by Aileen Fish
“Are you not finding anything to your liking?”
“I have read many of these. Father has been generous in sharing his books with me.”
He noticed the book in her hand had a Greek title. “Do you read Greek?”
She turned her head far enough his way that he could see her face behind the broad brim of her bonnet. “As I said, father was generous with his books.”
Her smile was merely polite, and Neil had to remind himself she didn’t consider him a friend. He was the annoying nephew of the man from whom her father was given his living. Neil could quite possibly become a complete, pestering nuisance and she would remain polite. Her good manners required it, and so did her livelihood, on the chance he might complain to Bridgethorpe about her behavior.
Neil’s shoulders sagged. That knowledge removed all the enjoyment from encouraging her into witty banter. She was capable of matching him point for point, but he knew she wouldn’t engage no matter how hard he pushed.
The more time he spent with her, the more he noticed her finer qualities, such as her education, which led to his wanting even more. How sad he would never be able to know her beyond the formal, polite persona she portrayed.
Neil studied the cards he’d been dealt as he sat in the card room of Boodle’s gentlemen’s club in London. His two cards added up to nineteen, so the chances were small of anyone else at the table getting closer to twenty-one.
The odds were much better than those against him being able to forget Miss Cookson any time soon. Even the pips on the nine card in his hand kept blurring and resembling the freckles across the lady’s nose.
In the two weeks since he’d seen her, he’d taken his curricle out to Richmond Park in Surrey to outrun the visions of the vicar’s daughter as she stood waiting for her turn to dance, or laughing with Neil’s cousins as they talked. His horses couldn’t run fast enough.
Neil lost more than he won in the card room, a result of being unable to concentrate on the game at hand. He’d taken to limiting his time there, to keep from needed an advance on his quarterly allowance.
The final straw came when he grabbed the arm of a young woman as she entered a linen drapers’ shop. “Miss Cookson, I am overjoyed to see you!”
The woman in question was not Miss Cookson, as he should have known, had he been thinking clearly, and she was quite put out at his assault on her person. Her husband, who’d witnessed the incident from the street beside their carriage, was even more so, and gave Neil a black eye to express his feelings.
Pressing his fingertips to the tender flesh below his left eye, Neil groaned when another player revealed the ace dealt upon his ten. Slapping his own cards onto the felt tabletop, Neil shoved away from the table. The time had come to put an end to his woolgathering once and for all.
Chapter Eight
The weeks after the Lumley wedding passed quickly for Rebecca. She tucked away the few happy memories of dancing with Mr. Harrow, settling into her normal routine of calling upon neighbors and helping Father write his sermons. She found the latter rather comforting at times, finding ways to chastise those who spoke ill of her without having to confront them. She would then ask God for forgiveness, but Father agreed there was a need to point out parishioners’ weaknesses and remind them to seek help with the problems.
She was just writing the final words for the next Sunday’s service when a knock came at the front door.
A moment later her housekeeper, Mrs. Lewis, announced Rebecca’s caller. “It’s Lady Hannah, miss.”
“Show her into the drawing room, please.” Rebecca assumed her friend was saying goodbye before she left for her London Season. Always glad to see Lady Hannah, Rebecca hurried to join her.
“The twins send their love. They went to call on Mary Kingston.” Lady Hannah exhaled in a melodramatic sigh. “I wish the reverend would allow you to go with me to London.”
Rebecca had wished for the same thing, once upon a time, but it no longer held importance to her. She was comfortable in the quiet nature of her life now, but she knew Lady Hannah thought every woman should marry. “Perhaps when I marry, my husband will take me there on our wedding trip. I would love to see the ocean, too.” It was easy to placate her friend, and while it was not her dream, it wasn’t an outright lie to suggest such a thing.
Lady Hannah’s eyelids widened for a moment in surprise, but she quickly schooled herself. “Forgive me. For a moment, when you mentioned husband, I thought you had news…”
Shaking her head, Rebecca pushed a loose pin back into her hair. “You know me too well to think I could withhold such news from you. You will go to Town and write to me of all the gentlemen you meet. Do you think you will see Lord Delafield again? I was certain he would ask for your hand last year.”
