"Well, Vanessa, it's good to see you looking so well."
"Peter," she said in clipped tones.
"I had heard you were not well."
"It is true. A bad oyster, I fear."
Toby fiddled with his neckcloth. "You are all right, aren't you?"
"Er, yes, fine now, thank you," she said, surprised by his concerned tone, his earnest expression.
"And are you comfortable at the Jeromes?"
"Yes, indeed, Peter. They have been most kind, and all extremely attentive."
"We did not call because we did not wish to intrude."
Clifford said calmly, "No intrusion, since you are family, but Vanessa is being watched most closely now, and must not be fatigued unduly. So if you would care to call, please send a note round arranging an appropriate time."
Peter gave Clifford a long, assessing look, then glanced at Toby. Toby gave a tentative smile. "Yes thank you, we will." He bowed to them both, and moved toward their carriage.
"So you are well, Cousin?" Peter asked once more.
"Yes, indeed, Peter. And content. Clifford is a good man, his brother and friends too. I know the card game took place at your ball, but you have no reason to reproach yourself now. I understand why you played. My fortune is certainly tempting enough."
"You are very intelligent, but most unworldly. You need someone to look after your interests," Peter rejoined, with a sharp stare at Clifford.
"Very gallant of you, I'm sure, but I am fine where I am. And will not be going back to Hawkesworth House, I assure you."
Peter relaxed at last. "The invitation is always open at our home. Aunt is not exactly well at the moment, megrims, but we will always be glad to open our doors to you." He bowed, turned on his heel, and left.
Vanessa and Clifford both heaved sighs of relief. The brothers had been acting oddly, but certainly not menacingly. They were ambitious, but did not stand to gain by harming her. Not now that Clifford had offered to pay their debts if they would just leave her alone.
Clifford was sure something else was troubling them. Guilt? Over what?
Clifford wondered again about the recent depredations to his estate, and the highwaymen. It was unlikely, but it was possible. The boys had all been raised together...
Vanessa stared pensively after Peter. "Well, that was kind of them. But I am more than content to be at the Jeromes."
"Even if it is as busy as a coaching inn at times?" Clifford asked with a smile.
She laughed lightly. "Yes. I do find the company there most stimulating."
Clifford resisted the urge to kiss her right in front of the whole parish, and contented himself with a squeeze of her hand.
"I say, you two, time to head back. I'm famished," Josephine said, waving to them from across the churchyard.
"Just coming," Clifford called.
The younger members of the party walked back through the winding lanes to work up an appetite for the fine dinner which the Jeromes were famous for hosting each week.
Clifford took things slowly, not wanting to tax her strength. Under the crisp golden and red trees of early autumn, Vanessa could feel herself glowing under his warm regard. With her hand in his, she felt she could take on the world, and win. They would be the perfect couple, she was sure of it. She just had to convince Mason and Rogers of the fact, and then all would be right with her world.
The vicar, Mr. Grayson, rode over to Jerome Manor on his horse. He was a quiet, unassuming, but fiercely intelligent young man whom Vanessa was pleased to know.
Clifford was relieved to see she had no false pride. Many women of her station would not have troubled themselves with a mere parson, but she took a lively interest in his schemes for the poor, and convicted felons.
"But some people are just born bad," Henry argued at the dinner table later that afternoon as he passed the sauceboat. He had started the argument more for the sake of getting a rise out of the vicar, than because he genuinely believed it.
"I know you must have heard about the Widow Marsters and her daughters. Just because one depraved incident like that occurs once in a blue moon does not mean that all men are born bad," Mr. Grayson said a trifle too loudly, causing all the women's eyes in the room to turn to him.
"What on earth happened to them?" Emma demanded. "We have heard nothing."
"I, er, that is to say..." The discomfited young man tugged at his clerical collar, turning more and more crimson.
Clifford cleared his throat. "I'm afraid it's not a fit subject of discussion for this pleasant dinner table."