The Heart of a Vicar

by Sarah M. Eden

  Charlie leaned a bit closer to Sarah. “This is a lot of Jonquils, isn’t it?”

  “You’re nearly overrun.”

  “What would one call a gathering of Jonquils?” Charlie wondered out loud. “We’re not a herd or a flock.”

  “A gaggle?” Sarah suggested.

  Charlie grinned. “A pack.”

  “An escargatoire.”

  A laugh burst from him. “We’re not snails.”

  A delighted squeal of “Charming!” reached them over the din of voices. Caroline rushed toward them.

  “Careful, dear,” Charlie warned her. “I’m walking better, but my balance is not very sure yet.”

  Caroline skidded to a halt, finishing her approach with utmost care. She slowly, cautiously wrapped her arms around Charlie’s middle. “Grammy said you would come back, but I told her, ‘What if you fell off a roof again?’ and then Uncle Flip said that Harold was the one who probably would do that next because he has started climbing houses. But I think he is being silly with me.”

  Charlie set his hand on Caroline’s back, her arms still wrapped around him. “Harold has been climbing houses. I saw him.”

  “Do vicars climb houses?” Far from shocked, Caroline sounded hopeful.

  “Our vicar does.”

  Caroline giggled. “Our vicar is the best vicar.”

  “Yes, he is,” Charlie said.

  The best vicar. How she hoped Harold’s family said that to him now and then.

  “Poppy says we can play jackstones if you’ll play with us.”

  Was there yet another member of this growing family Sarah did not yet know? “Who is Poppy?”

  “Sorrel’s brother,” Charlie said.

  “Her brother is named Poppy?” That seemed unlikely.

  Charlie laughed quietly. “His name is actually Fennel, but Philip has called him Poppy from more or less the moment they met. Caroline has adopted the habit as well.”

  Sarah looked to the little girl. “Is Poppy a very skilled jackstones player?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t played yet.” She tugged at Charlie’s hand, pulling him toward the family gathering. “Edmund is very good at jackstones,” she told her uncle. “If I get very good, he might play with me.”

  Sarah watched this family enjoying each other’s company. Her home hadn’t been devoid of affection—her father, especially, had been very tender in his regard for his family—but this scene was something else altogether. This was the very picture of love.

  Many of the sisters-in-law had gathered near each other, talking and laughing. Philip, as she’d discovered was not unusual for him, was fully occupied playing with many of the grandchildren. Sorrel lay on the fainting sofa directly by him, watching with amused tenderness. Mater was deep in a whispered conversation with Corbin.

  Harold was not present. Had he been unable to leave the vicarage? That didn’t seem likely. It was not so very far away, and he had access to a cart and pony. He must be somewhere in the house. The pull of the loving family vignette was strong but not powerful enough to keep her in the drawing room.

  She slipped into the corridor. Where might the elusive vicar be? Her footsteps carried her around the house as she attempted to be unobtrusive but meticulous in searching every public room she passed. Only upon reaching the door to the conservatory did she hear another voice. Two others, in fact. One, she knew with perfect clarity, was Harold’s. The other, she felt certain, was one of his brothers. The Jonquils not only looked shockingly alike, but their voices were also remarkably similar.

  “I didn’t mean for her to feel neglected,” the unidentified brother said, “but there’s so much peace out in the fields, Harold. I spent most of the past years convinced I’d never feel that again. I need it. I need it like I need air, but the long hours I spend out there have left Marjie alone and lonely. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Have you told her all of this?”

  “We’ve spoken a lot since I followed her here. I know she needs more of my time.”

  “I suspect what she needs more of is you.”

  Sarah slipped back out into the corridor. She wished she’d realized sooner how personal the conversation she’d stumbled upon was. Harold was listening to Stanley’s concerns, helping him sort out his worries, like a good brother and an excellent vicar. While Sarah was beyond pleased to hear Harold acting in the role she knew he was well-suited to—he had listened to her worries and concerns, her hopes and dreams often enough over the years—she had no desire to eavesdrop.

