There was a moment of silence, then Thomas asked, somewhat incredulously, “Are you taking up sheep farming?”
Harry’s smile appeared without effort, as it usually did. “No. I apologize. I had an interesting conversation with the vicar and his daughter last evening.”
“Ah. Yes. That explains…nothing.” Thomas crossed the room and sat in the chair nearest Harry’s. “But you are speaking of your path in life, I think.”
Harry gave only the slightest nod to confirm his brother-in-law’s words. “For the past several years, my way was clear. Finish schooling. Travel, spend time with my family. I’ve come home and there isn’t a route mapped for me. There is no list of things to accomplish. What am I to do now? I am twenty-four years old and I haven’t a plan of any sort.”
Thomas made a humming sound before speaking. “Haven’t you anything you want to do?”
“Not really.” Harry sat up straight again. “Father always said he would train me up, make me a suitable apprentice in managing his business investments. That hardly seems necessary, given that I have a steward and solicitor, and an accountant as well.”
“I can see why you might think that,” Thomas said slowly, regarding Harry with raised eyebrows. “But your accountant could sail to the West Indies tomorrow, or your solicitor found to be a swindler, or your steward could retire. What would you do if even one of those men disappeared before they trained a replacement?”
Harry blinked at the older man, his mind unable to produce an answer. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He was even more woefully lost than he’d thought.
“Having those men train you would mean that you would have an understanding of how things work and be capable of confronting any problems that arise yourself.” Thomas laced his hands together and leaned forward, elbows on the arms of the chair. “There. You have something to add to your list, or the map for your path. Whichever method you prefer.”
“A list might be just the thing.” Harry considered the thought, liking it more as he did. “That is where I will start. I will make a list and learn as much as I can from the men who are running things in my stead.”
Thomas reached out and clapped Harry on the shoulder. “There you are. A decision made. You will find that the more you make, the more comfortable you will become.”
“Let us hope so.” Harry’s unease had already lessened with the pronouncement. He imagined Miss Augusta Ames sitting before him, her gray eyes serious even while a smile tugged at her lips. She’d surprised him by being something of a contradiction, all friendly smiles one moment and the quiet vicar’s daughter another. What would she think of his decision to inspect the work of the hirelings?
Harry grinned to himself. I must thank her for putting the thought into my head.
Although he wasn’t sure how long this first step could take, after spending years in studies at Oxford he ought to be able to learn all there was to know from his employees with little effort.
Chapter Six
Pulling her sunshine-yellow shawl around her shoulders, Daisy slipped out the rear door of the vicarage at nearly the precise moment Mr. Haskett knocked on the front. She’d seen him from an upstairs window, approaching from down the lane. If he’d come to see her father, she would be required to attend them with refreshments and then perhaps be expected to sit while they discussed the ponderous aspects of Psalms.
She let a puff of air escape her, her back against the brick of the vicarage. I am hardly a dutiful daughter, running off like this.
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees from the lane, bathing the road in gold everywhere the blue shadows didn’t touch. The brisk fall air wrapped its coolness around her and she pushed away from the house’s shadows into the light. She’d hoped to take a long, rambling sort of walk today but chores had kept her indoors.
Thrilled to finally be outside, Daisy let the day take her, quite forgetting she didn’t wear her bonnet as she should. The blue sky beckoned her to hurry, and so she would.
Once on the lane, her house safely disappearing behind the trees, the weight of her duties fell away from her shoulders. She would necessarily take them up again when she returned home, but for the moment she enjoyed the sense of freedom in her breast.
Was this always how Harry Devon felt? The man seemed to have no cares, no concerns, given his interactions with her thus far. But why would he? If rumors were to be believed, he was richer than Midas.
Had he even given thought about their dinner conversation after he’d left the vicarage? That had been a fortnight ago, and she hadn’t seen him since, except for a short glimpse after services, when he’d been surrounded by young ladies.
Gossip inevitably made its way to her ears as she visited people in the parish, though she certainly didn’t seek it out. She’d heard he had begun making his neighborly visits to gentlemen all about the neighborhood, but no young ladies yet boasted of a similar honor.
“Their mothers must be beside themselves,” she said out loud, kicking a pebble from the road. How did a young man like him fill his days? Did he ever find himself afflicted with boredom?
Two children turned into the lane ahead of her. Daisy narrowed her eyes and studied their figures in an attempt to discern who they were. They seemed to see her at the same moment she recognized them.
“Miss Ames, good afternoon,” said the older of the two, Lucy Reeves. She was ten years old, fair-haired and freckled.
Janie Chandler added her enthusiastic wave to her greeting. “Miss Ames, hello!” Janie’s curls escaped the twist beneath her bonnet, and the strings were knotted untidily. The nine-year-old was forever smiling.
Putting away the thought of Harry Devon, Amelia quickened her step to catch up to the girls. They were the best of friends, nearly always in each other’s company. Lucy was the daughter of the local butcher and Janie’s grandmother was the town’s talented seamstress.
“What are you two doing this fine afternoon?” Daisy asked when she drew near enough she didn’t have to shout the question.
