in church, Reyn reminded himself. No talking unless giving the proper prayer book response, no shifting in one’s seat, no snoring, God forbid. Ginny’s vicar was a serious young man who seemed to be doing his damnedest to be interesting, though that was a losing cause with Reyn. He was there solely—soully—to support his little sister, who did seem to derive comfort from attending church.
Or perhaps it had been the vicar all along. He chuckled, and added no chuckling to his list as Ginny’s surprisingly sharp elbow caught him in his midsection.
He endured the rest of the service in relative peace, his mind drifting quite far from ecclesiastical things until he was shuffling down the aisle to shake the vicar’s hand.
Ginny dimpled prettily. “I do hope you might join us for Sunday lunch, Mr. Swift.”
Swift. Somehow Reyn had blocked the name from his mind. It was not as though the man didn’t earn it. The service had gone as fast as possible, he supposed.
Mr. Swift dimpled back. “I should be delighted, if I might postpone that visit until next week, Miss Durant. There is a new parishioner I wish to welcome to the neighborhood, though I confess I feel some trepidation. It is a lady, you see. A great lady. She has taken over Hazel Grange, but is not going about in our humble society at all. A recent widow. I fear I am not up to the task of conversing with a countess.”
Reyn stilled. What were the odds? What were the odds he’d ask himself that question twice in one morning?
“Ah! A countess! How exciting, despite her recent misfortune. Do you know, Mr. Swift, my brother spent some time in an earl’s household last fall? Perhaps he should go with you to smooth the way,” she teased.
“I am hardly an expert on countesses,” Reyn said, gruff. “I barely saw the Countess of Kelby.” Damn it all to hell and back. Forget his sister and her doorstep dance with the vicar. He seemed a good enough fellow, but if he thought Ginny would make a docile clergyman’s wife, he was in for a surprise.
Swift’s face lit up. “Why, Captain Durant. This is extraordinary! It is the Countess of Kelby I am bound for this afternoon. If she is not up to attending church, it is my Christian duty to bring church to her, so to speak. As I happily did for you some time ago, Miss Durant. It is a pleasure to see you well enough to be here at worship.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Ginny said.
Maris was here.
Part of Hazel Grange’s land bordered his own. He remembered hearing the name as his solicitor read the deeds to him. What were the odds? he thought for the third time.
Reyn hadn’t paid attention to anything lately, except repairing the fencing, roofing the stables, and feeding his horses, who were always hungry. Had he passed Maris on the street in Shere and not even noticed?
No. Swift said she was a recluse. He pictured Maris swathed in deepest black, her nose pressed against a window. Hazel Grange sounded like a huge comedown from the grandeur of Kelby Hall. What had caused her to move? Surely David Kelby would have allowed her to stay on at the Dower House.
Unless he importuned her again and she felt she had to flee. Reyn felt a splash of bile rise in his throat.
“Reyn, are you all right? You look quite fierce all of a sudden.”
“I’m fine, Gin. Perfectly fine.” He would be once he got home and into the brandy. Much against his usual habits, he’d discovered brandy could block out the imaginary scent and vision of Maris Kelby’s wavy molasses-colored hair as it spilled over his chest.
“Shall I give the countess your regards, Captain Durant?”
“She would not even know who I am. Good morning to you, Mr. Swift. We’ll expect you next Sunday, if not before.” Reyn forced himself to smile and wink at the vicar, which caused the fellow to pale.
Perhaps Reyn’s eyes and lips weren’t working properly. Nothing felt like it was working right as he helped Ginny into their ancient gig—it had come with the ancient house—and hoisted himself up to take the reins. Maris was there and he hadn’t known it, hadn’t felt it. If he was meant to be with her, surely he would have throbbed like a tuning fork at her nearness.
What rot. He had let himself get carried away over two days. Two days.
Reyn’s mail was forwarded from