Mistress of Sins (Dredthorne Hall #3) - Hazel Hunter Page 0,28
that from her observation of animals on the estate. She also knew well the consequences of such acts for the female of any species. Now with the slight soreness throbbing between her thighs, she understood why the recollection had returned to her.
I could be with child.
“There you are, Miss Reed,” a sweet voice said. “I was hoping to bid you farewell, but Mr. Branwen has gone off somewhere, and well, may I sit with you until he returns for me?”
Jennet looked up at Deidre Branwen’s hesitant smile, and tried to return it. “Of course, please do.”
“Thank you.” The vicar’s wife arranged her full skirts as she perched on the chair beside her, and let out a sigh of relief. “I do envy the energy of the young. I have danced but twice and feel exhausted. You are far wiser than I.”
“I doubt that, ma’am.” This was her punishment for making love with Greystone, Jennet thought wryly: having to converse with the most good-hearted, moralistic woman in Renwick. “I hope all is well with you and the vicar.”
“We are as tediously happy and content as ever.” Deidre looked out at the dancers whirling to a merry waltz tune. “Lucetta and Harshad, my sister-in-law and her husband, will be coming to spend Christmas with us. I am counting the days now, for we have grown as close as true sisters. They bring their twins with them, such sweet boys. Do you know that Lucetta met Harshad here, at Dredthorne Hall?”
“No, I did not.” Jennet had heard the gossip about the couple, of course; Lucetta Branwen had scandalized everyone in Renwick when she had married a gentleman from India. “Was it at a ball, like this one?”
“Oh, no, they both served the master here. That was a terrible time. We almost lost them to a madman, but I still cannot speak on that without weeping.” The older woman’s mouth thinned as she looked around them. “This place seems to draw tragedy to it. I would never have come, if not for my husband’s insistence. He always wishes to be a constant presence in village society.”
Jennet thought of all the times the vicar had come to Reed Park to look in on her and Margaret, especially after her mother had one of her panics. “He is a very good man, your husband.”
“My father wished me to marry for wealth and position equal to that of our family.” Deidre gave her a droll look. “You can imagine how he reacted when Mr. Branwen asked for my hand. Who could be more unsuitable than a near-penniless curate? Yet despite all the obstacles I was quite determined, although not by any conscious, rational resolve. He claimed my heart the moment I first saw him.”
As Liam had hers, Jennet thought. “Love at first sight, then. How romantic.”
“I found it terribly inconvenient, and vexing, and confusing. Yet I never wavered. Eventually Papa had to agree, for I threatened to go to Scotland with Mr. Branwen.” The older woman saw her reaction and patted her hand. “We believe we have some say regarding whom we love, but in truth I think love chooses us. We have but to decide if it is worthy of our devotion.”
The vicar’s wife was trying in her gentle way to warn her about Greystone, Jennet suspected, so she should set her mind at ease. “By chance does your husband have a younger, unattached brother?”
Deidre shook her head and laughed.
“Jennet, there you are.” Catherine appeared in front of them, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. “Hello, Mrs. Branwen. You are the patron saint of sheep tonight.” She frowned. “There is a saint of sheep, is there not?”
“Oh, yes. Saint George of Lydda,” Deidre said, rising from her chair. “Excuse me, my dears. The hour is growing late, and I must find my husband.” She smiled at Jennet and then made her way past the dancers.
“This is such fun,” Catherine told her, dropping down into the chair the vicar’s wife had vacated. She patted down the ballooning flounce of her skirts before she said, “I have danced and danced and danced again. London has nothing on the country.”
Her friend’s inelegant perch and slurred voice surprised Jennet, as did the smell of male sweat coming from her. “I thought you would stay with the cider tonight.”
“You know how much I hate the taste of apples. The wine is far superior.” She glanced down at the empty goblet in her hand, and then peered at Jennet. “Why do