Courting the Vicar's Daughter: A Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 6)

by Sally Britton

For a moment he appeared puzzled, then he chuckled. “From the bramble incident? Do not trouble yourself. If you like, I can fetch it another time. Perhaps when we speak of the school next.”

  Daisy ought to have insisted he take it right away. She really had no business holding onto it any longer, as it was his personal property. Yet having it in her possession afforded her another opportunity to speak to him. Something she found herself anticipating most happily.

  “I suppose the return of your handkerchief does afford me a proper excuse for seeing you another time.” She bit her tongue at her boldness. Her ridiculousness.

  They stood in the hall, at the top of the steps, when she spoke. Harry stopped walking and turned to face her. Though they were but a foot apart, Harry took a step closer.

  “If you say things like that, Miss Ames, I shall think you have grown fond of me.” It was almost a flirtation, but for the even tone he used, tempered with a gentle smile.

  Fond of him? She swallowed, realizing there was more to it than that. “Perhaps I have,” she admitted, her heart picking up speed.

  “Fonder than when we rescued Bell?” he asked, his voice a trifle lower.

  Every particle of Daisy’s body became aware of him, his nearness, the alert way he stood and how his voice made her tingle from her toes upward. What on earth was happening to her? She lowered her eyes, trying to sort out her feelings in too hasty a manner for it to be done with any certainty.

  “Yes,” she answered, distracted by her strange physical response to make light of the situation or tease.

  He leaned closer; she practically felt the warmth in his voice emanating from the rest of him. “Fonder than when we decided to be friends?”

  Daisy’s eyes darted upward and her lungs constricted. Why couldn’t she breathe or move? What was happening? He stood so close. She lowered her eyes to his lips. What would it be like—? She startled herself out of the thought and took a step back.

  “Thank you for coming with the invitation, Mr. Devon.” Formality did not save her, because he raised his eyebrows at the use of his surname and that started a whole new flood of sensations through her. “I will see you at dinner tomorrow. Excuse me.” She took another step back.

  To his credit, he neither pressed the issue nor teased. He bowed, his expression almost contrite. “Until then, Miss Ames.” Was he not going to call her Daisy again? Throwing the light of formality on the situation was not meant to be permanent, after all. He started down the steps and she hurried to the railing.

  “Harry?” she called softly, hoping her voice would not carry to her father’s study. The gentleman paused and looked up, expression curious, his eyes…hopeful? “Perhaps I could return your handkerchief the day after that? Friday. Where you rescued Bell?”

  What was she thinking? Forward, presumptuous, ridiculous—

  “I would like that.” His grin returned. “Good day, Daisy.”

  “Good day.” She watched him go to the entryway, collect his hat from a hall table, and disappear out the door. As it shut behind him, Daisy knew something essential within her had changed. Perhaps had been changing, all along.

  She floated back to her table covered in notes and books, though she did not so much as lift a single one. She opened the invitation to dinner again, hardly taking in Mrs. Gilbert’s words. Her mind remained preoccupied with one subject; what exactly were her feelings for Harry Devon? And what would become of her dreams if she gave way to them?

  Examining her heart took the better part of the afternoon, and she was no closer to an answer when the room darkened around her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Harry flew through his work the following morning. Mr. Ellsworth barely kept up as Harry shared his vision for the tenant cottages. “My expert from Warwickshire is arriving this afternoon. He will give the estimate on demolishing the cottages and begin looking for a place to relocate the tenants. While I understand frugality is important, the earl himself trusts this builder. Do not dicker overlong on price. The sooner we agree to the work, the sooner it can begin.”

  Harry marked off an item on a list he had made for himself. “Make certain he uses as many local men as possible for different aspects of the projects ahead. Then the money stays in the community.”

  “Yes, of course.” Ellsworth closed an account book, glancing askance at Harry. “Mr. Devon, you seem anxious about something. Might I be of some assistance? That is why I am here, after all.”