“Berry hunting,” Janie said, holding up the basket she’d been holding. “Lucy says it’s too late to find any, but I’m sure there must be some hiding about somewhere.”
“Are you after anything particular?” Daisy asked, looking from one little face to the other. “I happen to be an expert forager when it comes to berries. My sisters and I used to walk every lane in search of the best.”
Lucy’s eyes brightened. “Really? Will we find much in October?”
“We have had a very warm summer, and the weather has stayed fine. If the birds haven’t found all the berries yet, I’m certain I can help you find a few.” Daisy leaned closer to them, sharing a secretive smile. “I happen to know the very best place for wild strawberries is the Ensley farm, just along the road, or we could find hawthorn berries down by the Milton’s mill.”
The girls exchanged a wide-eyed look.
“Which do we want?” Janie asked, excitement creeping into her whisper.
The older girl narrowed her eyes as she thought. “Wild strawberries are tart. And hawthorn doesn’t make very good pies.”
“Is it pies you’re after?” Daisy straightened. “Why then, you must have my favorite. Blackberries.” She pointed down the lane. “The absolute best patch of blackberries, in the very whole county, is less than half a mile from here.”
“It is? Really?” Janie asked, gripping the handle of her basket tighter. “Where?”
“At Whitewood,” Daisy answered, immediately reminded of Harry Devon again. “Along the hedgerow.”
“Whitewood?” Lucy asked, starting to frown. “Do you think anyone will mind?”
“No one lives there,” Janie said quickly. “My granny told me. The owner came back, but he’s staying at the Gilberts’.”
Even the children were gossiping about Harry Devon. Daisy resisted the desire to sigh. “I don’t think anyone will mind if we go pick a few berries.”
Janie gasped and clapped
her hands, her basket swinging from her arm. “You will come with us, Miss Ames?”
That idea gave both girls enough confidence that they turned and started down the lane at once, chattering between themselves about the pie they would make.
Daisy followed, barely listening to their debate of what sort of crust would be best. She admired their easy friendship.
Outside of the local aristocracy and gentry, the girls before her were the best educated in the neighborhood. Janie’s grandmother taught Janie to read and do sums while she herself worked on clothing commissioned by wealthier members of their neighborhood. Lucy’s father had done the same for his daughter, as her mother had been lost several years previous to illness and he intended for his children to assist in the family business.
There was a school in the neighborhood for little boys, started by her father and now run by Mr. Haskett. Four days a week, for a few hours at a time, Mr. Haskett met with any boy who sought more knowledge for apprenticeships or positions their parents couldn’t prepare them for. Some parents could teach their children to read and do simple sums, but more knowledge was rarely bestowed, and even that little amount rarely given.
Janie and Lucy’s steps slowed as they came within sight of the Devon property, marked well along the road by white pillars where carriages would turn in. Daisy skipped forward, snatching up Janie’s hand as she went.
“Just ahead here,” she sang out as the girls hurried to keep up with her. “Keep your eyes open, watch for the birds. They very well might lead us to the best patch.”
Lucy giggled and started searching the tops of the hedgerow.
Daisy couldn’t help but smile at the girls. They were intelligent and sweet. It was a shame more children didn’t have access to what they and Daisy had been given. If she could but generate enough interest in the school she planned, she could amend that for all the little girls in the village.
Not many saw the value in a servant who could read or a farmer’s wife who could do complicated sums. But knowledge begat wisdom, and didn’t every man wish for a wife who could raise his children to be wise?
Janie spotted the first bird and pointed, pulling Daisy from her thoughts. “There, I see one!”
Amid the girls’ excited giggles, the three of them hurried off the path and to the hedges, peering into the leaves. Several little brown birds took off from the bushes as they approached, and Lucy ran ahead to peer between the branches.
“I’ve found some, I’ve found some,” she shouted. Her hands shot into the branches.
“Save some for me to pick.” Janie released Daisy’s hand and hurried down the little incline.
Daisy slowed her steps, watching the girls gather berry after berry, their fingers quick. Several berries found their way into the girls’ stomachs instead of their baskets, but that was usually the way of berry-picking. Daisy wandered in the opposite direction from the two of them, trailing her hand along the tips of the leaves, mindful of the bush’s thorns.
Daisy paused when she found a particularly fat berry dangling within easy reach. She plucked it and put it in her mouth. Savoring its delicious taste, Daisy remained still for a moment, before she kept idly walking, wondering if there would be more berries on the other side of the hedge, inside the Devon property.
Not that she would ever step inside there without permission, of course.
She absently plucked another berry and ate it, wincing at the tartness of an unripe prize. She gave greater attention to the bush, looking for more of the large, sweet blackberries to get the unwanted taste from her mouth.
A very ripe berry dangled a few inches inside the bush. It looked nearly ready to fall. It had grown to such perfection due to its placement, obviously. She could see several wicked-looking thorns surrounding it.
Daisy reached inside the bush, grateful she wasn’t wearing gloves to snag against any branches. She had every confidence she could retrieve the berry, and her fingertip brushed it—
“Good day, Miss Ames.” She jumped, her hand scraping against several thorns at once. She hissed out a breath and tried to withdraw, but her wrist-length sleeve had caught on a bramble thorn.
