“Do I owe you an apology, Miss Ames?” Harry asked, voice deepened by emotion, his eyes still closed.
Her hands rested on his forearms, holding onto him. “If you apologize for that kiss, I might never forgive you.”
He chuckled and stepped back, releasing her waist to take up her hands in his. He studied her, the familiar playful gleam returning to his eyes. “Have you grown fond of me, I wonder?” He tilted his head to one side and Daisy mirrored the movement.
“I think I must have. I am afraid, Mr. Devon, I cannot possibly advise you on how to go about seeking a lady’s hand. Not when I am wishing, all the while, that it is me you are searching for.” It was a daring statement, and a bold red likely rose in her cheeks if the sudden heat she felt there was anything to judge by.
Harry startled her by laughing, his voice echoing in the empty space around them, bouncing off the vicarage itself perhaps. “You are much braver than I am. I have been trying to determine how to tell you that very thing for days.”
Daisy gripped his hands tighter. “Truly?” He brought one gloved hand up to his lips and brushed his lips across her knuckles.
“Truly. If you are willing, I will ask your father for permission to court you properly. Make my intentions known.”
Her heart shivered with joy.
And then she remembered the school and stepped back, gently taking her hands from his. “What about my desire to educate the children? I do not wish to give it up.”
For a moment he appeared puzzled and she steeled herself for an argument.
“I would never ask you to,” he stated. As simply as that, he removed her greatest doubt. Almost her only doubt. Except, there was that little voice tugging at her still. Until a short time ago, Harry Devon had lived for his own pleasure and did not give much of a thought to anything else. Was it possible he might tire of this new life? Managing an estate, and his other holdings, would not be easy. What if he decided it was not for him?
Harry grinned at her, and her worries dissipated like morning fog in the sunlight.
All will be well. She pulled his greatcoat more tightly around her and continued walking to the vicarage, he falling into step beside her.
“Perhaps you ought to speak to my father. Maybe not this evening.” She glanced at him, trying not to smile too broadly. “I would like to have a little time to prepare him for the idea.”
“When I come back from London,” Harry said, reaching for her hand. He guided it through his arm and brought it to his lips for another kiss. “And not a moment later, Daisy.”
She shivered in delight. Her sisters had warned her what it would be like, when she found a gentleman who caught her eye. She had scoffed at their romanticisms.
She owed them both an apology.
Chapter Seventeen
Asmile continued to tease Daisy’s lips, even after Harry had been away for three days. Every time she thought of his hand on her cheek, the touch of his lips upon hers, a pleasant warmth spread from her tingling lips to her toes. Whether she was dusting her father’s books or ordering her notes and schedules for her classes beginning in January, she hummed to herself every happy tune she knew.
Drifting down the steps to the ground floor, ignoring the damp weather outside the vicarage, a harsh knock at the door finally startled Daisy out of her blissful fog.
No one rushed to answer it. Having few servants meant their occupation called them away from the front of the house all too often.
Daisy went to the door and opened it, a pleasant greeting rising to her lips.
Mr. Haskett stood on the doorstep, wearing a scowl as black as his coat. When he realized who had answered the door, his expression lightened somewhat. It went from darkly angry to mildly dismayed.
“Miss Ames.” He bowed. “Good afternoon.” He shifted, removing his hat. “Is your father at home?”
It was the first time she had seen him since denying his suit, as she had remained home from services with her father the day before. He’d developed a cold. Daisy couldn’t allow for awkwardness between herself and the curate, however. A small community such as theirs would grow uncomfortable if she did not attempt some sort of friendliness.
“Good afternoon, sir. Yes, my father is in his study. Is he expecting you?”
“No.” Mr. Haskett held his hat before him like a shield, protecting himself from her. “But I come on a most urgent matter.”
Attempting to portray an ease she did not feel, Daisy stepped aside and waved him in. “Father is always happy to speak with you, Mr. Haskett.”
He walked past her and she closed the door behind him, but before she could offer to take his hat, he was striding down the hall to her father’s study.
Daisy shivered in the cold air she had let in along with the curate. She ought to find the shawl her sister sent, though it was not as warm as some of her others. The beauty of the Indian shawl always made her feel as though she wore a bit of summer. Rather than go in search of it right away, she trailed after Mr. Haskett to make certain her father received the curate kindly and to see if they needed refreshment of any kind.
When she stepped over the threshold, she caught the end of Mr. Haskett’s rather fervent speech.
“—all of them torn down, right before winter. I confirmed it myself.”
“It cannot be right. Surely the man would understand, would know what that would do to his position in the neighborhood,” her father argued, though she saw the doubt of his own words fully upon his face. “Though it is something his father would have done.”
Daisy remained standing where she was, uncertain as to what she walked in upon. Neither man noticed her.
“The man from London was taking measurements all day, refusing to talk to the tenants to tell them what he was about. But when I spoke to him, as he left, he told me the truth. He’s been hired to demolish the cottages with a crew of workmen. He’s even been asked to hire the men who live inside the cottages to lend a hand. What is this going to do to the families, Mr. Ames? We cannot let it stand.”
