Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

T he following morning, with Emily's becoming blush and musical laughter lingering in his mind, Jacob did the unthinkable. He stepped through the doors of Sylvanwood's church. He pulled the wrought-iron handle, swung the door wide, and glanced at the ceiling's beams, waiting for the lightning strike that would end his sorry life. When no flash occurred, he removed his hat, and the sexton ushered him to an empty box, opening the small door for him to be seated on the pew.

Jacob shifted on the hard bench, trying to find a comfortable position. By Jove, it was warm in the nave, yet no one else seemed to be sweating. Jacob unfolded his handkerchief and mopped the perspiration from his brow. Reverend Thompson stood behind a tall podium and announced the blessed arrival of baby Jonah, the firstborn child of the town's blacksmith.

Several rows up and across the aisle, Miss Dorsham peered over her shoulder and issued Jacob a coquettish smile.

He nodded and scanned the crowd. A row in front of him, the magistrate's balding head gleamed a high-polished shine that any bootblack would strive to achieve, and the man's wife stared straight ahead. Behind the Dorshams, the store clerk who'd assisted Jacob in ordering materials sat beside what he presumed from their similar profiles were the clerk's elderly father and mother.

Soft blond curls tinged a blue hue from the sunlight cascading through the stained-glass window caught Jacob's eye. Christian sat in the front row with Samuel on his right and Emily on his left. The boy wiggled, and Emily glanced down at him with love. A second later, she did so again, but this time with a look of silent reprimand.

Jacob, too, had struggled to remain still in church when he was a child. He angled for a better view.

Emily whispered something to Christian, and Jacob admired the fine line of her profile until Miss Dorsham leaned forward, blocking his view. She must have thought he was looking at her, for she lowered her lashes and fanned herself.

Lady Dorsham glanced over her shoulder, a satisfied grin curling her lips.

Marriage-mart mamas. He wasn't certain who was more troublesome, young women or their mothers.

He raised his gaze to the picturesque windows so they'd believe he was merely admiring the stained glass depiction of scales falling from the Apostle Paul's eyes. At least he thought it to be the Apostle Paul. Mother would be horrified at how little he remembered of Bible stories.

The rustic stone walls of this quaint church sanctuary wasn't as elaborate as the church his mother had dragged him to as a boy in London. Back then he'd felt like a tiny ant in the three-story nave beneath buttressed ceilings and hardly understood a word spoken.

He rose with the congregation and sang a few hymns. Lady Dorsham's bellowing voice sounded like a crow cawing. At the conclusion of the last song, Mr. Thompson dove into his speech, and Jacob listened, forgetting about the other congregants. Even though Mr. Thompson spoke to the crowd, his words hit Jacob's heart as if they'd been written for him.

"God has a plan for your life." He paused and surveyed the congregation. "It's written in 2 Corinthians 3:5. We cannot claim competence of ourselves, for our competence comes from God." The vicar bent over the podium until his chest touched the open Bible. "He will use your past hurts and failures to develop your character, and if you humbly rely upon Him, God will raise you up, so that"—the reverend gestured as if pulling someone up onto the platform—"you can reach back down and pull others out of the pit. For God wants all His children to be redeemed."

The proverbial lightning bolt Jacob expected upon entering the church now struck his chest. Heat collected under his collar, and he ran his index finger along the edge of his cravat to cool his neck. Could God have a plan for a worthless third son who could only boast of being a dandy spy—lucky with cards and able to draw a woman's fancy?

The vicar closed his Bible, prayed, and blessed his congregants before dismissing them. The congregants rose and filed out of the church, but Jacob remained seated to wait for the crowd to clear. His heart brimmed with questions regarding the message he hoped to ask the vicar.

"My lord." Miss Dorsham stood over him and smiled prettily. "How lovely for you to attend our humble place of worship. I'm certain it's nothing like London's beautiful, spired cathedrals."

Out of politeness, he rose. "Sylvanwood's church holds a certain beauty, as does its parishioners."

