on Nick’s chest. For the first time in years, he yearned for the company of someone else. Strange that it happened to be Edmund’s widow. A woman he should dislike on principle alone.

Chapter 7

“I don’t know why you are so upset, dearest,” Aunt Eleanor pouted.

Meredith sighed and tried to explain her disappointment once again. “I simply wish you would have consulted me before inviting half the neighborhood to dinner.”

“You exaggerate. Mr. Browne, Sir Hiram, and the Stubblefields hardly constitute half the neighborhood.”

“Felicia Stubblefield is the biggest gossip around. Inviting her is inviting the entire neighborhood. And you know Sir Hiram makes my skin crawl.”

“What else was I to do? They know the new earl is here, and the vicar was already coming to dine. I couldn’t very well exclude them, not when Felicia angled for an invitation.”

Meredith took hold of her aunt’s elbow, stalling her outside the drawing room where their guests waited. “Did it occur to you that perhaps Lord Brookshire does not want the neighborhood raining down upon his head? That I do not? Especially as his presence here is only temporary.”

She hissed this last bit.

Aunt Eleanor’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear,” she whispered woefully, and turned to stare at the drawing room door as if a snake lurked within instead of the guests she had invited. “I had not considered that.”

How their circumstances could ever be far from her aunt’s mind when it consumed hers at nearly every moment was unfathomable to Meredith. Her deception marred the horizon like a perpetual cloud, at times worrying her so much that she hesitated to go about her day, afraid that someone might run up to her at any moment pointing and shouting, “Liar, liar!”

“I realize that, Aunt.” Meredith gave her aunt’s shoulder a comforting pat, helpless against the long-ingrained need to console her. “Don’t fret. We shall manage.”

Drawing a deep breath, she strove for an air of optimism. Some good might come of her aunt’s poor judgment. An evening with local gentry might be just the thing to chase Nick back to London.

Pasting a smile on her face, Meredith entered the drawing room, black skirts swirling around her ankles. The three gentlemen rose to their feet and bowed. Baron Stubblefield’s daughter, achingly pretty in pink muslin, lounged on the chaise like an empress. She gave Meredith a brittle smile that failed to reach her eyes. Only nineteen, Miss Felicia Stubblefield reigned as the diamond of Attingham. Even so, Meredith found it hard to like the girl whose cold blue stare always slithered over her with such disdain. Struggling against feelings of inadequacy, Meredith raised her chin and complimented Mr. Browne on his morning’s sermon.

Felicia glanced to the door. Her tapping foot clearly indicated her impatience. Meredith could guess the cause of it, and her suspicions were confirmed when Felicia finally broke down and asked, “Is Lord Brookshire not joining us? Miss Eleanor said he would dine with us this evening.”

Meredith did not miss the way the girl glared accusingly at her aunt. “Lord Brookshire is a man full grown and not accountable to anyone but himself.”

“Have no fear, Miss Felicia, no man would miss out on such lovely dinner companions,” Sir Hiram inserted, the elegant sweep of his hand indicating all three ladies present.

“Quite right, Rawlins,” Baron Stubblefield chortled, patting the considerable bulge of his belly to add, “And Lady Brookshire’s cook is the finest in these parts. No gentleman would miss an invitation to dine at Oak Run.”

They all laughed. Except Mr. Browne, who took a small sip of tea through pinched, disapproving lips. The vicar’s sermon had been longer than usual and given to more ceremony today. Meredith suspected he had taken great pains, expecting Lord Brookshire to be in attendance. The vicar’s immediate questioning of her following the service on the issue of Lord Brookshire’s whereabouts only confirmed her suspicion.

They visited for another half hour before Nels announced dinner. Meredith and her aunt exchanged uneasy glances as their small party filed into the dining room. It appeared Lord Brookshire would not join them. Meredith’s hands fisted at her sides and she felt an embarrassed flush creep up her face.

The head of the table stood conspicuously vacant. The empty seat seemed to glare at all of them, reminding everyone of the slight implied by his absence. Doing her best to ignore the empty seat, Meredith steered conversation away from the mention of Lord Brookshire. Even so, Mr. Browne and Felicia’s eyes constantly drifted to the unused place setting, then back to her, clearly holding her responsible for the empty chair.

Then, before the first course was served, he arrived. “Forgive me,” he offered with a casual smile. “I lost track of the hour.”

Meredith felt the tension inside her snap. “Perhaps you need a timepiece, my lord?”

Her aunt gaped from across the table, letting Meredith know, in case she had any doubts, that she had been unpardonably rude. Nick, however, appeared unruffled as he seated himself at the head of the table. His eyes danced with amusement, but he only responded with a light shrug.

Aunt Eleanor quickly performed the introductions. In record time Felicia engaged Nick in conversation to the exclusion of everyone else. Meredith leaned as far to her left as she dared without falling out of her chair, trying to catch their words, finally giving up when she realized Sir Hiram was repeating himself due to her inattention.