  She wandered down the corridor, intending to make her way back in his direction after a time in the hope that she would find him on his own. Was that inexcusably bold of her? The rules were more stringently adhered to here than in America, though propriety had never truly been lax amongst the society she’d grown up in.

  Surely she would be permitted a short, private conversation with him. They’d be in a public room, the door left open. As she’d discovered only moments before, anyone might wander in without warning. They’d ridden alone in the dark on quiet, abandoned lanes the night before. He’d been in her room, for heaven’s sake. If that was permissible, surely this would be.

  The tap of a cane on the tile floor sounded enough warning for her to step into a darkened doorway. Stanley moved past, a look of thoughtful contemplation on his face. Seeing him with his wife the day he’d arrived at Lampton Park, Sarah had known there was difficulty between them, though she’d not known the exact cause. There had also been unmistakable devotion.

  Once the way was clear, she stepped out again and quickly moved toward the conservatory. She hadn’t seen Harold pass. He might yet be inside.

  There was something miraculous about a conservatory. The air was always warm, no matter the bitterness of the outside world. The smell of earth and life filled the vast space. It was bright with sunlight, even in the dim of winter. And there were always flowers.

  Flowers. She stepped closer to the spray of flowers she was just then walking past. Delicate, deep-purple flowers. The exact flowers she’d received from Scott so many times. He’d not ever delivered them personally, but she’d found them in her rooms time and time again. He had apparently obtained them here.

  Harold came upon her a moment later. “Sarah.” He stepped up closer to her. His gaze fell on the flowers. Color stained his cheeks. “You—you recognize them.”

  Recognize them? She did, of course. But why did he? And why did he seem embarrassed for her to discover them there?

  “Mrs. Tanner assured me she would not be in any kind of trouble for delivering them,” Harold said.

  “They were from you?”

  His expression was a little flustered. “You always liked flowers, and that little sitting room of yours was so tiny and bare. I hoped a few sprigs would brighten it a little.”

  Of course the flowers were from him. How had she ever thought otherwise? Harold, who had climbed a bridge to pluck blooms for her, who had, when she’d known him before, been the most thoughtful person of her acquaintance, who’d dedicated himself to quietly serving people, was precisely the sort of gentleman to offer an anonymous bit of happiness. And the flowers had stopped coming during the weeks he’d been gone. How had she not pieced that together?

  “I am sorry if I overstepped myself,” he said.

  “You didn’t at all. I am simply so touched.”

  He laughed lightly. “I have not always been the best vicar, but at least I’m not a terrible person.”

  “You’ve always been a very good person, and you are showing yourself to be a fine vicar.”

  “Spoken like someone who did not have to go to services this morning.” He sounded so much lighter than he had the last months. “I was sorry not to hear the choir sing today; I have missed their music these past weeks. But I could not clear my mind of the thought of Mrs. Jones
and her new little one making that trek in the snow.” He shook his head. “They would not be the only ones in that miserable situation. I could not help thinking the Lord would wish me to look upon their circumstances with compassion rather than insist upon a rigid and unwavering schedule.”

  She pressed her fingertips to her lips, swallowing down the emotion rising in her throat.

  His expression turned alarmed. “What?”

  She shook her head.

  He set his hands on her arms. “You look as if you’re going to cry.” His mouth turned down. “Has something upset you?”

  “No.”

  “Sarah.” The tender way he said her name nearly undid her. “Please tell me what’s happened.”

  “I’m not upset,” she said. “I swear to you. This is one of those odd moments of tears arising from . . . happiness, relief, likely a little exhaustion.”

  “I know perfectly well why you’re exhausted, and I can guess the reason you’re feeling relieved.” He smiled, his hands sliding down her arms and wrapping around hers. “I would dearly love to know what has made you happy.”

