He caught Christine’s gentle smile from the corner of his eye. He saw her rise, letter in hand. “We all want your happiness. Whether that is found here with Miss Ames, in London with a duke’s daughter, or on the Continent with a woman who speaks not a word of English.” She held the letter out to him.
“Thank you.” He took the paper and turned it over in his hands, pretending to study the flourish his sister had added to Miss Augusta Ames. “I greatly appreciate this.”
“I only hope it gives you what time you need with her.” Christine gave his arm a squeeze, then pointed to the door. “Away with you. See to your lady love.”
Harry groaned. “Chrissy, I haven’t said anything to her yet. You cannot call her that.”
She laughed, then shoved him toward the door. “Go, Harry. I will be discreet in company, never fear.”
He went, with as much haste as possible, needing the person who had spoken the most sense to him since his return to Annesbury.
I hope she hasn’t tired of me yet.
§
The door to Daisy’s morning room did not often receive knocks. Daisy only withdrew to the room when she had accomplished household tasks and could claim time for herself. When the soft knock came, she barely looked up from her work.
“Come in,” she called out, making another notation on her paper. She sat at a long, narrow table positioned to give her a view out the window. A handful of children’s schoolbooks were stacked to the right side of the table, lists of supplies were at her left elbow, and she attempted to create an account sheet for the other things needed for her school. Her meeting at the countess’s home, where other interested parties would be gathered, was but two days away. If she wished to make a good impression, she must be perfectly prepared.
“I am not quite ready for tea,” she said, attempting to multiply the number of drawing pencils by children hoped for, but not yet truly expected.
“Neither am I,” said a deep voice that most certainly did not belong to Mrs. Bramston or Katie.
Daisy dropped her pencil. She rose with some haste, lifting one hand to check her hair was all still in place. She had worn a cap to dust her father’s shelves earlier. The cap was gone, but she could not be certain of the mess it left behind.
“Harry,” she blurted when she saw the handsome young man framed by the doorway, his blue eyes settled upon her as though he had no intention of looking away. As though he wanted to look nowhere else.
Nonsense. Daisy dropped the hand from her hair to gesture to the chairs at the center of the room. “Would you care to sit down? I confess, I was not expecting visitors. Did someone show you in?”
“Your maid,” he said. “She opened the front door, told me Mrs. Bramston was out and she couldn’t leave the oven to show me up here.” He stepped into the room somewhat hesitantly, leaving the door behind him open. “I am not entirely sure what the girl meant.”
“Oh. Cook must have gone out as well and Katie is minding the kitchen.” Daisy turned back to the mess behind her, noting the plate with her half-eaten luncheon and the haphazard scattering of papers. Out of habit, she reached down to try and tidy her piles back into neat stacks.
Harry came up beside her, and her sudden awareness of him stilled her hands.
“Have I disturbed your work?” he asked.
She laughed, a trifle weakly. “No. I am only trying to order my thoughts, yet somehow I have grown more disorganized.” She lifted up the sheet where she had been doing sums, showing him. “For the meeting, with the countess.”
He took the paper from her, his eyes flicking from hers to the list. “At times, when something matters to me, my mind grows muddled at the mere idea of confronting the object of so much thought.”
“That is exactly the same for me.” She lowered herself into the chair where she had been working, fatigued by the whole thing. “And this is so very important, Harry. It is something I have dreamt of. I know, I know, this would be a great blessing for so many of the girls, in many ways.” She rested her elbow on the table, dropping her forehead to her hand. “And so far, not many people have listened to me. Nor do they see the value in the work I wish to do.”
“I cannot understand why.” He turned about to find another chair and brought it to her table. “It is obvious you have a passion for the work, and the ability to see it done correctly. You convinced me of the importance of your school in less than a quarter of an hour.” He put the sheet down and took up her pencil. His eyebrows drew down and in a moment he was scribbling at her math problem.
Daisy studied him, the serious lines of his handsome face, the fine cut of his coat upon his shoulders. His words sunk into her heart, like balm on a bruise, easing some of the tightness there. “Really? You were not merely being kind?”
The pencil paused in its scribbling and he lifted his eyes to hers, the intensity in their blue depths giving weight to his words. “I am in earnest. When someone believes in something as you believe in your school, they ought to be taken seriously. Listened to. And when the cause is just and right, it falls to those privileged enough to learn of it to lend their support.”
Daisy ran her fingers along the edge of the table. She dropped her eyes to the grains of the wood, finding them safer to study than the honest emotion in Harry’s eyes.
“Those are wise words, Mr. Devon. Where did you learn them?” She tried to keep her tone light, as though discussing a less weighty subject.
“My brother-in-law, Dr. Hastings.” Harry gave his attention to the pencil again, allowing her to relax. “He is one of the most intelligent people I know. I spent some time at his home two summers ago.”
She nodded to herself, sorting through what she knew of his family tree. “He lives in Bath. Your eldest sister married him.”
“Yes.” He gave his attention to the sum, finishing it at last, and laid the pencil down. “And Rebecca married the man who is now the Earl of Ivyford.”
