The Vicar's Daughter

by Josi S. Kilpack

  The resolve she built up lasted until she stepped into the parlor and met Evan’s eyes across the room. Her feet stopped and her heart rate increased. What was wrong with her?

  Papa was telling Mr. Glenside about the ruins located south of the village, so Cassie forced her eyes away and took a seat beside Mama on the settee. Lenora sat in a chair beside Evan with a nervous but satisfied expression on her face that pricked Cassie’s heart. Anyone who knew Lenora could see the pride in her eyes and contentment in her smile. What had Evan thought of their time together? Was he as satisfied as Lenora?

  “Cassie has made several drawings of the ruins,” Papa said, bringing her into the conversation. “Where is your sketchbook?”

  “Uh, I left it upstairs.” She began to stand, grateful for the chance of escape. “Would you like me to get it?” She could take her time and say she hadn’t found it right away. It wouldn’t be difficult to spend several minutes on her pretend hunt for the book, thus reducing the time she would have to spend in Evan’s company.

  Papa waved her back to her seat. “No matter, perhaps next time.”

  “Or perhaps you and Lenora might ride out to the ruins and see it for yourself, Mr. Glenside,” Mama said with a sweet smile. “Lenora is an excellent horsewoman.”

  Lenora ducked her chin like a child who was to be seen and not heard. Cassie was embarrassed for Lenora’s sake that she couldn’t talk with this man. She wondered again what the drive had been like.

  “Lenora is an excellent horsewoman,” Cassie confirmed, trying to spur her sister into conversation. She felt Evan’s eyes move to her, but she kept her own gaze on Lenora. “Tell him of our favorite trail, Lenora.”

  Lenora looked confused, her eyebrows pulled together as though she didn’t know what Cassie was talking about.

  “The one through Brewster Wood,” Cassie prompted.

  “Oh, yes!” Lenora smiled, but then lifted her cup and took a sip of tea.

  “Brewster Wood?” Evan repeated.

  Cassie waited for Lenora to speak, but she didn’t. Instead she cast an imploring look at Cassie, who had no choice but to make up for the silence. She looked at Evan, who was watching her intently, and felt his gaze like a breeze.

  “Brewster Wood is located on the western edge of the village, and spans nearly four miles. There is a lovely footpath that follows the riverside, and there are places where the river is shallow and still enough that the horses will walk right up the center of it. The only thing you can hear is the chime of the water and splash of the hooves and you feel as though you are the only person in all the world. On a warm summer day, the coolness of the water meets the heat of the day with a perfect temperature that feels like cream against your skin.”

  A silence followed her words. Evan did not blink. He stared at her and she could not look away from him.

  “What a poetic description,” he finally said.

  “Yes,” Mama echoed, watching Cassie with an unreadable expression. “Poetic indeed.”

  Cassie turned her attention to her cup and followed Lenora’s example by taking a sip of the tea, which was too hot. She gasped slightly. Evan was still watching her, and she looked up to meet his worried expression. She gave him a slight smile to let him know she was all right, and he smiled back.

  “Cassie is the most artistic of our girls,” Papa said. “Drawing and painting mostly, though she has always had a way with words, as demonstrated, a bit dramatically perhaps, but it is a lovely pathway through Brewster Wood all the same.”

  Cassie felt her cheeks turn hot at Papa minimizing her artistic qualities.

  “Lenora’s gifts are with music,” Mama interjected. “But then you have heard her play.”

  “Indeed,” Evan said. “She is marvelous.”

  Cassie felt the green vapor of envy rise up in her at such a high compliment. No one diminished Lenora’s accomplishments. Cassie took another sip of the too-hot tea, wishing it would injure her enough that she might have reason to leave.

  Mama straightened as though the praise had been for her. “Marvelous is a very apt description of our Lenora’s talent. Are you musical, Mr. Glenside?”