  “You gave me flowers.” Her heart lodged firmly in her throat, thickened with joy and amazement. “Just as you used to.”

  “I wish I could have sent you flowers while you were in America. I wish—” He closed his eyes. “I wish a lot of things, Sarah.”

  Emotion bubbled inside. This was the Harold she longed for. The real him. The Harold she had loved and missed.

  He kissed her hand just as he had the night before. Her heart fluttered again, even as tears pooled anew.

  “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

  “And I’ve missed you.” He spoke as quietly as she had. “The heavens know I’ve missed you.”

  She swallowed back her emotions and offered a smile. “I’m no longer confined to a dim corner of Sarvol House. We should be seeing a lot of each other.”

  His smile grew as well. He had always had a beautiful smile, though it had become a rare sight. “I would like that very much, indeed, Sarah Sarvol.”

  Her heart pounded, telling her in no uncertain terms that it was beginning to grow attached to him again.

  “For now, though, we should likely join the rest of the family,” he said. With a formality that, at last, did not grate nor frustrate, he offered her his arm. “My brothers tend to grow very protective of any ladies who enter the sphere of the family.”

  She tucked her arm around his. “And your sisters-in-law? Do they grow protective as well?”

  “They mostly grow terrifying.”

  They walked from the conservatory, neither saying anything of significance, yet something significant between them had changed. Harold was coming back to the person he’d once been. She was relaxing the defensive position she’d tucked herself into since arriving in the neighborhood. Finally, they were seeing each other without masks, without walls. Where there had been little but heartache and regret, she could now see wonderful possibilities.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Harold held Sarah’s arm all the way back to the drawing room. He’d have continued doing so, but she’d slipped free as they’d stepped inside and had crossed to Mater. When he’d first seen her in this very room a few months earlier, he’d been panicky, wishing for nothing short of escape. Now having her nearby brought him greater peace and happiness than any other person. He could not imagine not having her in his life.

  Beck, the Lampton Park butler, stepped inside, saying something quietly to Philip before the both of them stepped out again. Fennel noticed the departure and moved to sit by Sorrel.

  Harold took a seat in a vacant armchair. His eyes wandered, as they often did when in this room, to the family portrait above the fireplace.

  Father, I wish you could see this family now. He would have loved being surrounded by his grandchildren. He would have cherished his daughters-in-law. And there was no doubt in Harold’s mind he would have treasured Mater’s company as deeply as he always had. If only he were here.

  Stanley and Marjie sat on a nearby sofa, his arm around her. He pressed a light kiss to the top of her head. Harold hoped they truly were working through their difficulties. He knew how very much they loved each other. After all the sorrows they’d passed through, those two deserved their “happy ever after.”

  Across the way, Sarah brought Mater a throw, tucking it around her and little Alice, who sat on her lap. Mater smiled a thank you. Having Sarah at the dower house would be good for Mater. Being there would be good for Sarah.

  The Jonquil family was not without worries. Harold knew with certainty they had difficult times ahead, but he felt hopeful.

  A footman stepped inside and crossed to Harold. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Jonquil. Lord Lampton has requested that you and Miss Sarvol join him in the servants’ dining hall.”

  “The servants’ dining hall?” An odd place for Philip to have gone.

  The footman nodded. “You and Miss Sarvol.”

  Harold rose, thanking him for delivering the message, then crossed to Sarah, who stood near Mater. “Philip has asked you and me to join him in the servants’ dining hall.”

  She looked as confused by the request as he felt. He offered his arm, and she accepted. They walked together into the corridor.

  “I can’t decide if we’re about to discover something is horribly wrong or that Philip is up to some mischief or another,” Sarah said.

  Harold grinned. “With him, one never knows.”

  Philip was not alone in the dining hall. Everything about their attire and posture identified the others as servants, yet Harold didn’t recognize any of them.

  “Janey? William?” Sarah eyed the others in the gathering with surprise. “Why are all of you here?”