  Harry paused in another notation and glanced up at Ellsworth, trying to conceal his agitation behind a mask of ignorance. “Anxious? Not at all. Everything is going quite well.”

  Ellsworth folded his arms over his chest and sat back, fixing his employer with narrowed eyes. “If there is something amiss, I should like to know. Especially if it effects my responsibilities.”

  “It does not,” Harry said, then clamped his mouth shut. He had grown distracted and as good as admitted there was something on his mind. “Merely a personal matter.”

  “Ah.” Ellsworth considered Harry for a moment, then sat forward and turned his attention back to the papers scattered across his desk. “A lady, then.”

  “What?” Harry tried to cover his surprise by clearing his throat. “What makes you say that?”

  “Everything. From your recent state of distraction to your sudden overly energetic tackling of projects. If you will excuse me for saying so, Mr. Devon, you are either so lost in thought I must repeat myself to be heard or else working yourself into something of a frenzy. Now that you say it is a personal matter, I know it could only be a lady.” He tapped the nib of his pen against a blank sheet of paper as he spoke. “A family matter would incur less bursts of enthusiasm, a financial matter more focus on the actual accounts.”

  Harry’s chuckle came out somewhat stuttered. “You are an observant man, Mr. Ellsworth.”

  “Which makes me quite suitable for my post.” Ellsworth raised his eyebrows. “It is Miss Ames, isn’t it?”

  Surprise overtook Harry and he dropped backward in his chair. It seemed Ellsworth needed no other confirmation, as he nodded once and went back to his notations.

  “Tell me how you guessed,” Harry demanded at last, wondering if he had somehow conveyed to all the world his interest in the vicar’s youngest daughter.

  “The consuming interest in donating funds to educational causes was a telling sign.” Ellsworth shook his head, his amusement showing clearly though he kept his eyes on the paper before him. “And you may have mentioned her name a few times this past week as well. I do not believe you have spoken even once of any other young woman in our county.”

  Harry supposed that did make him rather transparent. “Then you are less a genius than I am obvious.”

  “Perhaps.” Ellsworth pulled the news sheet near, looking through the columns. “But everyone knows the curate is hoping to attach himself to her. You ought not to wait too long to make your feelings known, in case he outpaces you to asking for her hand.”

  Harry narrowed his eyes. “The curate? I do not think she even likes him.”

  Ellsworth glanced up from the paper, his forehead wrinkling. “Are you certain of that, Mr. Devon?”

  “I did not take you for a meddlesome matchmaker,” Harry said, frustration coloring his words.

  “I am your steward. I have all your best interests at heart.” Ellsworth smirked and went back to his work without another word.

  Continuing the conversation would be futile. Harry had already revealed too much of himself, and the bounds of employer and employee had certainly been crossed beyond salvaging. He stood. “I have some business to attend to, Mr. Ellsworth. I will check in with you again before you go home for the evening.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Harry tried to retreat with some dignity, and Ellsworth let him.

  The curate. Harry shook his head, brushing aside that worry most soundly. Daisy had been relieved when he rescued her from Mr. Haskett’s conversation. She certainly held no interest
for the man.

  Then again, the idea of someone else expressing an interest in courtship, in exploring a greater connection to the exquisite Miss Ames, before Harry even had a chance, set his back up.

  Something needed to be done. But if he moved too soon, would that ruin everything?

  §

  Leaves scattered out of Daisy’s way, blown by the breeze and practically racing her to the church. She held one hand to her bonnet while the other clutched a basket full of fresh bread. Cook had baked enough for the vicarage and to supply the curate for at least a week. It fell to Daisy to deliver the food to the bachelor, who usually spent his Fridays overseeing the cleaning of the church.

  If Daisy hurried, the women who volunteered to sweep, dust, and polish the pews would still be at their work and she would not be left alone with Mr. Haskett. She burst through the door into the vestibule, the wind putting more force into her entry than she liked. Daisy closed the door behind her and loosed the scarf around her neck and face.