Lady Hannah’s smile and lowered lids concealed some sort of secret. “I might have hinted that I wished to enjoy another season before I marry.”
Rebecca gasped. “Then he did speak to you of marriage! Why didn’t you say so in your letters? Or in all the visits we’ve had since?”
“The subject of marriage hadn’t actually come up with Delafield. But he did mention growing tired of the city, and how he wouldn’t mind staying at his country house this spring.”
Mrs. Lewis brought in a tray with tea and poppy seed cakes. Rebecca served the refreshments as they talked. “If you are certain you wish to marry him, why do you wait to accept his offer?”
“He didn’t actually offer. He is handsome enough, and interesting to speak to, but my attraction to him wasn’t greater than my excitement to return for another Season.” She took a sip of her tea. “I hate to go on about how entertaining it is, knowing you cannot join me.”
Rebecca patted her arm. “If you don’t share it with me, I will never experience it. I don’t begrudge you the chance to go and enjoy yourself.”
“I will be seeing my cousin there, Mr. Harrow. Is there any message you wish me to take to him?”
Sitting back in her chair, Rebecca waited for the fluttering of her heart to pass. Mr. Harrow likely had no thoughts of her once he left the village, so there was no reason to remind him of her. “Don’t be silly. What would I have to say to him?”
“I thought there was something between you. Rather, I hoped it. I would love nothing more than to see you happily married. He’s a good man, even if he does seem a bit frivolous.”
“He’s very sweet, but you know my father would never approve of him.” Father would never approve of any man, she feared. He had reasons for his distrust, but because of it, Rebecca had given up hope of ever marrying.
Just over a year ago, Rebecca had confronted Father about how she would live once he died. He’d begun his argument stating he had no plans of dying soon, tossed about his occasional threat of marriage to an elderly parson from a nearby village, and finally mumbled conciliatory phrases of reviewing the situation in another ten years.
Shaking her head, Lady Hannah asked, “What more could the reverend hope for? Neil is the nephew of an earl, and likely to desire a home nearby, as he has family here. He doesn’t drink excessively or gamble, and I am certain he was fond of you.”
“I don’t know if any man will please father. I am grateful he hasn’t insisted I marry Parson Bilford.”
Lady Hannah shuddered. “Oh, that man! It isn’t kind to speak ill of a man of the cloth, but he is older than your father and so uncouth. He needs a wife to make him more presentable, but it cannot be you who is sacrificed in such a role.”
“Shhh, the reverend will hear you.” Rebecca tried hard not to laugh.
Another knock rang out. Lady Hannah glanced toward the doorway. “That will be my sisters. I will write when I get to the London house and see if you’ve changed your mind about my passing along a message.”
Mrs. Lewis stepped inside the drawing room. “Mr. Harrow is here to see you, miss.”
Both girls gasped and looked at each other. Lady Hannah bounced to her feet. “Didn’t I tell you there
was an affection between you, at least on his part? He must have something important to say to you. How will you answer? Do you care for him? Oh, you don’t want me here when you see him. I should be on my way.”
“No,” Rebecca whispered, panic making her limbs tremble. “You must stay so Father won’t have any objections to his calling on me.”
“Very well. But I will sit over here by the fire so you may have some privacy.” Lady Hannah picked up her reticule and scooted to the far side of the room where she sat and opened the bible lying on a side table.
The last thing Rebecca wanted was to be private with Mr. Harrow. Why had he come back? This could only cause more distress on her father’s part. She motioned for Mrs. Lewis to bring him in, and took several deep breaths. “How do you do, Mr. Harrow? As you see, I am enjoying a visit with your cousin.”
He hesitated a step, his smile faltering. “Ah, Lady Hannah. I…was on my way to Bridgethorpe Manor. I shall escort you there when you are ready.”
