The Vicar's Daughter

by Josi S. Kilpack

  If Cassie had known of his invitation to tea, she would have avoided being home in time to join. Or would she? She felt warm and comfortable in his presence, and she could not avoid him forever, though she had tried her best during the last two weeks. “You may certainly walk me the rest of the way home, Mr. Glenside.”

  He held her eyes—was it a moment longer than was required of such a meeting? She faced forward and took a breath to calm herself.

  “You have been to a shop?” he asked, nodding toward the parcel she held by the string. “May I carry it for you?”

  She smiled and handed over the parcel, which he tucked beneath his arm. He had not offered his other arm to Cassie, and she was glad for that, even though part of her wished he had. What would it feel like to walk so close to him? Oh, she was wicked for wanting it and moved to the side so there was even more distance between them.

  “Mama is making herself a new dress for the wedding—that parcel is the silk she will use. She is a talented seamstress, and as the other wedding clothes have been hired out, she can focus on her own.”

  “I’ve no doubt she is very talented,” Mr. Glenside said. “I have heard much of the Wilton girls’ talents during my time in Leagrave, and I have been able to see for myself the extent of their charms.” He glanced at her, and her cheeks filled with fire. That her reaction caused him to smile too set her quickly at ease. How was it possible for her to feel both so bad and so good in his proximity?

  “You have a lovely horse,” Cassie said, needing to change the subject but hoping he would keep talking. The compliment made his smile even wider and revealed a dimple on one side of his mouth. Why must he be so handsome?

  “It was a gift from my uncle,” Mr. Glenside said, looking over his shoulder at the animal with obvious pride. “He keeps a very fine stable and, once I completed the training he set for me, let me have my choice.”

  “Training?” Cassie asked.

  Mr. Glenside explained about his uncle’s bargain: riding lessons in exchange for a woodworking room. “I admit I was avoiding the saddle before then, but I find it quite comfortable now. Not that I’m up for a race or anything like that.” He smiled at her, the dimple deepening. “I never thought I would own a horse. Do you ride?”

  “I adore riding,” Cassie said. “Especially in the rain.”

  Mr. Glenside laughed, and she wished she could capture the sound of it. “I have not yet ridden in the rain. It seems very uncomfortable.”

  “It is not.” Cassie glanced his way to see that he was interested in what she had to say. “For one thing, you will find yourself quite alone as most people don’t go out, but there’s a crispness to the air and a feeling of escape, I suppose. I’ve never actually tried to explain it, so perhaps that does not make sense.”

  “It makes enough sense for me to be intrigued. Perhaps I shall have to give it a try.”

  She wanted to invite herself to join him the next time the skies opened, but of course she could not. It was time for another change in the subject. “You said you are building a shop for your carpentry?”

  “Wood-work-ing-room,” Mr. Glenside said, enunciating each syllable. “My uncle gets very uncomfortable when I call it a shop.”

  Cassie laughed. “And you’ll use your father’s equipment?”

  He looked at her in surprise, and she realized belatedly that he’d never spoken of his father’s equipment, only written about it in his letters. Letters he knew she had been privy to because of her dishonest ways. Bringing up the letters made her feel conspicuous. She looked away, and they walked in silence a few steps before he spoke again. “I’ll pick up the items next time I go to London. I’m eager to improve my skills.”

  “What do you hope to build?” Cassie watched the ground so as not to look at him too much or too often.

  “Well, in the past I have created more functional things, like chairs and racks. Now, I suppose I can explore the art of it. Carving, perhaps, and artistic things like picture frames. I may need some lessons from an artist, however, for the design portions.”

  Cassie’s cheeks colored again from both the compliment and the idea of spending private time with Mr. Glenside. Yet such a dream could never happen. She merely smiled, unable to give any other reaction.

  “That reminds me,” he said. “I still have never seen your work.”

  “I’m sure there is no way you could avoid it much longer.” She meant it as a joke, but it soured on her lips. As Lenora’s husband, Mr. Glenside would most certainly see her artwork and any admiration he might have of it would be as that of her new brother-in-law. The thought depressed her, and she let out a heavy breath. The house was in view, and within it was his intended. Cassie’s sister.

  “Might your work be on display at the vicarage?” he asked.

  She could feel her steps slowing and noted that his were slowing as well. Finally they seemed to stop of one accord, though they were still some distance from the back door. She could feel him watching her, and the sensation was like drinking a cool glass of lemonade on a hot and humid day.

  “There are none which are properly framed,” she said. “Only pinned to the wall of my bedchamber.” What a child that made her seem. “But perhaps one day I might choose some of my finest works and show them to you.” The idea was temping, but also intimate. No one paid much mind to her artwork, not that she made a point of including anyone in her accomplishments, and the idea of showing Mr. Glenside her work and perhaps having him compliment it would be far too much.

  “I hope that you do.” He watched her intently. “And I wish that you would not discount your talent.”

  She breathed in his words, and though she knew the etiquette would be to duck her chin or brush off the compliment, she raised her chin instead. “Do you?” she said softly, in a tone as intent as his own. “I am not often singled out from my sisters.”