  Whatever the case, she had another appointment to keep. She must meet Harry on the edge of her father’s property, where they had encountered each other the day he rescued Bell from the tree.

  The church stood silent and still. Perhaps everyone had left.

  “Hello?” Daisy called, stepping into the knave. “Mr. Haskett?” The scent of furniture polish drifted in the air, and the sharp lye used to clean the floor mingled with it. The women had come and gone, it would seem.

  Footsteps brought her attention to the vestry, and Mr. Haskett stepped through the doorway. Her heart sank. Their last few interactions had been filled with his pointed attentions toward her. Though Mr. Haskett was a kind man, and somewhat attractive in appearance, she could not work up any more enthusiasm for him than she did for any man of her acquaintance. Excepting Harry, who stirred an unusual amount of excitement in her feelings.

  “Miss Ames,” the curate said, his tone surprised. “How good it is to see you this afternoon.” He approached, his shoes clapping against the stone floor with haste. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Daisy held the basket out to him with both hands, using it has a barrier between them. But rather than stretch his arms out to take the offering, Mr. Haskett stepped around it to her side.

  “Cook wished me to deliver your bread to you,” Daisy said, somewhat belatedly.

  “Ah, thank you. She is a marvelous woman. Please extend to her my deepest appreciation for her efforts on my behalf.” He took the basket from her, his eyes never leaving her face. His eyebrows were raised, almost expectantly. “I am grateful you came when you did, Miss Ames. The ladies who generously give of their time to clean the knave have only just departed. Perhaps, if you will allow me to make a bold request, you would give me a moment of your time for a private conversation?”

  How is it that one man can turn the simplest of requests into an entire oration?

  Daisy forced a smile. “I am at your service, Mr. Haskett. What is it you wish to speak to me about?”

  His whole expression brightened, his lips turning up and his eyes gleaming. Guilt smote her. She had been avoiding him, avoiding the opportunity for him to speak to her alone. It had simply become impossible to feel at ease in his presence.

  “A most serious matter. Please, will you not sit down?” He walked into the knave and put the basket down, then sat on another pew and gestured for her to sit next to him. Daisy hesitated, but there was nothing inappropriate in sitting in a church, with a man of God. She took care to keep some distance between them on the pew, however.

  Seated on the edge of the pew, Daisy kept her hands still in her lap. “What is this serious matter, sir?” Surely it could not be anything that would disturb her. Surely, he was not about to say anything that would be unbearable to hear.

  The rather grave look he fixed upon her suggested otherwise. “Miss Ames, I have been giving a great deal of thought to your situation of late.” He paused, expectantly.

  “My situation? I am not sure what you mean.”

  “You are the youngest of your father’s daughters, and at twenty-one you are yet unmarried.”

  Those were facts. Not a situation. “Yes, Mr. Haskett.”

  “And you are a servant to the parish, always giving of yourself to the people. I wish to tell you how much I admire your selfless character and kindness.” He spoke gently, and most sincerely, but it still struck Daisy as an odd sort of way to pay a compliment. “Your desire to educate the daughters of the parish also says a great deal about your compassionate heart.”

  If it had been anyone else saying such things to her, Daisy may have blushed. But his compliments were only paving the way to the true subject of the conversation. This left her rather impatient, yet dreading the point which he would soon reach. “Thank you. I hope others feel as I do in support of the school.” Would her matter-of-fact tone put him off at all?

  No. It seemed he determined in his course, sliding a few inches closer to her.

  “I am certain when they see the efforts you have gone through, all will be most moved, as I have been, by your good works. I have been most deeply moved by you, Miss Ames. Augusta.”

  Every hair on the back of Daisy’s neck stood up on end and her stomach shrunk.

  “That is supremely kind to say.” She moved back the same distance he had moved toward her. Was there no way to escape this conversation and save face? Glancing behind her at the door, she realized bolting out the way she had come in would be far too graceless.