  “I’m afraid not,” he said, a note of caution in his voice that Cassie felt sure only she could hear. Cassie knew from his letters he was insecure about his upbringing. So did Lenora, yet she showed no sign of coming to Evan’s rescue.

  “You will make a wonderful student, then,” Cassie said. “Lenora is not only a talented musician but she also teaches music lessons and pianoforte. If you’ve ever wanted to learn more of the subject, you could not have a better tutor than Lenora.”

  Evan met her eyes. Cassie found herself sinking into their blue depths again. He did not blink. She forced her gaze away, and after a moment Papa asked after Evan’s uncle, expressing how much he had enjoyed their dinner party together.

  Cassie focused on her breathing and took a bite of shortbread. In her head she counted slowly to keep herself calm. When she got to seventy-five, she turned to Mama. “I am sorry to be poor company,” she said, “but might I be excused? I’m afraid I feel a bit peaked.” She avoided Evan’s eyes though she could feel them on her.

  Mama did not argue. “Then you must lie down with a cloth over your eyes. Call for Young. I shall look in on you later.”

  Cassie nodded, fearing that the reason Mama was allowing her to leave was because she sensed the connection between her and Evan. When Cassie stood, Evan and Papa did as well. She gave a quick curtsy and then hurried up the stairs to her room.

  She closed the door behind her, pressing her back against the wood and raising both hands to her face as though she could hide from the world. Apparently Lenora had enjoyed her drive with Evan, but that did not make it any easier for Cassie to push aside her feelings for him. The ache she felt to converse with him, just with him, was sharp as pins. It was not right for her to feel this way; he was Lenora’s . . . beau. The term caused her to clench her jaw. Cassie had done this for Lenora and must stay that course, not indulge in the fantasy that had begun to overcome her.

  After taking adequate time to compose herself, Cassie took a breath, dropped her hands, and stared unseeingly out the window. If she truly hoped to rid herself of the attraction she felt for Evan—Mr. Glenside from now on—there were only two remedies: distance and time. She sighed and began to think of how she could build equal measure of both.

  “You’re committed,” Bunderson said with a nod and a wry grin from the other side of the table. “Your uncle’s exactly right about that. You have entertained Miss Lenora’s affections and—given your status and hers—I don’t see any way ’round it.”

  Evan slumped against the wood-backed chair of the pub. He had just come from tea at the vicarage. It was too early for drinks, and yet he had needed advice desperately enough to send a card around to his only friend in Leagrave. When they met at the pub, Evan confessed the whole of the “affair” for the second time in as many days and received an even worse reaction than he’d had from his uncle, which only depressed him further.

  “It was a handful of letters and a single country drive,” he argued. “Surely that is not enough to base a lifetime upon.”

  “My brother married a woman he danced with one time too many,” Bunderson said, nodding his commiseration as he turned his glass of ale on the table. “She was the niece of Mr. Crackage, visiting for the summer and pretty as they come. James was smitten with her enough that he asked her to the floor three times in a single evening. By the time the church bells rang the next morning, the town gossips had spread word that they were engaged.”

  Evan stared at Bunderson with a slack jaw. “And he married her?”

  Bunderson shrugged. “She was pretty and of a good family, and things turned out well enough. They seem as happy as any other married couple. He took a commission, you know, but he doesn’t seem to regret those thr
ee dances, or the three sons they’ve made together since then.” He winked.

  “I can’t imagine my life married to a woman who cannot speak to me,” Evan said.

  “She spoke to you,” Bunderson said, waving away Evan’s concern. “You said she asked you a dozen or more questions on your drive.”

  “But she didn’t care about the answers,” Evan said, trying to describe how he’d felt as he’d sat beside Lenora. She had felt like a stranger to him. “She didn’t ask for clarification or offer her own experience on a topic. It was as though she had a list of questions to ask but no idea what to do with the answers. When I asked her questions in return, she would answer with a smile or a nod or a simple yes or no. If I’m to pull no punches in my description, the drive was torturous. I don’t know when I have been more uncomfortable, and that is saying something since I have found myself in one uncomfortable place after another ever since I arrived in Leagrave.” He doubted his relationship with Bunderson warranted the burden he was placing on his new friend’s shoulders, but he couldn’t seem to help but unload his troubles. And he had spoken the truth.