“Are they well? Your sisters, I mean.” Somehow, her head had become more muddled the longer she sat doing nothing. Was it because Harry sat so near? Though she did not mind his company, he certainly had interrupted her work. Perhaps that was all it was. The desire to finish her lists. She might not be able to order her thoughts at all until she completed the task.
“They are happy, which is the most important thing.” The answer was strange enough that she looked up, puzzled. “What of your sisters?” he asked, sitting back in his chair. It took her a moment, thinking of the two girls she’d looked up to and chased after, grown into women and wives, leaving her behind.
“Happy,” she said, unable to stop the smile that turned her lips upward. Both of her sisters were pleased with their matches and their lives. “Lily always wanted adventure, and now she lives in India. She sent me a shawl, and my father a fine pipe made of the most beautiful stone. Gabriella lives in Brighton, but sometimes she goes away with her husband on voyages. I think her captain makes her brave.” Daisy had never been much like either of her sisters. Their eyes had always turned to the horizon, while she found delight in the familiarity of the people in their village.
Harry waved a hand to the stack of things upon the table, as one might gesture to a grand vista. “And this, Daisy? Does this make you happy?”
She allowed her eyes to wander from the stacks of books to her papers, to the pencils and plans. “To bring knowledge to those little girls I have known since their infancy, to spend my days serving them, would bring me joy. I find peace in purpose.” She lowered her head, unwilling to see his reaction to such a ridiculous statement. “I know it is unusual. It is how I was raised, my father and mother both teaching that a life of service and caring for others is worthwhile. This is how I give of myself in a way that brings me contentment.”
His hand covered hers where it rested on the arm of her chair, the soft leather of his glove against her skin a surprisingly intimate touch. There was nothing improper in the gesture, but the familiarity of it warmed her heart.
“I admire you for knowing what it is you want to accomplish and being so sure of yourself. You are making your dream into a reality, too. I wish I was as confident as you are.” Admiration colored his words, causing a tingle of delight in her chest. No one had ever paid her such compliments before. The sincerity in his voice humbled her.
“Thank you.” Daisy’s hand turned and grasped his, grateful for the understanding he offered. Perhaps she could find a way to return the kindness. He took such an interest in her work. Had anyone noticed all his efforts in regard to his estate? “What is it that makes you happy, Harry Devon?”
His gaze dropped to their joined hands and remained focused there. “I am trying to discover that for myself, and I think I come closer every day. I—” He cleared his throat and offered one more squeeze of her hand before gently disentangling his fingers from hers. “I have found I enjoy the duties of a landowner. There are challenges at times. I want to change things. Find new ways to use the property and the funds my father left behind. His only goals were forever to turn a profit.”
“What are your goals if not to increase your funds?” she asked, folding one hand over the other in her lap. She needed to secure her hands, for certain, to avoid taking his up again. What a silly thing, to wish to hold a man’s hand.
“At the moment?” A muscle in his jaw tightened. “All I want to do is the opposite of everything he did. I want to be known for my choices and decisions, build my own reputation. I have seen the expressions of people in town when they see me. The tradesmen, wondering about me. I know what I look like.” He tugged at the lapels of his jacket, cut from fine cloth. “A Town dandy.”
Tilting her head to the side, Daisy swept her eyes from his windblown hair to the tips of his highly polished boots. “I have never thought you a dandy. Finely dressed, perhaps, but not a flighty snob.”
His eyes widened and a short laugh burst from him. “Thank you. That makes me feel marginally better.”
“You have already earned some favor, merely by reopening the house and taking on more staff. People want to give you a chance, I am certain.” She shuffled her papers about on the desk, not so much tidying as simply busying her hands. Daisy needed to take her eyes off Harry, too. Staring at him had started to make her stomach do unusual things. It felt as though she had swallowed a hummingbird. “As a prosperous gentleman, merely by being present you increase the prosperity of everyone else.”
“Hm.” Harry did not sound convinced. “Having the reputation of my father hanging over me like a specter isn’t exactly helping others to see it that way.”
As a vicar’s daughter, she well knew what the expectations of society could be like. Because of who her father was, there was a natural belief in the neighborhood that she must carry herself above all reproach, to an even higher standard than the daughters of other gentlemen in the area. She was expected to be both holier and humbler than the average young lady of her age. If she fell short, the gossip fell heavily upon her.
“Perhaps it is time you socialized more often. I know you have devoted a great deal of time to learning about your duties.”
“Someone told me I ought to be a shepherd rather than let a sheep-herder do my work.” His eyes gleamed when he interrupted, but she fixed him with her best disapproving stare.
“Harry.”
His grin was unrepentant. “I will never forget it. Why should I allow you to pretend it did not happen?”
She blew out an exasperated breath, narrowing her eyes at him. “As I was saying. You need to get to know the people in the village better. Form a few relationships and bonds. No one knows you as the man you are, only as the boy you were before your father passed away.”
