It wasn’t the first time he’d hauled George Wright’s drunken carcass out of a coach. At one time or another, Alex had delivered George back to his rooms reeking of alcohol, smoky with opium, or stinking of the cheap scent of a third-rate whorehouse. It all depended on the night of the week—and on how much ready coin George had in his pocket when that night began.

Alex had come to view it as the price of doing business with the man.

As he hoisted George up, the front door of the vicarage swung open. A small, gray-haired gentleman in dark trousers and a well-worn frock coat emerged. Had Alex any doubt as to his identity, the leather-bound Bible clutched in the gentleman’s hand would have confirmed it.

“Oh dear, he’s been at Squire Talbot’s port, I see.” The vicar urged Alex into the house. “You must be Mr. Archer. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to receive you. But you’ve had a good meal at the Park, I trust.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Squire Talbot’s cellars are rumored to contain some of the finest vintages in Surrey. My son seems determined to prove it. Put him in the parlor, if you please. He can sleep there tonight. No one will disturb him.”

Alex did as the vicar bid him, half dragging George into the vicarage parlor and dropping him onto an overstuffed sofa near the hearth.

George yawned mightily, one booted foot stretched out on the cushions and one set on the floor.

“Oh, dear,” the vicar said again as he looked at him. And then he raised his gaze to Alex. There were crinkles around his eyes. Evidence of a man who smiled more than he frowned. “Leopold Wright, at your service.” He extended his hand.

Alex shook it. “Alex Archer. Thank you for having me to stay.”

“You’re very welcome, sir. I was just reading my scripture for the evening. The parable of the prodigal son. It seems rather apt at the moment. If you’d care to join me?”

It had been a long time since Alex had opened a Bible, let alone read a scripture. But when the vicar gestured toward the pair of winged chairs near the cold fireplace, he sat down without a word.

The vicar lowered himself into the remaining chair and opened his Bible on his lap, his finger holding his place in the text. “Many view the parable as one of repentance and forgiveness. Of a man brought low after riotous living. But the scripture is much more than that. It’s a story of homecoming. Of reconciliation. ‘For this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.’”

Alex felt something deep within him give way as the vicar recited the scripture. He didn’t want to think about homecomings. About brothers resurrected from the dead.