The Heart of a Vicar

by Sarah M. Eden

  She shook her head. “I was six years old when I did that. I would like to believe I have developed better judgment since then.”

  “You are much older now,” he said quite somberly. “I understand matronly ladies are generally quite wise.” Scott liked teasing her far more than any older brother should.

  “Wise and occasionally violent,” she answered. “So you would do well to watch yourself.”

  He smiled. “You like my teasing; admit it.”

  She tucked her arm more cozily through his. “You had best get all your jesting out of the way now. Our uncle hasn’t a sense of humor.” It was one of the things she remembered most vividly about the gentleman whose estate her brother would soon inherit.

  Scott gave her a concerned look as he wove them through the crowd toward the line of carriages. “Can you endure it? A somber household might very well render you miserable.”

  She smiled up at him, allowing a hint of a laugh. “When have you known me to be miserable?”

  He squeezed her arm. “Not ever.”

  “Well, I don’t mean to start now.”

  Scott led them to a waiting carriage. The well-dressed man standing in front of it shook his extended hand. “Welcome back to England, Mr. Sarvol. Miss Sarvol.”

  “This is Mr. Clark,” Scott told Sarah. “Our uncle’s man of business.”

  She nodded her understanding. Much of the coming weeks and months would be filled with matters of business. Scott had worried about that, warned her of the very real possibility that she would spend a lot of her hours alone while he was educated and put to work. She hadn’t the least concern about that. He was not a neglectful brother, and she was not one who needed to be entertained. She made her own happiness; she always had.

  They were soon situated inside the carriage, Sarah facing forward, as was proper, the two gentlemen on the bench facing her. The carriage rolled forward, swaying and rumbling. How very tired she was of travel. The sea journey had been uneventful but long. The next leg, from Liverpool to Nottinghamshire, would not take as long, but it was likely to be even more uncomfortable. Still, she could endure it. They were, after all, going home.

  “How is our uncle?” Sarah asked.

  “Frail,” Mr. Clark said. “It will be good to have young Mr. Sarvol here for what time the elder Mr. Sarvol has remaining. That will allow the transition of ownership to be smoother.”

  Scott listened with brows drawn. “We would have come sooner, knowing he is poorly, but arrangements took longer than expected.”

  “The last few weeks have made a noticeable change in him.” A heaviness filled his tone, which was devoid of tenderness. Few people liked Uncle Sarvol, not even his family. “Had he been this frail when I last wrote to you, I would have urged greater speed.”

  “Is Uncle Sarvol pleased that we are coming?” Sarah knew it unlikely but held out some hope.

  “He has grumbled a great deal,” Mr. Clark said. “He did, however, order the small study adjoining the library to be converted into a bedchamber for you, Mr. Sarvol.”

  Scott tossed Sarah an amused and confused look. “Off the library?” he repeated.

  Mr. Clark nodded. “He wishes you to always be near the place where you will be working.”

  Sarah kept her expression serene despite the urge to laugh at her brother’s odd arrangement. “How very exciting for you, Scott.”

  He chuckled. “I’m not afraid to work. The more I know about the estate, the better.”

  “And what will I be doing while you are chained to your ledgers?”

  “You swore to me you would find plenty to occupy your interest.”

  She hadn’t meant to cause him worry. “I am to be a permanent part of the neighborhood now. I mean to begin calling on our neighbors as soon as they initiate the connection—I do remember what I learned about the intricacies of interactions in this overly complicated kingdom.”

  Mr. Clark watched them with widened eyes. She had been told before that she was a bit exhausting. She also knew with perfect clarity that the silliness she and Scott indulged in was often confusing for those more accustomed to solemnity.

  “You are not a stranger to the families around Collingham,” Scott said. “I doubt they will wait even an entire day to make their calls; then you will be free to visit them as often as you like. The last time we were here, you were hardly at Sarvol House. Perhaps some of your friends are still in the neighborhood.”

  Mr. Clark unwound a length of twine from around a stack of documents. “If we could, Mr. Sarvol.”

  Sarah bit back a grin she knew Mr. Clark would not appreciate. It was simply odd to hear her brother addressed so formally, and by someone who was likely at least ten years Scott’s senior. She needed to grow accustomed to it though. Everything was more formal here. And soon enough, her brother would be a gentleman of importance and position, and she would be mistress of his household. She would likely need to learn to be a little less ridiculous.

  Mr. Clark and Scott dove into their discussion of land, investments, and tenants. Sarah’s thoughts wandered.

  She had made some wonderful friends during their previous visits to their uncle’s home, just as Scott had said. But her previous visit had been filled with one person in particular: Harold Jonquil. Sweet, kind, handsome Harold Jonquil. They’d talked of dreams, futures, hopes. They’d walked around their families’ gardens and out along a stream branching off the Trent.

  She’d fallen top-over-tail in love with him in the full-hearted way only a starry-eyed sixteen-year-old girl could. He’d even kissed her on her last day in England, right before telling her he wouldn’t ever write to her or accept any letters she sent him in a tone that indicated he would likely forget all about her the moment she set foot on the ship returning her to America.

  His rejection had been thorough and precise, and he’d broken her heart.

