“The daughter of a deuced marquess?” Philip asked innocently.
“Exactly.” Layton spun back to look at him. “And I lectured her about proprieties and proper behavior and being conscious of rank and position.”
“And it turns out she outranks you.” Philip laughed out loud, head flung back.
“It’s not that funny, Flip,” Layton grumbled.
“Look, Layton,” Philip said placatingly, “considering the circumstances and what she hadn’t told you about herself, your lectures were more than justified; they were necessary. She can’t hold that against you.”
“Yea, but it’s still—”
“Deucedly embarrassing,” Philip ended for him. “Sorry ’bout the language, Harry.”
Another nod of pardon.
“Except I get the feeling that’s not the only thing that is bothering you,” Philip said.
Layton dropped into an armchair near the fire and sank down in a posture of defeat. “I just don’t understand why she didn’t tell me.”
“The poor girl figured she’d lose her job,” Philip said.
“I wouldn’t have fired her.”
Philip raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Maybe at first,” Layton conceded. “But . . . later . . . I thought . . .” That kiss flashed through Layton’s mind, along with their conversations at the river’s edge and the day she’d spent listening to him spill all of his secrets. He had trusted her. Why hadn’t she trusted him? Philip watched him expectantly and a little too closely. “Never mind.” Layton shook his head. “I shouldn’t have interrupted you two. Get on with whatever you were talking about.”
He turned his attention to the fireplace. Lady Marion Linwood. Well, eligibility was no longer an issue. She was the daughter of a marquess, bosom friends with the Duke and Duchess of Hartley. If Philip was to be believed, the Linwoods were extremely close with at least two other leading families. What an idiot he must have seemed when he told her his misgivings.
He had told her his misgivings, hadn’t he? Now Layton couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered, really. She hadn’t told him anything about herself aside from her once-upon-a-time stories of her childhood. She hadn’t trusted him enough to let him help her, let him bear some of her burden.
Neither had Bridget. He really was a failure.
“Just to be clear, has this unfortunate gentleman actually taken his life?” Harry asked.
Layton listened more closely. Was Philip still looking into that situation?
“No, I am relieved to say,” Philip said. “But she is worried about the possibility.”
“Ah.”
Layton watched Harold steeple his fingers the way he did when about to relate some aspect of doctrine he found particularly intriguing.
“Well, in cases like this,” Harry said, “the law actually has taken its cues from the church. Just as the courts do not condemn a person who is mad for taking his life, neither does the church consider it a sin.”
“Meaning, that if a person is mad or suffering from madness, suicide would not, for that person, be a sin?”
“Exactly,” Harry answered.
“And this person could have a Christian burial?”
Harry offered a nod so knowing that the Archbishop of Canterbury would have been hard-pressed to re-create it.
“That is clear doctrine,” Philip pressed, “not just your opinion?”
“It is the position of the church,” Harry answered, unruffled by the skepticism.
“And God wouldn’t condemn this person either?”
“God can be merciful, Philip,” Harry replied.
“I know,” Philip answered.
For just a moment, it seemed like Philip’s eyes slid to Layton, but it was so fleeting that Layton couldn’t be sure. And he didn’t think about it much. Far too many thoughts were flying through his overworked brain to leave room for thoughts of Philip.
Was it possible God didn’t look on Bridget’s final act as a sin? That she wasn’t condemned for what she’d done? That he wasn’t condemned for obtaining a Christian burial for his late wife? He’d entertained for an extremely brief moment in the days after Bridget’s burial the thought of asking Mr. Throckmorten about the intricacies of doctrine surrounding suicide. He’d dismissed the idea immediately, however, knowing the vicar would have been quick to condemn, thorough in his public denunciation, and efficient in his effort to see that the neighborhood shunned Layton adequately.
Layton barely registered a comment from Philip as he all but staggered to the door. “I’m heading back to the Meadows,” Layton mumbled over his shoulder as he walked out of the library.