  His focus should make her feel unsettled—she needed distance—but instead she felt refreshed beneath his gaze. She could not help but wonder what he saw when he looked at her like that. The younger sister of his beloved? Or did he see a woman in her own right, with charm and character he could admire?

  “Ah, I think you quite stand out.” He started to smile and then seemed to catch himself. He took a step back and fidgeted with the reins he was holding. “Forgive me, Miss Cassandra. I . . . uh . . .”

  She stepped toward him. “Please don’t apologize,” she said quickly, placing a hand on his arm. “I am quite flattered to hear it. Truly.” She smiled so he would know she meant it, but her heart was racing.

  He looked into her face, and she sensed he was struggling with some internal battle. Some balance that had shifted perhaps. She dared think that maybe his affections were not so certain as everyone thought. But that would only create more complications. She looked at her hand on his arm and removed it, though she did not—could not—step away.

  “I admire you a great deal, Mr. Glenside,” she said, almost in a whisper as she looked at the toes of his boots. Her chest became hot. With warning? With encouragement?

  He was silent for a long moment. When she looked up, he opened his mouth to say something—perhaps something equally intimate and wholly inappropriate—when the creak of a hinge captured their attention. They both turned toward the door where Lenora stood on the back step.

  “Evan,” she said sweetly, coming into the yard while Cassie quickly stepped away from him. “You are early.” Her gaze flitted to Cassie, but only for a moment. “Cassie would be happy to take your horse to the stable, I’m sure.”

  Cassie looked at the ground as the guilt of the conversation she’d just shared with her sister’s fiancé descended. Had she truly wanted Mr. Glenside to share words of affection? What would that say of his character? What did it say of hers that she wanted something so much?

  “Certainly,” she said. She reached for the reins, and h
er hand brushed Mr. Glenside’s as she took the leather straps from him. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and once again she sensed he was troubled. By her? The idea both thrilled and terrified her. “I shall see he is cared for,” she said, then she dipped a quick curtsy and turned toward the stable.

  Cassie was at her dressing table, pinning up her hair and trying not to think of the time she’d spent with Mr. Glenside the day before. It had been such a simple thing, walking perhaps a quarter of a mile together toward the vicarage. But every word he’d spoken to her continued to float through her mind. Every smile she’d brought to his face and every glance she’d felt from him played over and over in her head. Her dreams had been full of him, except that her sleeping mind had not stayed confined to the facts of their exchange. Rather, her dreams had included her hand in his, his eyes gazing deeply into hers, his lips moving toward her own . . .

  She shook her head as her cheeks filled with heat, and she reminded herself, again, that Mr. Glenside would soon be her brother, the husband of her sister. Such thoughts—such dreams—were of the very worst sort. Not only were they sinful, they left her feeling perfectly wretched as they merely amplified what she could not have. Mr. Glenside belonged to Lenora. How many times would she have to tell herself that before she believed it?

  There was a tapping on her door and she bid the person to enter as she turned around. Young came in and closed the door behind her. The maid’s eyes were wide as she hurried across the room with a letter in her hand.

  “He delivered it to me himself, Miss. Right there in the yard.”

  Cassie took the note and saw her own name scrawled across the front in Mr. Glenside’s beautiful script. Her name. His hand. She caught her breath and stared until Young waved toward the letter, reminding her of the urgency.

  Miss Cassandra,

  I must speak to you right away. Please meet me in the glen behind the barn as soon as you can without alerting anyone to your errand.

  The note filled Cassie with a rush of excitement, and her fingers ­tingled where they touched the paper. Paper he had touched. Paper on which he had asked to see her. “He wants to speak with me.” She rose from the dressing table, turning to look at herself once more in the mirror. She should have worn the green dress that matched her eyes.

  “Alone, Miss?” Young asked.

  Cassie nodded, then held Young’s eyes, unable and unwilling to discuss the impropriety of it. She had no expectation of what Mr. Glenside might need to speak with her about—she dared not consider the possibilities—but she would not refuse his request. Could not. She strode past Young and then turned back with her hand on the door handle. “Please make excuses for me if anyone is to ask.”

  Young paused, but then nodded, visibly concerned. Cassie didn’t care. Her heart hummed in her chest, and her breathing quickened.

  Cassie ensured the hallway was empty before she made her way to the servants’ staircase that led her to the back of the house. Once in the yard, she looked around again to ensure she remained undiscovered, then lifted her skirts and fairly ran to the side of the barn hidden from the back windows. What could Evan want to speak with her about? A warning pulsed in her head, but appealing to her better judgment would override the need she felt to see him. And she needed to see him.

  The path on the west side of the barn was shielded by the yew trees that flanked the lane to the house. Once free of the yard, she took the path that rounded the back corner of the corral. She saw a flash of blue in the trees that surrounded the meadow where she had once left a basket of toffee for Mr. Glenside and felt her heart race even faster.