  He had been about to begin his clerical studies that long-ago summer. He would be a vicar by now, though only just, likely working and living in a distant parish, having entirely forgotten about the lovesick young lady he’d last seen running away, weeping. If he thought of her at all, it was likely with amusement.

  Memories of him would be a little difficult when she first arrived in Collingham. He had a large family, and at least two of his brothers would still be living in the neighborhood. The difficulty wouldn’t last long. She loved the area and the people there. She looked forward to making new memories now that she was grown enough and happy enough to move on from her disappointment.

  She would make a new life for herself in her brother’s household and forget Harold Jonquil had ever claimed even the smallest corner of her heart.

  Chapter Two

  Nottinghamshire

  Sarah was more than ready to be done traveling. As they passed through the town of Collingham, the nearest hamlet to Sarvol House, relief very nearly surpassed the nervousness she felt.

  The carriage passed familiar lanes and houses, places she remembered well. After some time, she spied Farland Meadows, the estate where her cousin Bridget had lived. In the distance, the roof of Lampton Park, the grandest estate in the neighborhood and the Jonquil family home, rose above its surroundings. Many mornings and afternoons had been spent walking those grounds with Harold. They’d been bending the rules of propriety; they’d known that perfectly well, though nothing untoward had ever happened. The closest they’d come to anything scandalous was that disastrous kiss before she’d left.

  To her surprise, she felt only the smallest twinge of regret seeing Lampton Park again. She ached for the girl she’d been and the dreams she’d had. But life hadn’t been terrible since then. Most of her memories of this neighborhood were pleasant. Not all her memories of him were unpleasant.

  The carriage turned off the main road toward Sarvol House. Nothing had truly changed on the familiar lane, thou
gh the trees that lined the side of the lane were taller, a little older. Her last visit had been in the summertime when the trees and shrubs were thick with leaves and the flowers were blooming in riotous color. But even in the shades of autumn, the surroundings were comfortingly familiar.

  Mr. Clark had ridden ahead of them during this last day of their journey. Only Scott and Sarah sat in the traveling carriage, and Scott watched the landscape with the same expression of mingled anticipation and nervousness she felt.

  “It will be strange being here without Father,” he said.

  “It is strange being anywhere without him.” She hadn’t yet grown accustomed to him being gone, despite the passage of almost two years. It hurt less acutely, but it still did not feel normal.

  Scott slipped from his side of the carriage to hers and pulled her into a very brotherly side-hug. “Have I thanked you enough for undertaking this adventure with me? I couldn’t imagine how lonely this new life would be without you here.”

  Lonely? She rolled her eyes. “Though it pains me to say as much, you are a rather exceptional gentleman—personable, friendly, and, as it turns out, the future owner of an estate in this neighborhood. I haven’t the slightest doubt you will have no difficulty making the acquaintance of a great many people. ‘Lonely’ is not a state you need worry about finding yourself in, whether I am here or not.”

  “Well, I would miss you, regardless of the fact that I am impossibly handsome.”

  “I never said you were handsome.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “I think it was implied.”

  “Sisters aren’t allowed to think their brothers are handsome. We are absolutely required to view you as obnoxious for all our lives.”

  “Obnoxiously handsome?”

  She shook her head, grateful for his antics. She was more nervous than she was willing to admit. Being able to laugh with him helped tremendously.

  The carriage turned as the drive looped back, offering a very impressive view of the red-stone house, with its twin bay towers and many chimneys. Three rows of narrow windows, evenly distributed and perfectly symmetrical, dotted the walls. The stately trees framed the picturesque sight. It was not so large and impressive as the house at Lampton Park or even Farland Meadows, but it was a fine and lovely estate.

  “Are you ready to take all of this on?” she asked her brother.

  “Ask me in a few weeks when I’ve had a chance to better understand what ‘all of this’ entails.”

  They rolled to a stop under the small front portico. The front door opened, and two lines of servants spilled out, fanning out in opposite directions, forming a V that joined at the doorway.

  She felt Scott take a deep breath.

  “Everything changes once we leave this carriage, doesn’t it?” His attention didn’t waver from the formidable scene.

  “We are still together. We are still family. That doesn’t change, Scott. That will never change.” She sat forward and turned ever so slightly to face him. “Together we are equal to whatever lies ahead of us. I know we are.”

  He smiled. “Remind me of that now and then, will you?”

  She gave a quick nod. Her brother was of an optimistic disposition most of the time, but he sometimes doubted himself. She had considered it her job from childhood to cheer him. “I will remind you of it so often you will say, ‘For heaven’s sake, Sarah, you are drowning me in encouragement.’”

  He laughed silently. “I have said that a time or two, haven’t I?”

  “A time or two or three or four.”

  The carriage door opened. A footman stood at the ready to hand her down.

  Heart pounding with anticipation, she scooted to the edge of the bench, moved to the door, and placed her hand in the gloved hand of the footman, carefully setting her foot on the step and making her way to the graveled ground below.