Daisy leaned against the doorway, her mind putting together what was said. “Which tenants, Mr. Haskett?” she asked softly.
He barely spared her a glance. “Devon’s.”
Then he dropped his hand, and Daisy’s heart dropped with it, before he started pacing before her father’s desk.
“That cannot be,” she said softly. “Mr. Devon would not put families out of their homes.”
“None of us really know what he would do,” Mr. Ames said, running his hands through his graying hair. “His father would have done it, after all.”
“Sons take after fathers.” Mr. Haskett made the pronouncement as if he were reading scripture.
Daisy shook her head. “I do not believe it of him. There must be some mistake.”
“There is none. Mrs. Dempsey caught me as I walked along the road and asked if I could find out. She said she had a terrible feeling about the man roaming around, measuring things. I found him at the inn, and he told me everything. Devon hired this man, who claims to be a mason or builder of some sort, to demolish the tenant houses. The man came out to measure the property and provide an estimate of labor costs. It’s barbaric.” Mr. Haskett ceased his pacing and sat down in a chair.
Daisy did not believe it. She would not. It was impossible.
She hurried from the room and found her cloak, muff, and a bonnet lined with flannel. She donned the winter clothing with speed and hastened from the house, going to Whitewood. Harry would be gone, in London, but Mr. Ellsworth would be present. He would know what was going on.
The whole walk there passed by in a haze of denial and puzzlement. Why would Harry want to tear down the tenant cottages? There was no reason for it. There had to be a misunderstanding.
She arrived at the front gate of Whitewood and paused, realizing her course of action was not entirely prudent. Young women simply did not call upon bachelor households. It could damage her reputation.
But she
had to know. Had she not given her kiss freely to Harry? Contemplating, as she was, giving him her whole heart gave her ample reason to worry.
Daisy walked through the open gate and went to the house, deciding to enter by the servant’s door. That would lessen any whiff of scandal.
She obtained the kitchen door, her heart hammering from her rapid progression across the lawns of Whitewood. The door flew open after but a single knock, a footman standing before her.
“Miss Ames,” he said. It was Mr. Howard, a young man she had practically grown up with. “What can I do for you?”
“I am here on a matter of business. Is Mr. Ellsworth here?”
The footman looked over his shoulder, and she saw the butler of the household standing down the hall.
“I am afraid he’s not here, Miss Ames. He went to his father. Mr. Ellsworth, senior, is in a poorly way. A messenger came this morning calling the steward home, most urgently.”
Daisy’s shoulders fell. “That is terrible. I hadn’t heard—” She took a step back. “I will have to speak with him another time then. Thank you, Mr. Howard. I will keep the Ellsworth family in my prayers.” She took another step, then turned and tried to walk away with some steadiness of step if not steadiness of mind.
She could not run all the way across the countryside to question Mr. Ellsworth. Besides his poor father being sick, it was a great distance, and the autumn sun would set soon.
The Gilbert family. Daisy lifted her head again. Mrs. Gilbert may know—she is his sister, after all. She walked rapidly once more, determined to find answers for Mr. Haskett’s pronouncement about the tenant cottages.
Harry would never tear them down. He must not. He would not. He had a compassion heart, after all.
Though he did seem rather keen on learning the ways of the estate, hoping to make it better than when his father had been in charge. Her steps slowed.
Daisy came to the road, her thoughts convoluted. What if it was true? What would she say if Mrs. Gilbert told her Harry’s plans were to clear the cottages for some other project? Perhaps to bring in more sheep. She had heard of landowners who would do such things. Rid themselves of farmers in order to fill their fields with livestock.
Hadn’t she heard somewhere that he bought a great many sheep at the market fair?
Doubt sunk more deeply into her heart, difficult to dislodge.
Daisy’s steps turned homeward. Her certainty in a misunderstanding dwindled, and she had no wish to stand in Mrs. Gilbert’s parlor while her heart broke.
Chapter Eighteen
The news of Mr. Devon’s plans to tear down his tenant’s cottages spread through the village, as only a plague could, and soon everyone had something to say on the matter of the gentleman’s character. Most of the comments were whispered, but for the first time in her life, Daisy listened carefully to the gossip and rumors.
Mrs. Dempsey, one of the tenant wives, stopped to chat with Daisy on her way to market. She spoke of how Harry had arrived at her cottage one day to declare there would be no further rents paid. At first, though startled, she had been delighted by the news. Now she wondered if it was but a ploy to give him reason to evict all of them.
The seamstress, Mrs. Chandler, spoke when Daisy went to purchase new gloves. “My sweet granddaughter thought him kind for letting her pick blackberries from his bushes. But I wonder if he was not attempting to cover his character flaws with an act of generosity. It cost him nothing to let her pick berries, after all. When has anyone seen any real goodness from him?”
The household staff were somewhat loyal, as Daisy heard one of the newly hired footmen refuse to speak ill of him after church when some of his friends were asking why he worked for such a miser.
Public opinion turned soundly against Harry. Mothers who had tentatively introduced their daughters to him expressed gratitude that he had not “preyed upon” their dear girls. No one could produce true evidence of his wrong-doing, except the
tenants of his cottages. But casting entire families out of their homes on the cusp of winter was, all agreed, evidence enough against his character.