  “But she did answer the questions,” Bunderson pointed out. “And you said you were taken with the love notes the two of you have been sharing. There’s hope in that connection for the future—more hope than three dances at a country ball, I wager.”

  “A future I must share with her?” The edge in Evan’s voice was sharp as a knife. He felt tricked and betrayed, and yet was it reasonable for him to feel that way? He had been a participant, not coerced into the connection he’d made. And the woman on the page was intriguing. Only . . .

  “I don’t make the rules, Glenside,” Bunderson said, leaning back in his chair. “But we all dance to the tune of them. You’re no different than any of the rest of us any longer.”

  Except that I didn’t fully understand the rules of the game, Evan thought to himself. Protests would get him nowhere, however. “There really is no way around it?” Uncle had made it seem that Evan could ride out with Miss Lenora and use that visit as a point of measure. But Mr. and Mrs. Wilton’s obvious expectations had created more insecurity in Evan. Enough that he needed a second opinion, which was not what he’d hoped it would be.

  “Well, you could stand down—you’ve made no official declaration. But you risk your reputation, to say nothing of hers, and the village will not look kindly on your behavior, especially if they learn the foundation you set with those letters.”

  “I can’t afford to alienate the entire village,” Evan mused aloud. He thought about what he’d heard Mrs. Wilton tell her daughter before the drive, about how pleased they were about the match. It didn’t appear that Miss Wilton had many opportunities to choose from. “And I would hate to damage Miss Wilton in any way. I bear her no ill will.”

  “Then you must be the hero and do right by her,” Bunderson said as easily as he would order another round of drinks. “And do try to have confidence in the match.” He leaned forward, his expression more serious. “My mother has always told us that a good marriage is equal parts choosing a good partner and being a good partner. Simplistic, I know, but you have both aspects in your favor. Miss Lenora is a good enough woman and you’re a good enough man to make a success of this thing. That she doesn’t send your heart racing or astound you with diverting conversation now does not mean she won’t do so later.”

  It was surprisingly heavy wisdom from a young man whom Evan suspected did not often think all that deeply about anything. Which made Evan wonder why he had asked Bunderson’s advice in the first place. Yet who else could he have asked? The fact that Bunderson echoed what Uncle had said, and then some, could not be ignored. Evan couldn’t disregard the opinion of two men from two different perspectives and situations. But their answers did not sit well with him. He did not feel the rightness of this course.

  Evan closed his eyes and allowed the regret to bury him alive for exactly four seconds. Then he began to dig himself out, one fistful at a time. He had always been a practical sort of man, not steeped in emotion or romantic notion. For many years he had wondered if he would ever marry; his mother and sisters were so dependent upon him that he doubted his ability to care for them and a family of his own. But his situation had changed now. He could marry, and, from a logical point of view, Miss Lenora was a fine woman who would make a fine wife. She was not a gifted conversationalist and her anxiety was extreme, but there was more to her than that—he knew it from her letters. And she came from a good family who was accepting of him. Many men would wish for his place.

  The face and figure of Cassie Wilton came unbidden to Evan’s mind, and he shifted awkwardly in his chair. He enjoyed her company very much, and her skill at conversation and . . . Well, it was not hard to list Cassie’s good qualities. But thinking of her at all made him a cad. Hopefully once Lenora was more comfortable around him, she would behave more like her sister—with ease and humor. But the drive had not proved such a thing, and seemed to have sealed his fate rather than provided an opportunity for a more informed choice.