Lady Hannah lifted her gaze. “That is very kind of you, cousin.” Turning a page, she returned to the bible.
Rebecca clasped her hands together to hide the tremors as she sat in her favorite chair. Far from her usual exasperation at the sight of this man, the excitement inside her swelled to a point she thought she would burst. “Won’t you sit down?”
He did so, then jumped up again to pace. When he paused at the window to stare out, Rebecca stole a glance at Lady Hannah. Her friend waved a hand, encouraging her to do something, but Rebecca wasn’t certain what. She cleared her throat softly, to allow some air past the constriction there. “What brings you back to our village? I hope all is well with your family.”
He twisted to look at her. “Why, yes, they are well, thank you. And you—I see you are well, but is your father also?”
She smiled. This would be the longest few minutes of her life if this kept up. She continued with the small talk, hoping he would explain himself before her father heard his voice and came to investigate.
When fifteen or twenty minutes had passed and they’d discussed the weather, the health of everyone in the village, and Mr. Harrow’s new curricle, he studied Lady Hannah for a moment. “We should be on our way.”
Disappointment battled with curiosity, but Rebecca couldn’t blurt out her questions without sounding forward or impolite. She rose and smoothed the creases in her gown. “I am pleased you stopped by, Mr. Harrow. Lady Hannah, write me when you are settled in London and tell me all about your new gowns.”
Her friend hugged her tightly. “I will. You needn’t wait that long to write me.” Lady Hannah winked and walked past her cousin toward the front of the house.
Mr. Harrow stepped closer to Rebecca, hesitating, and kept his voice low. “Do you suppose the reverend would allow me to call on you again?”
Rebecca’s heart jumped, then stopped beating entirely as she held her breath. He could only mean one thing. Her mouth went dry. What would Father say? She knew the answer, but suddenly it no longer mattered to her. She would insist on being permitted to see Mr. Harrow. “I will tell him we’re expecting you.”
His smile lit the room and woke butterflies inside her. His eyes, the blue of a winter storm, caught her gaze. “I shall come tomorrow.” His gait as he left was much surer than when he entered.
Rebecca continued to stare at the empty doorway long after she heard the closing of the door and the sound of heels on the steppingstones outside. Mr. Harrow had come back for her. And he seemed willing to face her father. That made him very unlike the man whose name she could no longer speak in this house.
When her senses came to her, she went to her father’s study where he was engrossed in a book. He looked up as she entered. “You had visitors?”
“Yes, Lady Hannah came to say goodbye. Her cousin, Mr. Harrow was with her.”
His right eyebrow quivered as if it was going to lift, but he hated any expression that bordered on arrogance and it soon stilled. “I understood he was away.”
“He has returned to visit his family.” Her heart beat faster and she drew in a breath to calm herself. The milk in the tea she’d drunk was beginning to curdle in her stomach. “He asked if he could call tomorrow.”
Father was quiet for so long she gave up hope. Just when she was ready to rise and leave the room, he nodded. “And what did you say?”
“I told him I would tell you we’re expecting him.”
He swallowed, then wiped his hand across his mouth, his fingers making a rasping sound against his whiskers. He seemed contemplative, but his face showed no discernable expression of what he was thinking.
Rebecca’s stomach knotted and twisted. These past few weeks she had put Mr. Harrow from her thoughts, and her life had been fine without him. If he’d returned only to be sent away by her father, she didn’t think she could bear it. Her heart would shatter.
“Is this what you desire?”
Her eyes jerked to meet his. “Yes, Father. I believe he is a good man. He’s not like Mr. Rory Calhoon. It would mean a lot to me if you allowed me to know him better.”
Father’s brows drew together at the mention of that name. He nodded once, sharply. “Then I shall welcome his visits.”
She clenched her hands in her lap, aching clear down to her toes that her mother couldn’t be here to share this joy. Mama would give her the hug she needed so desperately. Father was not a demonstrative man, however. He had already returned to his book. Rebecca rose. “Thank you, sir.”