Miss Dorsham's eyes sparkled at the compliment.

The platitude rolled off his tongue, too late for him to rescind. The last thing he needed was to encourage the chit.

"I'm so looking forward to our meeting tomorrow." Her eyes shimmered with a mischievous glint.

When had he set a meeting with Miss Dorsham? "My apologies, but to what meeting are you referring?"

"Why, our engagement for your portrait. The one Miss Thompson will be painting."

"How could I forget? Please forgive me."

"Of course." She lowered her lashes. "I daresay all the renovations at Brownstone Hall must be occupying your thoughts."

"Rightly so. I look forward to breaking the monotony with the delightful company of such lovely ladies." There he went again with the accolades. Had he no reign over his tongue?

She met his eyes with a bold gaze. "Would you be so kind as to walk me to my carriage?"

God help the poor bloke in London for whom Miss Dorsham set her cap. "You'll have to excuse me. I'd like to have a word with the vicar."

Her lower lip extended in a dainty little pout, but she stepped aside to let him pass.

Jacob strode to the front of the church, where Mr. Thompson smiled a greeting. "Lord Warren. Glad to see you in church on the Lord's Day."

"You have a fine congregation I enjoyed your…ah…" Sermon? Homily? Liturgy? "Talk. I wondered about God wanting everyone to be redeemed." Even sinners like himself? "How does one determine if we hold God's favor and what His plan is for our lives?"

"God reveals His will in various ways, but it may differ from person to person." The vicar folded his hands across his stomach. "Have you asked God to show you?"

Jacob lowered his voice. "And how might I do that?"

Mr. Thompson's eyes twinkled. "You pray."

"Ah. I see." But he didn't. He hadn't prayed since he was in leading strings, and even then, he never recalled hearing God answer.

Another parishioner approached the vicar, and Jacob excused himself. When he turned, he almost stepped on Christian.

"Good day, my lord." The boy stood tall in his Sunday best.

Jacob squatted on his haunches. "And good day to you, fine sir."

The tow-headed, cherub-faced boy's blue eyes filled with intent. "Are those your blood cattle out front? The ones attached to the landau?"

Jacob's heart warmed. His son was interested in horses—something else they shared in common. "If it's the matching pair of black thoroughbreds, then yes. Would you like a closer inspection?"

"Most definitely."

"Then, off we go."

"Huzzah!" Christian hopped-stepped toward a side door. "This way. I know a shortcut."

Christian's enthusiasm warmed Jacob's chest as he followed him outside into the tepid sunshine. He ran to Jacob's horses and petted the neck of the one named Goliath.

"Are they from Arabia? The land where the men have the crescent swords?" He slashed the air with his hand, and Goliath drew back.

"Easy now." Jacob calmed the horse with a caress to its nose. "Indeed. How do you know of Arabia?"

"We have a book on horses in our library." Christian had mentioned he could read, but Jacob figured he'd meant basic words like hat and cat , not a complete book.

"And you've read it? At your age?"

"Emily helps me." Christian's head rolled back, and his shoulders drooped, leaving his dangling arms in a sway. "She turns it into a learning lesson."

"I know how that can be." Another hidden talent of Emily's. "What is your favorite horse?"

"Lipizzaner stallions. They can do all sorts of tricks."

"You're right. Very impressive. You know your horseflesh. My brother owns one. He's a beauty."

Christian's eyes flashed. "I wish I could see it. Em painted me a picture of one. It hangs over my bed."

Em. The simple nickname suited her. "Do you paint?"

"No, painting is boring." His eyebrows rose. "Unless you're painting horses, but they're hard. I tried to paint one, but it looked like a dog."

"It's probably better than what I could do. I'm afraid I can only draw stick figures, and even those aren't very good."

"That's all right. Not everyone can do art. Papa told me to keep trying different things until God shows me what talents He's given me."

"Your papa told me to pray."

Christian petted Goliath's nose. "Yeah, that would work too."

"Have you ever done that? Pray, I mean."

"All the time."

