Bride for a Night

“It is pleasant to think that I am not an utter failure in my position.”

His brows snapped into a frown. “Failure? Why would you say such a thing?”

“How can I not? As you are well aware, I have yet to be welcomed by my more noble neighbors. They are obviously not so pleased by my presence.”

He studied her pale face. “Does that trouble you?”

She grimaced. “The thought of bringing shame to my husband’s family troubles me.”

Without warning Jack grasped her upper arms in a firm grip, his dark eyes blazing.

“Do not,” he growled.

“Vicar…Jack.”

“Forgive me, but I cannot allow you to talk such nonsense,” he barked, not sounding the least apologetic.

Talia regarded him with a measure of surprise, taken off guard by the sudden vehemence in his tone.

“It is not nonsense to be concerned for my position as the Countess of Ashcombe.”

“Surely your position means tending to those in need, which you have done with admirably, rather than wasting your time and resources on impressing those unworthy of your concern?”

Talia frowned, suddenly suspicious that Jack Gerard hid dark depths behind his smooth charm. But she soon shrugged aside her brief moment of disquiet.

What was the matter with her? Jack was a handsome, excessively pleasant gentleman whom she counted a friend.

“I am not so certain my husband would agree with you,” she said, returning her attention to their conversation.

“Then he is a fool.”

“Jack,” she gently chastised.

“My lady…Talia…” He paused, as if searching for the proper words. “I have only been here a short while, but the people tend to confide in me.”

She laughed. It was rare that the church was not filled with eager females seeking a word alone with the handsome vicar.

“Yes, you do have a skill for earning the trust of others, especially if they happen to be the fairer sex,” she teased.

His expression never eased. “Then you will believe me when I tell you that the locals had few kind words for the previous countess.”

Her breath caught at his blunt confession. The sensible part of her knew she should gently turn the conversation in another direction. It was hardly polite to gossip about her mother-in-law with the local vicar. But a larger part of her was consumed with curiosity about the woman who had yet to acknowledge Talia as a member of her family.

“Why?”

“She is like far too many in society.” His voice was edged with disgust. “She cares for nothing beyond her own comforts and her social standing. In less than a month you have managed to spend more time among the tenants than she has in the past thirty years. Certainly she has never taken the effort to learn their names or to discover their needs.” He grimaced. “To be honest, I doubt she is even aware of them as more than additions to the barnyard animals.”

Talia frowned. She had always thought the Countess of Ashcombe a conceited, overly proud woman when she had seen her in London, but it was disturbing to think she had no concern for the poor and vulnerable.

“I do not believe she could be entirely oblivious to those who depend upon her.”

“No?” Jack pointed across the distant fields that provided a perfect view of Carrick Park. The sight was magnificent as the last rays of sunlight brushed the windows in pinks and violets, and the water cascading in the marble fountains sparkled like jewels. “Last winter she insisted that old Lucas be forced from the cottage that had been in his family for two hundred years because it spoiled her view of the church.”

“Surely she did not realize…”

“The poor man begged on his knees to have his home spared, but he was tossed like so much rubbish into his daughter’s care and his cottage was destroyed.” He deliberately held her troubled gaze. “He died less than a fortnight later.”

“I cannot accept she would be so cruel.”