  “I speak the truth. And there is more, Augusta. Your gentleness and compassion are the very reasons I wish to speak with you today. I would ask if you might consider doing me the great honor of allowing me to pay court to you.” He reached for a hand she had let fall to the lip of the pew, but the instant he touched it she drew away.

  “Mr. Haskett,” she said in what she sincerely hoped was a firm tone. “I have not given you leave to call me by my Christian name.” And every time he said it, she liked the name even less. “And while I do understand the honor you are bestowing on me with your request, I must decline.”

  He drew back, almost as though she had done something as shocking as bit him, and considered her with wide eyes. “I—I understand that I am not in the best position to take a wife. A curate’s income is a mere pittance, after all. But I am hoping to obtain a living not far from here, in perhaps a year’s time. If you could wait—you could begin your school and we may come to know one another better.”

  Daisy started to shake her head. “That is most considerate of you, Mr. Haskett, but—”

  “I am not proposing marriage yet,” he interrupted, his expression turned somewhat pleading. “I know this must be something of a surprise to you.” It really wasn’t, though she had hoped to put off this moment a great deal longer. “I have admired you almost since the moment of my arrival in this parish. Will you at least consider a courtship? To be sure, I must merit some thought rather than a hasty answer.” Though his tone had grown somewhat sad, she sensed a demand in his words.

  Daisy stood, having no wish to draw out the conversation. She had never been attracted to Mr. Haskett, though she recognized him as a good man of high moral conduct. Not once had her mind imagined him in the position of admirer or husband. He had never entered her daydreams, never crossed her fancy, and she could not allow him to think there was hope for any of that to change.

  “It is not a hasty answer, sir. I am afraid I have not been oblivious to your attentions.” She spoke gently, hoping to ease whatever sting her words would give. “I have never thought of you in any way save as my father’s curate. I admire the work you do, but I am not interested in having a connection with you that is any different than your relationship with any of the parishioners. I thank you for your interest, but my answer will not change.”

  He stared at her, his face rather pale. His voice sounded as empty as the knave when he spoke. “Is there someone else who has claimed your interest?”

  Harr
y’s charming grin came to mind, but Daisy brushed that away. “Whether there is or is not, I am afraid it is not your concern.” She was less gentle and more firm. “I am afraid you must excuse me. I have another appointment. Good day, Mr. Haskett.”

  He did not return the farewell, and Daisy did not wait for him to rise from his seat. She turned and left the church at a fast clip, determined to put as much distance between her and the curate as swiftly as possible. When she broke from the building into the biting autumn wind, she inhaled deeply.

  Cold air filled her lungs and brought vigor back to her body. She shuddered and pulled her jacket tighter about her. Her cloak would have to be brought out if she was to be walking about in such weather.

  Distressed and chilled, Daisy checked the watch she kept in her reticule. There wasn’t enough time for her to return home for warmer clothing, if she meant to be punctual when she met Harry beneath the tree. With his handkerchief tucked securely in the same purse as the watch, she set off to see him at least long enough to return the square of fabric.

  After the curate’s attention, she hardly felt fit for much else. Why had he felt the need to address her today, of all days? Had he spoken to her father first? That made the whole situation that much more humiliating for him and uncomfortable for her. Especially given that her father had seemed less disapproving of Harry at dinner the night before.

  Dinner with the Gilberts had been a comfortable, quiet affair. Her father and Thomas Gilbert had done most of the talking, though she caught Christine Gilbert smiling into her napkin a time or two. Harry, seated directly next to her, hadn’t said much to anyone, but certainly sent quite a few knowing looks her way.

  And he did speak of his improvements to the management of his estate, his desire to be an active part of the community. Daisy’s father had nodded in his ponderous way, approving of the younger man’s efforts. It had felt rather like a triumph to end the evening without having to be a buffer between her father and anyone else. She had missed the easy conversation between herself and Harry, as had become their habit. She looked forward all the more to seeing him in a more private manner.