The most frustrating thing of all was that Mr. Ellsworth could answer all of Daisy’s questions, but after spending time with his ailing father the man had disappeared to visit some unknown relation a county over. Nothing could be explained to her satisfaction.
Feeling somewhat responsible for Harry’s sudden interest in his holdings, Daisy stopped worrying for her school and instead helped the tenants on their hunt for new homes. Some of the families had been in those cottages for more than a generation, and leaving the homes they leased pained them.
No one spoke to the Gilberts on the matter, not wishing to offer insult to a family respected by the community. Daisy ached to ask Mrs. Gilbert if she knew anything of Harry’s plans, but the Gilberts seemed happily oblivious to the storm of gossip and rumor surrounding them. Either they did not know what Harry had decided to do, or they knew and did not care. She thought it more likely the former.
Daisy walked slowly home from visiting with one of the cottagers, after helping the woman of the house pack crockery into an old crate. The family of six had decided to move in with a cousin for the time being, which would put strain on both families.
Daisy’s mind was consumed so entirely by the matter that she did not notice a man had stepped into the lane ahead of her. Not until he spoke her name with familiarity.
“Daisy.” His tone was soft and full of an emotion which caused her to wonder. How could he say her name in such a way and have such a cold heart?
Harry Devon grinned at her and approached, one hand outstretched.
She stopped walking and kept her hands tucked deep within her muff. “Mr. Devon,” she said, measuring her words. “You are returned from London at last.”
He lowered his head, almost like a boy expecting punishment, but his crooked smile said he meant to get out of it. “I am sorry I was away longer than I expected. I stopped to visit my sister, Rebecca, to tell her about the improvements at Whitewood. And about you.”
Her heart betrayed her head, tingling as it did when she thought on his hopes for their future. To stop her emotions from getting the better of her, Daisy asked the question that had consumed the whole village.
“Are you tearing down the tenant cottages on your property?”
He released a long-suffering sigh and came closer to her, the outstretched hand lowering a fraction. “You have heard of the improvements? Yes. I hope we can have it all done with before Christmas. If the weather holds.”
Daisy drew herself up taller. “And what will happen to the tenants, Mr. Devon?”
At last his hand dropped completely, his fingers curling into a fist. He rapped the fist against his thigh, studying her with obvious confusion. “I am hoping they will all be happy in their new homes.”
She pulled in a pained breath at his callousness and nearly shouted at him. “New homes? Some of them do not even know where to go.” Her entire body trembled as anger flooded her.
Harry raised both hands, making a calming gesture. “Daisy, it sounds as though there has been a misunderstanding.”
“Then please, do explain.” Daisy did nothing to disguise the bitterness in her words, and she ignored the way her heart jerked most painfully. “Explain how, exactly, casting families out of their homes when at winter’s edge could possible qualify as an improvement.”
“Casting out—?” Harry’s rather confused expression altered when his eyes darkened. “Has anyone spoken to Ellsworth? He is aware of the plan. And I’m sure if you asked—” He cut himself off, his wide eyes slowly narrowing while his brow drew down. “You believe that I’m tearing down the cottages, without regard for the people who live within, and nothing more. Am I understanding the situation correctly?”
Her frustration mounted. Do I know him at all? She had convinced herself, at first, of a misunderstanding. But nothing he said contradicted that yet. Nothing at all.
�
��The whole village believes you would do such a thing,” she said, hearing and hating the defensive note in her voice. “You left, a man came to examine the buildings for demolition, and Mr. Ellsworth vanished—”
“He left on an assignment from me. It must have taken him longer than he expected.” Harry spoke dismissively, as though it was unimportant that his steward was away, leaving rumor to run rampant. He had withdrawn into his own thoughts, a clouded look in his eyes. He’d turned pale, too.
A knot around her heart tightened. “What of the tenants’ situation?” she asked. A winter wind snapped at her cloak. “How could you do this to them? They will leave, and I had hopes for their daughters—” She broke off as angry tears choked her. She’d dreamt of each of those little girls learning to read and write, doing sums, and bettering themselves through learning. Without homes, they would leave the area, and she would lose half the scholars she hoped to have in her school. They would lose the opportunities she anticipated presenting to them.
Harry drew back a step, his eyes focusing on her once more. His blue eyes, so bright but minutes ago, now dark and hard. “When these rumors started, you said nothing against them? Nothing in favor of my character?”
“How could I?” Daisy asked. “No one knew of our connection.” Something I am glad of now, she added silently.
“Yes. I remember your abhorrence of rumor and gossip. Your desire to avoid linking your name with mine.” He did not sneer or chide. The frigidity in his tone was more painful than both those things, but she pushed away the hurt and used her anger instead.
It was true. She might have spoken of Harry’s character, given a reference outside of his family. Cast doubt on the rumors. But Daisy had not. She had listened, rather, to every ill word anyone said of him. Partly in horror that it might be true and she had nearly bound herself to him, and partly in defense of her heart.
Harry started pacing, taking a few steps away, then back.
Courting the Vicar's Daughter: A Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 6) Page 17