  Cassie took a deep breath and tried to slow her step as she approached. He was pacing across the grass and did not see her until she reached the tree line. He looked up at her and, though she’d hoped for a smile or softening of his eyes, his expression was stoic.

  She could not move beneath the weight of his stare, but felt heat rising in her chest. They were alone, just the two of them.

  “I must know the truth,” Evan said without preamble.

  His words unfastened her feet from the ground, and she stepped forward quickly. For concealment, she told herself, though she wanted to be closer to him. It was not until she noticed a coldness in his eyes that she stopped and his words registered. He wanted to know the truth? The heat in her neck and face cooled and some measure of the good sense she’d been trying to ignore pushed through like a seedling from the soil. No!

  He reached into his jacket and extracted a stack of letters she recognized immediately. “You wrote these letters, didn’t you?”

  Cassie swallowed, but a spring of hope bubbled up within her. Perhaps his heart was more invested in the words they had written back and forth than in the time he’d spent with Lenora. Maybe he was as tortured as she was and this moment would be the relief they both ached for. A dozen cautions knocked and hollered at her to pause, consider, restrain, but she ignored every one of them once again. “Yes,” she said simply, the single word breaking free.

  He took a step back. She took a step toward him but he retreated again. The cautions rose up, louder this time, demanding that she consider what was at stake. But she longed for him to know the truth. She longed for him to know all of her, not ascribe the aspects of her letters to Lenora for another moment. He looked confused, frightened, and so she took a breath and gave him what he’d asked for—the truth. She felt sure in this moment she would give him anything he asked for, and he would be as glad to receive it as she was to give it.

  “In the beginning, I had meant for the letters to be from Lenora, to help encourage your attention to her.” She was surprisingly relieved to be telling the truth even as she questioned if it was the right thing to do. But what was right, now? Continuing a deception? Not admitting what she’d done when he’d already discovered it?

  “But they were not from Lenora.” He looked from the letters in his hand to her face. “They were not the thoughts of her heart—they were your own.”

  “Yes. As I said, they began as letters on her behalf, but the more I learned of your innermost thoughts, the more my heart felt them, embraced them, and was filled.” She smiled at him, pleadingly. She needed validation, understanding. Surely he understood now, didn’t he? Surely everything was coming together in his mind just as it had in hers.

  “Do you know what you have done?”

  Cassie startled, both at his words and the level of regret in his voice. He continued before she could answer.

  “I thought I fell in love with Lenora because of these letters.” He held the bundle of papers up as evidence. “I opened my heart to her. I gave all my secret thoughts to her.”

  “To me,” Cassie said, putting a hand to her chest to remind him. “You were writing to me all along, not Lenora.”

  “But I thought I was writing to Lenora. It was her company I sought out because of these letters, her hand that—”

  “The words of those letters are mine, and if they are what you fell in love with, if they are what made the greater impression . . .” Her voice trailed off. She watched him intently, waiting for his expression to reflect his understanding. He wanted the truth and here it was: she loved him and she felt to her bones that he loved her, too. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

  Evan’s expression remained hard. “You do not understand what you have done,” he said again, shaking his head and closing his eyes.

  “I pray your forgiveness,” Cassie said, still hopeful. They could repair this. They could make things right. “I never meant anyone harm, and I never expected to create such a connection with you of my own. Now that you know the truth—”

  Mr. Glenside opened his eyes and his gaze pierced her straight through—cutting through the fantasy she had been forming since receiving his letter. His look made it clear that he was closed to her. She could feel a distance growing where moments ago she felt sure the
y were closer than ever. What was happening?

  “You think your intention is enough? You think that your apology, or my forgiveness for that matter, is enough? You cannot make this right, Cassie. You cannot fix it. I am engaged to your sister.”

  “But you do not love her.” Desperation rose in her heart and spilled into her tone.

  “I do not know what I feel,” he said with a shake of his head. He pushed his hand through his hair and looked at the ground.

  You are in love with me, Cassie wanted to shout. Say it. Say it out loud so I might gather up the words and hold them in my heart for the rest of my days!

  He did not say anything. He stood with his shoulders stooped and a staggering tension forming a wall around him. The moments ticked by, and his silence resounded through Cassie’s ears.

  The words of the letters were Cassie’s, but he had believed they belonged to Lenora. He had believed it was Lenora’s heart on the page. It was not Cassie he had gone riding with; it was not Cassie he had escorted about town. Had he fallen in love with her words, and Lenora’s person? Had he become invested in them both? If so, Cassie and Lenora had been a full woman in his mind and now that belief was broken into two parts. He would have to choose between them.

  Cassie moved forward, soft and silently enough that she was mere inches from him before he looked up at her. She lifted a hand to his cheek, her heart pounding and blood rushing through her veins. The warmth of his skin against her hand made her whole body tremble, and when he placed his hand upon hers, her chest tightened. The intensity of his gaze confirmed to her that what they felt for one another would surpass anything he thought he felt for Lenora. It seemed so simple in her mind, yet the heaviness in his eyes testified of the burden he carried.