‘You will expect me to offer marriage, sir,’ Will said, ignoring the sudden frown on the face of the man opposite. ‘And I have already done so, making the case for its necessity as strongly as I know how. But Miss Wingate is adamant that she will not marry me. She insists that, as the events are not known outside this household and ourselves, there is no scandal and, therefore, no need.’
‘But—’ Mr Hoskins began before the Bishop’s hands could move.
‘I fully understand your feelings, gentlemen. However, my lord, your daughter seems to have taken me in dislike—a feeling that predates our stranding, I should add—and maintains that our union would result only in unhappiness. I cannot square it with my conscience to attempt to force a young lady to the altar.’
‘But others know,’ Mr Hoskins interjected, again without waiting for the Bishop.
‘The current Bishop and his attendant clergy, yes,’ Will agreed. ‘But they would hardly damage a lady’s rep—’
The door opened and Peplow came through it as though propelled by a determined push from behind. ‘Your Grace, I could not prevail upon His Lordship to wait...’
‘Your butler appears to fail to grasp the nature of this crisis, Your Grace.’ Bishop Alderton swept in, almost flattening the agitated butler against the door. The three junior clergymen followed him.
‘Bishop Wingate and I were having a private conversation,’ Will said, injecting all his grandfather’s froideur into his voice. He did not rise and he did not offer seats, but all four sat down regardless.
The Bishop smiled, a sad and patronising expression that implied that he, the older man, knew best. Will felt his hackles rise and hung on to his temper, somehow. Losing it in front of Bishop Wingate was not going to convince the man that Will was rational and meant only the best by his daughter.
‘But of course you do not comprehend the seriousness of the situation, Your Grace.’ Mr Alderton pressed on, despite the reception he was receiving. ‘A private settlement of the matter is impossible, given how many people know that you have spent the night with Miss Wingate.’
‘Who knows?’
‘Why, naturally, we had to widen the search with dusk falling. Your staff seemed reluctant to take the initiative, so I dispatched messages to the village to send out search parties.’
‘You did what?’ Will found himself on his feet, hands planted on the desk, glaring at the affronted Bishop.
‘How could you, my lord?’ The door was still open, he realised, and Verity was standing there looking like an enraged, drab sparrow in a brown gown and with her hair braided into a tight coronet. ‘If I was with the Duke I was, by definition, quite safe, even if...if temporarily lost,’ she said. He had seen her lose her temper, but never her poise. Even after that kiss by the pond her voice had been steady.
‘Miss Wingate, you are not yourself or you would not speak in that wild manner,’ the Bishop said, in the tone of a man used to dealing with female hysteria.
He probably encountered it a great deal, Will thought. Any rational woman patronised by this pompous prelate would resort to the vapours.
‘Calm yourself, dear lady. You must see that, for all we knew, you had been set upon by ruffians, the Duke killed or injured, yourself carried off.’
‘Poppycock,’ Verity retorted. ‘This man?’ She made a sweeping hand gesture towards Will. ‘Overcome by ruffians on his own land?’
Well, that was unexpected, Will thought, dragged out of his haze of anger by the compliments.
‘No ruffian would dare to do anything so inappropriate as to threaten the Duke of Aylsham on his own grounds,’ she swept on, her voice steadying now that her indignation was undammed.
Ah, not such a compliment then. At least he had not misjudged Verity. She did, after all, have the tongue of a scorpion. The Bishop was apparently unable to recognise sarcasm when he heard it. He merely shook his head sorrowfully. Will wondered what the penalties were for punching a bishop. Excommunication? It seemed increasingly tempting.
‘The question is, not whether rousing the neighbourhood was necessary, for we have gone beyond that now,’ Mr Hoskins interjected as Bishop Wingate’s hands moved urgently. ‘The question is, how may we mitigate the damage that has been done?’
‘By marriage! There is no other possible course of action if we are to save the good name of this dear young lady.’
There was a chorus of, ‘Indeed,’ and solemn head-nodding from the Bishop’s staff.
‘I stand ready to marry the couple and I will, naturally, provide a licence. We must consider whether, in view of the circumstances, an application should be made to the Archbishop for a Special Licence. What is your opinion, Brother Wingate? The disappearance of His Grace and Miss Wingate may be truthfully presented as the result of an ill-judged boating trip just before the storm. There is no need to mention the foolish jest the young people carried out that led to this.’ He sat back, looking satisfied with his solution.
And he is delighted at the prospect of presiding over the marriage of a duke, Will realised.
‘You mean to create the false impression that there was already an understanding between myself and Miss Wingate? That our marriage had nothing to do with the situation that was forced upon us? To lie, in effect?’ Will asked. To his surprise he found it possible to keep the anger he felt at this meddling prelate out of his voice. But Verity glanced across at him and the anxious frown that was creasing her brow faded just a little.
She trusts me to get us out of this.
‘Naturally, one cannot tell an actual untruth about the matter, but if that assumption is made then there is no need to correct it and it will be far less embarrassing for Miss Wingate.’
‘Miss Wingate will, I believe, find it far more embarrassing to be forced into a marriage she does not want with a man she does not care for,’ Will said. ‘There is no prior understanding: far from it. We have agreed that we would not suit. My family’s actions have already caused Miss Wingate considerable anxiety about the effect of her disappearance on her father’s health and she has had to endure the discomfort of a night spent in a primitive cottage during a thunderstorm. I fail to see why she must be made to suffer more. My staff will be discreet. The villagers are already familiar enough with the behaviour of my siblings to believe this was all a hoax on their part and they will be loyal enough, I have no doubt, to keep it to themselves.’