Looking over her shoulder, Daisy saw none other than Harry Devon standing on the road. He watched her, a crooked grin on his lips, though his eyebrows were furrowed.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, coming closer.
Daisy turned to study her predicament, the hook of the thorn holding onto her dress. She reached in with her other hand to try and undo the fabric without causing it injury, but was immediately pierced by another thorn, causing her to emit a somewhat unladylike yip of pain.
Mr. Devon came hurrying up beside her and suddenly his hands, encased in leather gloves, were reaching around her and into the bushes. Her breath stilled as her shoulder made contact with his chest. He wrapped one hand around the one she’d gotten stuck in the branches, protecting it from being brushed by thorns. The fingers of his other hand worked to free her sleeve. Before she could protest his nearness, he had guided her hands out of the brambles.
“Thank you, Mr. Devon,” she said, her voice thick and her mouth dry. Feathers tickled her from the inside, and heat climbed up her neck and into her cheeks. He stepped away, but only enough to better inspect her hands, still held in his. He turned them over, but rather than see what damage the thorns had caused, Daisy kept her eyes on his face.
It was a very nice face. She’d thought him handsome before. At present, there was more to it than that. He stood close, close enough for her to see flecks of green in his blue eyes. His lips were turned down in a frown as he studied her hands, and his forehead was creased. He had the tiniest scar through one dark eyebrow.
“These scratches,” he said, startling her out of her study, “aren’t very deep. Though this one is still bleeding.” Daisy looked at last at the damage. The hand she’d used to attempt to rescue the other was bleeding, the bright red a stark contrast to her fair skin.
Henry kept hold of that hand in his left, then reached into his jacket with his right and drew out a handkerchief. “Here, this is clean. We will bind it up.”
She tried to protest. “Oh. Please. I don’t wish to spoil the cloth—”
“It’s cloth, Miss Ames. It will wash.” And he released her only long enough to take his gloves off, dropping them to the ground. Then Mr. Devon wrapped the handkerchief around her palm. The warmth of his hand brushing against hers made those feathers blow about inside her again.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Miss Ames?” little Janie’s voice asked. “Miss Ames, is something wrong?”
The gentleman glanced up. His confused expression rapidly changed to a friendly one, with a big grin on his handsome face. “Your Miss Ames was attacked by an especially ferocious bramble. I am tending to her battle wounds.”
Janie had come closer, Lucy just behind her, their faces full of concern.
Daisy forced a light-hearted tone, trying to match Mr. Devon’s ease with the situation. “It is a good thing Mr. Devon was here. He seems to have some experience in field-dressing injuries.”
He chuckled and released her hand at last, then bent to pick up his discarded gloves. “Any gentleman who goes about rescuing fair maidens ought to have a basic knowledge of such things.” He looked to the girls and gave them a wink. Janie giggled while Lucy’s eyebrows rose to hide beneath the brim of her bonnet, then the two of them exchanged a secretive sort of look.
The sudden risk of the situation hit Daisy like a fallen tree branch. Harry Devon had treated her with great familiarity, before witnesses. Her mind stretched about for ways to salvage the situation, to keep her name from being crossed with his in the local gossips’ tales.
“Mr. Devon is an old friend,” she said quickly. “I am afraid he’s rescued me, and my sisters, many times from difficulties we made ourselves.”
He looked askance at her, then to the girls. “Indeed. As I said, I make it something of a habit to rescue
people. Do either of you young ladies need rescuing at present?” he asked, bowing to them.
“No,” Lucy said at once. Janie tucked her chin down shyly and shook her head.
“That is a shame.”
“Oh dear. Where are my manners? Mr. Devon, may I present Miss Lucy Reeves and Miss Janie Chandler? They were in search of berries this morning and I thought of your fine patch here.”
“Ah, of course. The finest blackberries in the county grow here.” He nodded, affecting a serious frown. “Have you ladies found enough berries to fill your baskets?” he asked.
Janie held out her basket, which held maybe two dozen berries. “Not yet, Mr. Devon.”
“Then you ought to step through to the other side. I came down to inspect the bushes myself, you see, when I heard you young ladies and thought to see who had the same idea as I did, at precisely the same time.” He gestured back to the break in the hedges, the entry to his property. “Won’t you come in? There are many more berries on the other side. I am afraid they’ve been terribly neglected of late. I used to pick them myself, but I have been away a very long time.”
Two sets of eyes in upturned faces met Daisy’s, pleading and cautious. They wouldn’t go inside without her, she well knew, but they had baskets to fill. Sending them home happy, with full baskets, might be the best way to avoid them telling too many tales about Mr. Devon’s rescue.
“It would simply be bad manners to say no to your kindness, Mr. Devon. Come along, girls. Let us fill your baskets.” She waved back to the estate entrance. Janie squealed while Lucy took off at a run, her basket swinging in her hand. Both girls rapidly disappeared from sight.
Daisy clasped her hands behind her back and looked up at Mr. Devon, fingering his handkerchief around her palm. “You are very kind, Mr. Devon.”
Courting the Vicar's Daughter: A Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 6) Page 5