  Philip answered. “Your escape has been discovered, and your uncle is furious. He has begun dismissing anyone he thinks was involved.”

  Sarah paled. “Have all of you lost your positions?”

  Ah. These were Sarvol House servants. Good heavens. There must have been fifteen people in the room.

  “We have, Miss Sarvol,” one of the women said.

  “But none of you was involved in my leaving.”

  “Don’t matter. He won’t listen to anyone trying to tell him they’re innocent. Insists you couldn’t’ve left without help.”

  “She did have help,” Harold said, “but not from any of you.”

  One of the men, dressed like he plied his trade in the stables, spoke up. “Young Mr. Sarvol told him as much, but it didn’t do any good. The master’s dismissing anyone who crosses his path. There’ll be more.”

  Sarah took a shaky breath. “I was so afraid this would happen. No matter how careful we were not to involve any of you, he is punishing you anyway.”

  Philip caught Harold’s eye. “I’m willing to tell him I was part of this, but I suspect he won’t be satisfied unless we tell him how we got her out right under his nose.”

  There was a great deal of warning in his tone. “I am not afraid of Mr. Sarvol’s disapproval.”

  Philip shook his head. “If you make known our methods, all the parish will learn about your . . . pastime. Seeing as you haven’t yet shared it with anyone beyond the family, I thought perhaps it was something you preferred not be widely known.”

  He was not wrong. “I have been very careful not to share this oddity in me, and I cannot pretend it wouldn’t complicate how I am viewed as the vicar. But Mr. Sarvol will never believe the staff was not involved unless he knows how we managed it.” He turned to the gathering. “If we explain what happened, showing that you weren’t involved, would he change his mind?”

  The stable hand shrugged. “Might.”

  Harold looked to Sarah and lowered his voice. “Explaining all of this means people will know you climbed out a window. There are certainly some who
will disapprove.”

  She actually laughed. “I am the mad American who bested the blacksmith. No one will be the least bit shocked.”

  Harold nodded and met Philip’s eye once more. “I’ll not let these good people suffer simply because it might save me a bit of embarrassment. Let’s go speak with Mr. Sarvol and explain to him what truly happened.”

  “Mrs. Beck.” Philip addressed the Lampton Park housekeeper. “Will you please see to it these men and women are fed? I will return shortly.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Philip led the way out. Harold and Sarah followed.

  “I have every intention of coming with you,” Sarah said, “so don’t bother wasting your breath arguing with me about it.”

  “He will likely be unkind,” Philip warned.

  “I would likely not recognize him otherwise.”

  That earned a laugh from Harold’s oldest brother. Philip swung his quizzing glass about on its ribbon, shaking his head in amusement. “I do like you, Sarah Sarvol.”

  “So do I,” Harold said.

  Sarah beamed. She ought always to look so happy. She deserved to be.

  Layton stood in the front entrance when they reached it.

  Philip hooked an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You’ve discovered the plight of the Sarvol House staff, have guessed our destination, and intend to join the effort.”

  Layton answered with a single crisp nod.

  Philip sighed dramatically. “Your jacket clashes with mine, but I suppose I can endure that.”

  “Shall I ask Wilson for advice on my ‘confront my father-in-law’ attire?” Layton asked dryly.

  Philip pursed his lips and shook his head. “Wilson is unfailingly loyal to me. He won’t lend his genius to just anyone.”

  Layton shrugged. “Then I suppose I’ll have to beard the dragon dressed as I am.”

  “Are they always this ridiculous?” Sarah asked with a laugh in her voice.

  “They have not even begun to be ridiculous.”

  Philip managed to keep the tone among them jovial all the way to Sarvol House. Though his dandified manners had always pricked at Jason, even that brother had come to appreciate Philip’s ability to lighten a tense situation. And more and more of Philip’s responsible and dependable nature peeked through the layer of frivolity.