  The servants watched her; some smiled, some seemed curious, and some were quite obviously eager to be getting on with their work rather than enacting this ceremony. Sarah saw among them many familiar faces, including the butler and housekeeper, Mr. and Mrs. Tanner. They were older now, likely approaching the age when they would need to be pensioned. Selecting a new housekeeper and butler would fall to Sarah. She wasn’t entirely certain how to go about accomplishing that. Certainly someone in the neighborhood could explain that when the time came. People were generally willing to help.

  Scott was quickly beside her. The servants offered their bows and curtsies, and then Mr. Clark stepped from the front door out into the afternoon light and motioned them inside with an efficiently worded welcome.

  Mrs. Tanner followed them through the front door, instructing maids to take Sarah and Scott’s outer things.

  Sarah studied the familiar vestibule, with its tall ceiling and flat columns against either wall. “Did Uncle Sarvol have the walls rehung?” She didn’t remember them being lavender.

  “He did,” Mr. Clark confirmed. “Only last year.”

  “The portraits have changed as well.” She didn’t see the one of her father that had hung amongst the others. Her cousin Bridget no longer had a portrait there. Even Uncle’s portrait was gone. Instead, she was greeted by faces she did not recognize, stern people in clothing far out of date, sometimes by centuries.

  “These are the previous masters and mistresses of this house,” Mr. Clark said. “The senior Mr. Sarvol had their portraits placed here in recent months.”

  “Has he changed a great many things of late?” Scott asked.

  Mr. Clark nodded but not in a truly firm manner. “Room colorings, portraits, moving around some furniture.”

  Scott gave Sarah a look of curious confusion. She had no more answers than he did. The house had not changed at all in the many years they’d been visiting. Even Uncle’s wardrobe had remained unchanged. Why was he suddenly undertaking such upheaval?

  At the end of the vestibule, two staircases led upward, one on either side. A vast hall spread out between this entryway and the remaining rooms of the house. Sarah had always loved this particular spot. Two large doors sat directly ahead, behind which was a grand ballroom. When she had last visited, she’d stood in the empty, dusty ballroom, imagining herself dancing with a handsome gentleman. By the end of her visit, her dreamed-of partner had a very real identity. As she’d sailed back to America after his thorough rejection, she’d sworn off golden-haired gentlemen. Life was far less complicated without them.

  “I am certain I speak for my brother when I say I would very much like to rest for a time after so long a journey.” She turned toward Mrs. Tanner, walking just a step behind them. “I haven’t the first idea where I am meant to go though. I certainly hope I am considered to have outgrown the nursery.”

  Mrs. Tanner held back a smile. English servants, Sarah had discovered on previous visits, were quite stoic when interacting with their employers. To have brought even that hint of amusement to the very proper housekeeper’s face lifted her spirits tremendously.

  “I will show you, Miss Sarvol.” She addressed Scott next. “Yours will be the room off the library, the one that, in the past, served as a secretary’s office.”

  Scott nodded. “I know the room you’re speaking of and can easily locate it.”

  Sarah could have as well. The library was on the ground floor, adjoining the ballroom. The secretary’s office—Scott’s bedchamber—sat just off the library. It boasted a door leading directly onto the back terrace. That would allow both privacy and freedom. Her father had been fond of that little room. He told her once he’d spent many an evening in there reading while his father worked in the library.

  Scott leaned closer to her and said quietly, “Once you know where your bedchamber is, draw me a map so I can find you.”

  She shook her head at his absurdity. “I am certain it is with the guest chambers or in the family wing. I’ll be easy enough to
locate.”

  He made his way through the door to the library. Sarah turned toward the grand front staircase. All the bedchambers were above the ground floor. Mrs. Tanner, however, made her way to a low doorway between the library and the music room. She opened the door and watched Sarah with obvious anticipation.

  Was she meant to go that way, then? She only vaguely remembered that doorway being there. It couldn’t have led to any area of significance.

  Beyond the doorway, she came upon a narrow stairwell, the plain and unassuming kind nearly always used by servants to navigate the house quickly and free of the interference of the family. A single window near the top lit the space. She spotted no wall sconces or candelabras. The space would be dark at night.

  “Up this way, Miss Sarvol.” Mrs. Tanner sounded truly apologetic.

  “Could we not use the main staircase?” Sarah asked. The family bedchambers were accessible that way.

  Mrs. Tanner shook her head. “This is the only connection to your chamber.”

  The only one, and it was a servants’ staircase? This could not be a guest chamber. No architect would design such a thing. No hostess would resign a guest to such isolation.

  “Is this a servants’ room, then? I don’t wish to see anyone tossed out of her room.” Not to mention the oddity of being placed in a room reserved for a servant when she had arrived in full anticipation of being mistress of the house soon enough.

  “This serves as the governess’s rooms when there is one.” Mrs. Tanner must have sensed Sarah’s bafflement and disappointment. “It is a fine space, though; far larger than is usually reserved for a governess. And you will have a great deal of privacy.”

  “This is the only way to reach the room?” she asked again. The stairwell they’d used was dim and confined. Privacy didn’t quite describe the arrangement. It felt far more like exile.

  “The room does have a connection with the nursery,” Mrs. Tanner said. “And the nursery is accessible from the main staircase. But this is the most convenient means of reaching the govern—your bedchamber.”