The other horse, Comet, nuzzled Christian's sleeve, and Christian shifted his attention to it.

"How do you go about it?" Jacob asked. "The praying."

Christian peered at Jacob as if he'd never heard such a silly question.

Folks lingered outside the church, but no one appeared to notice him asking a five-year-old for advice. "I mean…people have different styles. Do you have a specific phrase or method for…say, praying to God to show you your purpose?"

"Naw, I talk like we're talking now."

"And God speaks back to you?"

Christian giggled. "No, silly. Not out loud." His blond brows wrinkled together as he mulled it over. "Well, He did speak to Moses through a bush, so He can speak out loud. Papa said He speaks into your heart, real quiet, so you have to listen closely."

"Christian! There you are." Emily strode toward them, her eyes honed on her brother.

"Em—" Jacob pressed his lips together . After her courageous rescue and their conversation during dinner, he'd thought of her as Emily. Her name reminded him of a summer's day or a fluffy cloud floating in a blue sky. He'd dreamt about her last night. Nothing remarkable. He'd merely felt her presence and been comforted by it. His Valkyrie.

"Papa told me to keep an eye on you, and I didn't know where you'd run off." She placed a protective hand on Christian's shoulder.

"Miss Thompson." Jacob stepped away from Goliath's side into her line of vision.

"Good day, milord." Her brow furrowed. "I didn't realize you attended church."

Jacob flashed her a saucy grin. "I've heard it's good for the soul."

Her bonnet framed the delicate features in her face, and the breeze tugged at her pale green gown, hugging it to her slight figure.

"It's a lovely day." He glanced up at the clear sky. "Would you and Christian care to join me for a ride through town? My team could use some exercise."

Christian jumped about and tugged on her skirt. "Could we? Could we, please?"

"No, we couldn't." She leveled her gaze on Jacob. "It wouldn't be proper."

He pushed back his jacket and rested his hand on his hip. "It's an open carriage. There could be no impropriety, especially with Master Christian riding along."

"Please, Em." Christian hit her with his big blue-eyed stare, which compelled a person to want to lay the world at the child's feet.

Jacob fought back a smile. Another trait he'd inherited from his father. "I shall promise to keep to the main road."

"Well…"

Jacob raised slanted brows in his best pleading look.

Christian spoke for him. "Pretty please…"

She sighed. "Mama and Samuel will be preoccupied at the church for some time." She rolled her lips, a seemingly unconscious gesture that heightened the rosy color of her sensual mouth. "I will concede if you promise to make it a fast trip."

Jacob drew an X over his heart with his index finger.

She left to inform Samuel—who spoke to congregants near the church entrance—of their short jaunt and returned with a nod that they could leave.

"Huzzah!" Christian scrambled into the curricle.

Jacob offered his hand to assist Miss Thompson and glimpsed her slender ankles as she boarded. He climbed aboard on the other side so that Christian rode between them. With a flick of his wrists, he snapped the reins, and the team trotted toward town.

"Did you enjoy dining last evening?" Jacob asked.

"Surprisingly, I did. It was kind of you to invite us."

His head swung in her direction. "Surprisingly?" He tried not to sound as affronted as he felt. "That you enjoyed yourself at a party hosted by me?"

She flushed and stared down at her hands. "That was poorly done of me and not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

In the silence, the clopping of horses' hooves grew louder.

Christian leaned forward so far to see the horses that he practically stood. Emily tugged him back into a seated position.

"It's not that you didn't throw a lovely party," she said. "The evening was splendid, and what you've done to Brownstone Hall in such a short time is commendable. Even the scrolling on the cornices has been restored."

His chest swelled, knowing she'd noticed the places he'd enjoyed refurbishing most. "A little paint hides a multitude of sins."

She intrigued and captivated him—made him feel fresh and new. Still, a voice in his head, remarkably similar to his father's, told him he was a sluggard and an irredeemable rogue who'd never aspire to anything. The day after he'd overheard his father say that last bit, he strode into the War Department's Home Office and offered his services.