  But this was not his uncle’s fault for advising him, or Bunderson’s for confirming Uncle’s concerns. Evan had replied to that first letter of his own will, and though some part of him wanted to feel as though Miss Wilton had trapped him, it only took picturing her guileless face to know that was unfair. He believed that she had acted in a way she felt was best, with sincere intent. She was simply as ignorant as he was in how it would be perceived by others. Certainly she’d be embarrassed if she knew the predicament her innocent letters had put him in, and he cared enough about her to want to protect her from any shame she would feel.

  “Have I convinced you?”

  Evan looked at Bunderson with a tinge of misgiving. Bunderson spoke as though he had something to gain from Evan seeing things his way, but he was smiling with such an easy look on his face that Evan ignored his misgiving. It was the circumstance that had him confused and contrary. Nothing more. Honestly, so much thought and consideration was exhausting. Maybe it was better to be done with the pursuit of a wife before he got any further in. If one woman could cause so much trouble, what would exploring a second or third option do to his befuddled mind?

  “I suppose you have convinced me of my own folly and reminded me of my duty,” Evan said. “And that I could certainly do worse.”

  Bunderson lifted his glass. “Indeed you could,” he said with a laugh, then raised his glass an inch higher. “To you, Glenside. May you find a lifetime of happiness with Miss Lenora Wilton so that one day we shall share another drink and laugh at the reluctance you felt today.”

  Evan lifted his glass and tapped it against Bunderson’s, resolved to make the toast a prophecy. Regret for what could have been had never served him in the past and certainly would not serve him now. Instead of allowing this to weigh him down, he would embrace what was and what would be.

  “Here, here,” he said, then finished his drink in a single swallow that would have made his uncle proud.

  The evening of Lenora’s ride with Evan, Cassie stood outside the parlor door and took a calming breath. She had not joined the family for dinner, claiming a headache. Lenora was playing one of the Schubert pieces Aunt Gwen had sent two weeks ago; the sound filled the house entirely. Cassie knew that Papa would be reviewing Sunday’s sermon in the parlor while Mama knitted or sewed. It was how they spent every evening at home, and though Cassie had often found the quiet evenings rather dull, she hoped she would miss them soon enough.

  Bletchley was only twenty miles away, after all, and it was her idea to leave. Cassie entered the parlor and stood just inside the doorway as all three sets of eyes came to rest upon her. Lenora stopped playing.

  “Cassie,” Mama said, setting down her sewing and rising from her place. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes.”

  Mama crossed to her and placed her cool fingers against Cassie’s forehea
d, then her cheek. Cassie was grateful for the sincere sympathy she saw in her mother’s eyes and allowed it to fuel her motivation. Perhaps Mama did not suspect anything untoward after all. That made leaving an even sweeter prospect for Cassie, as then she could protect her mother from learning the truth of her deception. Cassie smiled at Lenora.

  “Do not let me interrupt. The piece is sounding very well,” she said with complete sincerity.

  Lenora smiled and went back to playing the same line she’d been practicing when Cassie stood outside the door. She would often play the same line over and over, experimenting with different emphasis and pacing. The family was used to the redundancy, and tonight Cassie was grateful for it as Lenora’s focus would afford her some privacy.

  She looked at Mama, then glanced at her father. “I would like to speak with you and Papa, if you have a moment.”

  “Certainly,” Mama said, ushering Cassie to the settee. She sat beside Cassie, then lifted her eyebrows expectantly.

  “I wonder if I might visit with Mary for a time, now that the social is finished. I haven’t seen her in ages, and what with a new baby on the way, she could surely use an extra set of hands about the place to make ready.”

  “Is she ill?” Papa asked, glancing up from his papers to look at Mama. “Has she asked for help?”

  Mama shook her head. “Not that I’m aware. Mary is particularly hardy with her confinements. Has she asked you to come, Cassie?”

  “Not exactly,” Cassie admitted slowly. “She did tell me at Christmas that I was welcome for a visit whenever it suited me, though that was before she was in the family way again.”

  “I’m not sure where you would stay,” Mama said, her brow puckered. “The rooms are full of children, and she is not due until November.”