Maintaining a graceful step while wanting to jump for joy, Rebecca left the room.
Chapter Nine
The next day, as he waited in the drawing room of the vicar’s cottage for Miss Cookson to appear, the constant chatter from Neil’s cousins had him on edge. Trey and Sam were good sports to join Neil, Lady Patience and Lady Madeleine in their morning call at the vicar’s cottage. The two young men stood behind the settee where the girls perched, deep in their giggles. The discomfort on the men’s faces matched what Neil felt as sweat trickled down his spine.
A part of him longed to run out the door and all the way back to London. How had he veered so far from his bachelor rooms in the Albany and a racy curricle? There was no sense or reason to any of his actions. He’d been safe in Town, his heart and his time his own.
Neil chuckled softly to himself. This madness had eaten at him, stealing his sleep. There was no cure for it other than to revisit his acquaintance with her and see if his fascination was something more.
Miss Cookson entered the room in a lavender-scented flurry. “Forgive me for keeping you all waiting. Shall I call for some tea?”
Bowing in greeting, Neil said, “It is a lovely day. We thought you might enjoy a walk with us. The girls wish to shop for new ribbons.”
“I shall gather my Spencer and reticule, then.”
In no time they were strolling down the lane in pairs, the girls in front and the young men behind Neil and Miss Cookson. He was grateful his cousins lagged enough to allow him to pretend some semblance of privacy.
Miss Cookson held her reticule with both hands in front of her as she walked. “Was London not what you expected? I’m surprised that you left so soon.”
He tugged at the hem of his waistcoat, which suddenly seemed ill fitting. “Mayhap I didn’t stay long enough for its charm to become apparent. I…found myself longing for tree-lined lanes and open spaces.”
“I understood there to be several parks you could have ridden to.”
Was she pushing for the real reason for his return? Surely she must guess it. He wasn’t ready to declare himself. Wasn’t certain how to proceed. For that matter, he wasn’t even certain he was courting her, or if they were still treading some earlier stage of getting to know each other. He had so many questions he had no right to ask. He waited for her to glance his way and offered her a wink. “I wouldn’t have found what I was looking for in those parks.”
Her cheeks blossomed in a deep pink and she lowered her eyes. �
��I am happy you are here.”
Her words emboldened him. “Did your father have any concerns?”
“He will always worry about me, but he said he would allow you to call.”
What would his own parents say to a match such as this? Neil could imagine it. Mother’s darling boy and the vicar’s daughter. Hopefully, with the support of Lord and Lady Bridgethorpe, his parents would be pleased. They couldn’t find a more polite, considerate young lady. She had no bad qualities they could object to.
Lady Patience turned on her heel and walked backwards, facing them. “Please, may we go to Palmer’s and look at ribbon now?”
“Yes, please?” echoed her twin.
“I think that’s a lovely idea,” Miss Cookson said.
Palmer’s was located just off the town square. While the ladies busied themselves with their study of the notions on display, Trey and Sam waited outside. Neil wandered and browsed the shelves, but was more interested in watching Miss Cookson. Her selections were very practical, very deliberate, while the twins wanted to examine every lace and ribbon.
A weathered voice pulled him from his reverie. “Mr. Harrow, what a pleasant surprise to find you shopping in our little village.” Mrs. Benjamin clutched the points of her heavy wool shawl with one hand while holding her shopping basket with the other.
He clenched his jaw, but smiled at the white-haired widow. “Good day. I have joined my cousins in an outing.”
“How lovely. I see Miss Cookson has also come shopping.”
“Yes, we called on her on our way into the village.”
“It is good of you to do so. She is such a delightful young lady.” The woman leaned close. “She doesn’t deserve what is said about her, you know. It is not what it seemed.”
Neil had yet to hear any unkind words actually spoken against her, and wondered what the incident was that had caused an entire village to avoid her. There were few things he could think of that would keep all the younger men from even speaking to her. One would think if she’d been compromised, her father would have removed them to another parish where the scandal had been unknown.