"Good day, milord. Miss Thompson," Mrs. Brunson, the barrister's wife, called as they passed.

Jacob tipped his hat. "You were saying?"

Emily wouldn't look at him, merely stared straight ahead with her lips drawn into a tight line.

It didn't seem she meant to continue. He repeated her sentence to jog her memory, "I throw a lovely party, but…?"

"Look at the set of grays!" Christian pointed at the magistrate's team.

Jacob smiled and dipped his hat at the man as the horses pranced past pulling his carriage.

Emily shrank back in her seat each time they spotted another person, or more likely, each time someone spotted them. Was she ashamed to be seen with him? As the son of a duke, he wasn't accustomed to women not wanting to be seen with him.

Emily was different. She didn't flirt or vie for his attention. Of course, the daughter of the town vicar wouldn't behave in such a manner, but to cringe and try to hide? Had his reputation preceded him to this small town?

She glanced back over her shoulder. "I believe it's best if we head back to the church."

"Aww," Christian whined.

Emily ran her fingernails lightly across Christian's back in a motherly gesture. Jacob found a spot in the road to swing the team wide and bring them back around.

Why did he care what she thought of him? Was it because she was Christian's sister or something more? He needed to stay focused on the objective. He swiveled in Christian's direction. "How would you like to help me drive the team for a bit?"

"Really? You'd let me?" Christian rounded on Emily. "Can I?"

She raised a brow at Jacob. "You believe he can manage?"

He handed the reins to Christian but looped an arm over the boy and grasped his hands. He held them tight, showing him how to keep the team steady. Christian smiled so big his mouth hung open.

"Loosen up a little and give them some freedom to go."

Teaching Christian how to drive a team was the perfect excuse to keep the pace a little slower and extend their visit. Christian's eagerness to learn caused Jacob's heart to swell, and he was surprised by the sense of fulfillment at the chance to pass his knowledge down to his son. He wanted to hold on to this feeling, what it was like to act as a father would.

Emily watched them with a mild smile. She shifted a bit in her seat to face him. "Did you enjoy today's message?"

"I found it interesting. Do you believe God wants to save all people, not just good people?"

"The Bible states in 2 Peter that God is patient with us, not wanting anyone to perish but all to come to repentance. So yes, that includes the good and bad."

"But I thought God hated sinners."

"God hates sin, not sinners. All of us have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. That's why it was necessary to send His son Jesus to die. He took the weight of our sins and nailed them to the cross."

"So we can be washed clean." He'd heard that message before, but this time, it held more clarity—struck him differently.

Emily brushed her fingers through the back of Christian's hair. "God dearly loves all of us. We are His children."

"Sometimes, it's hard to remember that."

"Why?"

He studied Christian's small hands enfolded in his. "It's difficult to think of God as a loving father when your own father only sees you as a disappointment." Jacob would never do the same to his son.

He tried to remember a time when his father hadn't glared at him in shame or remorse. "To my father, I'm more of a backup to the backup plan. He's invested most of his time in my eldest brother, Robert, and then Alex. I was always more of an afterthought, so I never saw him much." Jacob frowned. "I still don't, but when I do, he makes it abundantly clear that he isn't impressed with my life choices."

"What would he have you do?"

"Purchase a commission in the military or his majesty's navy like a typical third son."

"And why haven't you?"

Funny. He couldn't recall anyone besides Robert asking him why he hadn't enlisted. "It's a bit embarrassing, actually."

Her long lashes swept up as she met his gaze. She was so open and curious. He hadn't seen the like in ages, definitely not among the jaded set in which he ran. The sudden compulsion to spill all his faults overruled logic.

"It's a wretched problem."

"You don't have to explain if you don't want?—"

"I cannot abide the sight of blood."

Her eyes widened the tiniest bit.

