her husband noted, his eyes twinkling. His lordship’s anger warmed Reverend Broome’s heart, it did, showing just the right amount of pride and protectiveness. This wasn’t some hole-in-corner affair; the earl really cared for the girl. The vicar sighed when Lord St. Cloud gave his graphic opinion of coxcomb caper-merchants and their encroaching, overblown wives. Not all of his prayers for the earl’s salvation had been answered, then. No matter, Mr. Broome was a patient man; he did not expect miracles.
Mrs. Broome was scarlet-faced, having snatched her beloved snow globe from the earl’s hands before he could punctuate his comments about toplofty tradesmen by smashing it onto the desk. “No matter where she’s riding, my lord, if you miss the coach along the road, you’ll find the family at Coglin’s dry-goods store in Springdale. You’ll want to catch up with them before Miss Beaumont parts company with them, so perhaps you should hurry. Please?”
St. Cloud considered asking if he could leave Pansy with them for a while but reconsidered when the pig started nibbling on the carpet fringe. He did beg Mrs. Broome for a large hatbox, which she was only too happy to fetch if it would see him on his way with the blessed pig.
While he waited, the earl wrote a check against his London bank, made out to Mr. Broome. He did not fill in an amount. “Here, vicar, buy some cushions for the back pews. I promise you’ll have better attendance on Sundays.”
Who said prayers weren’t answered?
Mavis Coglin loved to visit her sister-in-law, Joan, in Springdale. Joan and her family had rooms over the store on the main street, a cook-housekeeper, and a shabby landaulet. Mavis possessed a fine clapboard house overlooking the village green in Bramley, employed four domestics, and had a traveling carriage plus a chaise for local calls and such.
“No, Joan, dear, don’t apologize,” Mavis oozed. “We don’t mind being cramped in this little parlor, do we, Mr. Coglin? And I am sure whatever your Mrs. Burke prepares is adequate, though how she had the time with all her other duties . . . So I had my own cook fix some of her specialities. Scully is bringing them up from the coach now. That’s the traveling coach, of course. You won’t mind if Scully helps serve, will you? I know your dear little girls are used to passing dishes and such, but truly, Joan, it’s not quite the thing.” Mavis was having a grand time, especially when someone knocked on the shop door right in the middle of dinner.
“You see, Joan, dear, how inconvenient it is to live near the store? Every Tom, Dick, and Harry is forever ringing your bell when a button falls off or a ribbon goes missing. Isn’t that so, Mr. Coglin? Why don’t you let Scully get the door, Joan? He’ll send the inconsiderate fellow to the roundabout fast enough. So much more the thing, don’t you know, than sending one of the children. I never answer the door myself, of course, except when Lady Cantwell calls. Dear Lady C needed to confer with me about flowers for the church altar.”
“Here now, mister, the shop is closed. Just because you went and spilled some wine on your neck cloth ain’t no reason to ruin gentlefolk’s Christmas dinner. I got splashed some myself and I’m still serving. And it ain’t going to stop me from celebrating tonight neither, when the folks is home in bed.”
St. Cloud wasn’t listening, not to Scully anyway. He was hearing the sounds of the family upstairs and trying to pick out Juneclaire’s soft voice.
Scully put his hand on the earl’s shoulder to set him on his way. “G’wan, now, pal. Come back tomorrow.”
Scully’s hand was removed by an iron vise around his wrist. “You forget yourself, pal. I am here to see Mr. Josiah Coglin, and you shall stand out of my way.”
“It’s worth my job, an’ I let you go up,” Scully whined, his fingers growing numb from the continued pressure.
“And it’s worth your life
Mrs. Broome was scarlet-faced, having snatched her beloved snow globe from the earl’s hands before he could punctuate his comments about toplofty tradesmen by smashing it onto the desk. “No matter where she’s riding, my lord, if you miss the coach along the road, you’ll find the family at Coglin’s dry-goods store in Springdale. You’ll want to catch up with them before Miss Beaumont parts company with them, so perhaps you should hurry. Please?”
St. Cloud considered asking if he could leave Pansy with them for a while but reconsidered when the pig started nibbling on the carpet fringe. He did beg Mrs. Broome for a large hatbox, which she was only too happy to fetch if it would see him on his way with the blessed pig.
While he waited, the earl wrote a check against his London bank, made out to Mr. Broome. He did not fill in an amount. “Here, vicar, buy some cushions for the back pews. I promise you’ll have better attendance on Sundays.”
Who said prayers weren’t answered?
Mavis Coglin loved to visit her sister-in-law, Joan, in Springdale. Joan and her family had rooms over the store on the main street, a cook-housekeeper, and a shabby landaulet. Mavis possessed a fine clapboard house overlooking the village green in Bramley, employed four domestics, and had a traveling carriage plus a chaise for local calls and such.
“No, Joan, dear, don’t apologize,” Mavis oozed. “We don’t mind being cramped in this little parlor, do we, Mr. Coglin? And I am sure whatever your Mrs. Burke prepares is adequate, though how she had the time with all her other duties . . . So I had my own cook fix some of her specialities. Scully is bringing them up from the coach now. That’s the traveling coach, of course. You won’t mind if Scully helps serve, will you? I know your dear little girls are used to passing dishes and such, but truly, Joan, it’s not quite the thing.” Mavis was having a grand time, especially when someone knocked on the shop door right in the middle of dinner.
“You see, Joan, dear, how inconvenient it is to live near the store? Every Tom, Dick, and Harry is forever ringing your bell when a button falls off or a ribbon goes missing. Isn’t that so, Mr. Coglin? Why don’t you let Scully get the door, Joan? He’ll send the inconsiderate fellow to the roundabout fast enough. So much more the thing, don’t you know, than sending one of the children. I never answer the door myself, of course, except when Lady Cantwell calls. Dear Lady C needed to confer with me about flowers for the church altar.”
“Here now, mister, the shop is closed. Just because you went and spilled some wine on your neck cloth ain’t no reason to ruin gentlefolk’s Christmas dinner. I got splashed some myself and I’m still serving. And it ain’t going to stop me from celebrating tonight neither, when the folks is home in bed.”
St. Cloud wasn’t listening, not to Scully anyway. He was hearing the sounds of the family upstairs and trying to pick out Juneclaire’s soft voice.
Scully put his hand on the earl’s shoulder to set him on his way. “G’wan, now, pal. Come back tomorrow.”
Scully’s hand was removed by an iron vise around his wrist. “You forget yourself, pal. I am here to see Mr. Josiah Coglin, and you shall stand out of my way.”
“It’s worth my job, an’ I let you go up,” Scully whined, his fingers growing numb from the continued pressure.
“And it’s worth your life
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