“He did not like me to visit the country.” The simple statement surprised her, and Harry seemed to notice. He leaned forward again, his hands on the arms of the chair. “My father kept me away from Whitewood and in London, on the holidays from school when I had to be at home. He would make certain I was getting on well in my lessons, then he would disappear. I could go a whole week without seeing him. I actually preferred it that way.”
Though he hadn’t exactly spoken warmly of his father before, and certainly no one in the village ever did, she had not realized their relationship was that distant. “You and your father did not get along?” she asked, trying to gentle her tone.
“My father did not get along with anyone. Perhaps I should not tell the vicar’s daughter this, but I was almost relieved when my father died.” He ducked his head, and she watched his hands tighten on the arms of the chair. “He wasn’t the kindest man, nor did he care for anyone or anything outside of his desires.”
Although her own father was not overly demonstrative in his affections, Daisy never doubted he loved her and wanted what he thought best for her. How would it have been, to grow up with a father one always wished away?
“I am sorry to hear that,” she said at last, unable to think of anything better to say.
Harry shrugged, still not meeting her eyes. “We made the best of things, my sisters and I. The truth is, while I am sorry for the way the relationship between my father and the rest of us was, I am sorrier for all my father lost by treating us as commodities rather than children.” He sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a humorless laugh. “I apologize, Daisy. I did not mean to grow so melancholy. The truth is, I have wanted to speak to you for some time about something else entirely.”
Daisy tried to banish the sorrow for her friend that had settled on her heart and sat taller in her chair. “Really? What about?”
“I want to make some changes to the way my estate is run,” he said, some of the exuberance back in his voice. “I wish to try new things, make new investments, and be rid of my father’s mistakes. One of the things I have been working toward, since learning of your idea for a school, is setting aside funds in order to patronize those doing good works. I know you wish for the support of the village, and I will do my best to help you with that, but I would also like to invest in your school.”
She drew back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “It is a school for the lower-classes and will only meet a few times a week. We do not need a great deal in funds.”
“I know. But I wrote to my brother-in-law, the Ivyford earl, and asked about school endeavors in Town and throughout the country. You probably know all this, but it is the first time I have wanted to learn such things. There is a movement for the government itself to supply schools to every village. Take over from the church, build schools where none have yet been supplied.”
His eyes lit up as he talked, and he opened his hands in an expansive gesture. He looked almost as excited by the prospect as she became when she thought on the future. She had to press her lips together tightly to keep from smiling, not wishing to give away her amusement.
“What is needed is more support for the men who are proposing these changes, and the foundations supplying education at present. I will donate a modest sum to the school here, and the boys’ school Mr. Haskett leads. But what I would really like to do is give support to the societies pushing for educational reform. I wished to discuss the matter with you to see what you thought and if you might have any suggestions for such an investment.”
Daisy stared at him, uncomprehending for a moment. “I am not sure I understand you, Harry. You wish for me—” She placed a hand over her heart “—to do what, exactly?”
“Advise me on educational reforms and how best to support a movement that will offer education to all, no matter their station in life.” He smiled, without the teasing tilt to his lips, and his eyes softened. “All you say about the education of the children in our village is true for children throughout the country. And not everyone is so fortunate as to have someone like you championing their daughters.”
Warmth flooded her cheeks, straight from her heart. Had she done this to Harry? Did she inspire him to such action, or was it the cause itself? It should not matter—yet it did. She wanted
him to rise to this new desire, to help others as she so longed to help them, and perhaps because it was she who first presented him with the thought. Not that she wished for credit. But she wished to be a part of his thoughts. A part of his plans.
“I would be most happy to discuss my thoughts on the matter with you, whenever you wish.” She stared into his eyes, admiring the way the light from the window picked up gold flecks in his irises. He always exuded warmth and excitement, and he often left her laughing or exasperated. But this was an entirely new side to him, and it was most intriguing. He saw her as an equal, given the tone of his conversation and the desire for her advice. That did not happen often in her conversations with gentlemen.
“Thank you.” The simplicity of the words did not diminish the obvious gratitude in his voice. “There is one other reason I am here today.”
Daisy’s heart picked up in rhythm. “Oh?” she asked, anticipation building, though she did not know why.
“Mrs. Gilbert sent me with an invitation to dinner, for you and your father.” He reached into his coat and produced a folded paper, holding it out to her.
Annoyed at the way disappointment threatened, Daisy accepted the paper from his hand and unfolded it. What had she been hoping he would say?
“Should I tell her you will come? I am not certain it makes a difference, but I will be there as well.”
It did make a difference. She felt her cheeks warm as she admitted that much to herself. “Yes, we accept the invitation. Of course.”
Harry grinned and rose from his chair. “Wonderful. I will deliver your acceptance to Christine. Now, I had better be going. I can see how busy you are.”
She stood too. “I will see you out.” They started to the door, but Daisy stopped abruptly. “Oh, Harry. I still have your handkerchief. Allow me to fetch it.”
Courting the Vicar's Daughter: A Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 6) Page 14