"I swoon like a woman at the first drop of red." Which was why he'd become a spy and used his charm as a weapon to obtain information. Less chance of witnessing a bloody battle. However, there was that one time at Willowstone Farm when things went awry, and a horse thief was shot. Jacob had fallen to his knees and blacked out. Fortunately, he'd come to quickly, and in the chaos, his associates hadn't noticed.

Emily's brows raised. "Truly?"

"Can you imagine me in the middle of the battlefield?"

She fought a smile but failed. "But when my arrow hit the bandit, there was blood."

"Probably the reason I ended face down in the creek. I froze at the sight instead of ducking before his boot met with the side of my head."

Emily's face contorted, and an odd noise escaped her nose.

"Don't you dare laugh." He feigned offense. "I told you in great confidence. Do not have me regret it."

"How dreadful." She pinched her lips together and struggled to appear sympathetic, but the corners of her lips twitched.

Christian sat on the edge of the bench seat and concentrated on the team with an expression of sheer joy.

"It's a blasted curse. Quite humiliating. It also ruined my career as a pugilist."

Emily covered her mouth with her hand to smother her giggles.

"It is why you will never find me at the Fives-Court betting on a prize match either." He tilted his eyebrows like his father's hounds did when they were being denied a treat.

"Well, I should hope not. The law forbids boxing matches."

"That, too, put a damper on my pugilist aspirations."

Emily lost the battle against her laughter, and Jacob reveled in the sound of it. A dancing tendril teased her graceful neck, writhing a seductive dance in the breeze, ignorant of her prim pose with her hands folded in her lap.

Too soon, they reached the bend and turned onto the church drive.

"Gently pull back on the reins to slow the horses. Like this." Jacob lightly tugged on Christian's hands.

He pulled the reins to his chin.

"Bang-up-to-the-mark job at steering the horses. I do believe you're a natural." Jacob jumped down and lifted Christian out.

The boy beamed as if it were Christmas morning.

Jacob strode to the other side, aiding Emily in alighting from his curricle.

"It has been a lovely afternoon. I daresay it was due to the excellent company." Funny, how the slight touch of her made him feel as though he could conquer the world. When their hands slid apart, he felt a sense of loss.

"Christian, what do you say to his lordship?"

He wrapped his little arms around Jacob's thighs and squeezed, almost tripping him. "Thank you for the lovely time and for letting me drive." His blond head tipped back, and he smiled up at Jacob. "I've got to tell Mama." And with that, he turned and dashed toward the church.

Jacob's chest tightened. A lump rose in his throat, and he cleared it. He clasped his hands behind his back and strolled alongside Emily in Christian's wake. "I look forward to resuming our talk tomorrow."

She faltered a step. "Tomorrow?"

Jacob pinned a smile on his face to not let her witness his disappointment. Was that how Miss Dorsham felt when he didn't recall? "For my portrait."

"Oh, quite right. Tomorrow with Phoebe and her companion."

He stopped outside the large oak door and turned to face her.

Her cheeks reddened under his intense gaze, and she lowered her lashes.

He took her hand. "I shall count the minutes."

The hint of a smile formed before she turned. Jacob pushed open the door, holding it for her. The vicar stood inside alongside Peter Mathis while Christian danced about, explaining how he drove the team.

Jacob inclined his head. "Good day."

Mr. Thompson returned the nod, but his focus drifted to Emily.

Christian rushed over to help hold the door. "And don't worry, Lord Warren. I can keep a secret about the blood thing too."

Emily's laughter burst forth as Christian closed the door, but not before Jacob caught the shaken expression on Mr. Mathis's face. The poor bloke probably didn't know what to think about that statement, and it didn't bode well for Jacob, but a smile marked his lips as he strode back to his conveyance. Tomorrow was looking bright, indeed.

It might remain so, but only until he informed Emily and her parents that he was Christian's father.

Jacob swallowed. The more he learned about Emily and the Thompson family, the more he desired to earn their respect, but wouldn't they despise him once learning the truth? Or would they live out the words the vicar read that God desires everyone to come to redemption? Could they accept him as a new person—a reformed rake?

The right time would present itself.

He hoped.