by Martha Keyes
Georgiana stepped toward him, taking his hands in hers and smiling gratefully as her heart pounded and her mind tried to wrap itself around the ramifications of what he was saying.
She was leaving London.
“But,” he said significantly, “this is only a temporary situation, Georgie. I hope that, whatever influence you manage to gain over your aunt, you will exercise it in trying to convince her to sell Granchurch House and move nearer to us. What in heaven’s name she and Miss Baxter found to love about such a far-flung place as Rushbury, I can’t fathom. But it is only sensible with Miss Baxter gone that Sara return somewhere less distant from her remaining family—as things stand, she could hardly be further.”
Georgiana nodded quickly, more than happy to agree to whatever terms her father attached to her freedom. Such details could be sorted out later. For now, she had the most childish desire to run from the room and fling her arms in the air, twirling and dancing at the prospect of the wide-open space and independence Yorkshire would afford her.
“What’s all this about?” Archie asked, looking at Georgiana with his head tipped to the side.
“Papa,” Daphne interjected, “does this mean that…” She trailed off, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes full of that same painful hope Georgiana had seen at dinner.
Their father stared at Daphne for a moment before a smile broke over his face and he nodded.
Daphne ran over, wrapping her arms around him with such force that Georgiana was obliged to grab hold of his arm.
Daphne apologized over and over. “I am just so terribly excited!” She turned to Georgiana, her smile fading slightly as her brows furrowed. “But surely you needn’t leave in order for me to have my come out?”
“Would someone mind telling me what in the deuce is going on?” Archie said with an exasperated chuckle.
Informed of the developments that had happened over the course of the dinner he had missed, Archie pushed himself to a stand and walked over to Georgiana. Daphne was already anxiously making plans with their mother and father about all the things that would need to happen before she could make a proper come out.
“Georgie,” Archie said, wrapping an arm about her shoulders, “what is all this nonsense? Yorkshire?”
She laughed and nodded.
He pulled his arm from her shoulders and faced her, waiting for an explanation. He didn’t say anything, just looking at her with his round eyes and shaking his head. It was as unfathomable for him as it was for Daphne. Archie lived for London.
“Oh, Archie,” she said, “you know that I have little love for London and life on the Marriage Mart.”
“Yes, of course, but…Yorkshire? You might as well move to an isle on the sea. Everything I know about Rushbury paints a very—” his lips pushed into a thin line, as if debating over what word to choose “—provincial picture, and much as you say you dislike London—” he nodded at her dress, a green satin with embellished sleeves and hem “—you are hardly provincial, Georgie.”
She laughed, but he only grimaced. “I mean it. You are consigning yourself to living in a remote village with an aunt I imagine has become an eccentric after so much time in such a forsaken place.”
Determined not to let Archie take away the sense of victory and anticipatory freedom still coursing through her, she said, “Well, you may turn your nose up at Rushbury and Aunt Sara, but perhaps you will be singing a different tune when she leaves her money to me, since none of her other family will venture abroad to visit her.” She winked at him teasingly.
Archie looked very struck by this comment. “Perhaps I should come with you.” He leaned in toward her, his eyes shifting to their father. “Between me and you, I’ve been spending the blunt a bit too freely.”
Georgiana laughed. “If you think that is news to Papa, then you are sorely mistaken.” She raised one brow. “Indeed, I don’t think it could be news to anyone.”
“Hmph. Well, I doubt Yorkshire would suit me anyway.”
“No, I don’t think it would. But it will suit me very well indeed.”
Georgiana was sure of it. She could picture it now: solitary walks—without even a maid to trail her—where she might hold up her skirts to avoid muddying them up without occasioning the least comment, for there would be no one around to see; where no one would make remarks about her husbandless state because there was no way to change it amongst a village of married men; where fresh air and stillness awaited after years of breathing in dust and town smells.
Yes, the more she thought on joining Aunt Sara in Yorkshire, the more she felt certain that it would be just the thing.
Chapter 2
Samuel Derrick scraped at the ground with a hand, but the dirt didn’t yield to his insistent fingers. He shook his head. “Still too early, I’m afraid.”
His friend and the parish constable, Michael Burke, stood leaning against the fence that surrounded the glebe garden, one hand resting on Samuel’s coat, which was draped over the gate. For years, Burke had been taking on the task of farming the small plot of land attached to the parsonage—except for the little garden Samuel cared for himself.
“Can’t say I’m surprised after the winter we’ve had,” Burke said. “Only time will tell what havoc the weather has wreaked upon the crops. I fear we may have more pests to deal with than usual.”
Samuel stood and brushed his hands off, a few stray specks of dirt that had come loose falling to the hard ground below. “We must pray for the best.”
He looked down at the dirt again and grimaced, his dark brows furrowing. It wasn’t too late to begin planting the earlier crops, but he wished he knew when the ground would loosen enough to make it possible. He had a number of pots inside the parsonage that he had planted weeks before, some containing little sprouts trying mightily to grow with the limited sunlight of a Yorkshire March.
Burke clapped him on the back and handed him his coat. “It will all work out. It always does.”
Samuel shrugged on his black coat, and they began walking toward the front of the parsonage. “We cannot afford another harvest like last year’s, Burke.” It had been a difficult winter for Samuel’s parishioners. He prayed that they would be better prepared for the next one, that the weather would be kinder this year. He glanced up at the blanket of gray clouds covering the sky and took in a breath, smiling at Burke. “But you’re right. We will all manage it together, whatever comes.”
The rumbling of carriage wheels sounded, and they both looked up at the smart coach passing by, heading in the direction of the manor house.
“Have you spoken to them?” Burke asked, watching the carriage travel down the bumpy lane.
“No, but they only arrived three days ago. I imagine they are still settling in. I sent a note yesterday, though, expressing my intention of making a visit tomorrow.”
“What do we know about them?”
Samuel took in a deep breath. “Sir Clyde Gilmour. For now, I believe it is just him and his wife who will be staying at Amblethorne. A fairly young couple—she younger than he.” He wished he knew more, and yet he was anxious about what he might learn when he did pay them a visit.
“Let us hope that their stay will be longer than any of the past tenants.”
Samuel turned from the road. “I imagine it will, for they aren’t renting, you know. They have purchased the manor.”
Burke chuckled. “Yes, but how many times have we had a new purchaser of Amblethorne in the past few years?”
Three. Samuel could recall all three owners—and the renters in between purchases—with perfect clarity. One didn’t forget the people who exerted such influence over Rushbury. “Let us hope that they stay only as long as will be good for Rushbury.”
“They and whoever is coming to take Miss Baxter’s place at Granchurch.”
Samuel chuckled humorlessly. “Yes. We look to have an interesting spring approaching, don’t we, with all these newcomers?”
Burke cleared his throat. “Pre
cisely. Who knows what Miss Paige’s new companion will bring?”
“Indeed.” Samuel became aware of Burke’s eyes on him, a mischievous smile on his face. He turned his head toward the constable and frowned. “What? Why do you look at me so?”
Burke shrugged in faux-innocence. “No reason. I only mean to say that Miss Paige’s new companion might be a wonderful addition to Rushbury. And that I hope you will ensure that she feels very welcome among us.”
Samuel scoffed. “Oh, Burke. Have done with your plotting and your machinations. Do you truly intend to try making a match between me and someone old enough to be my mother?”
Burke kept his eyes on the rural scene before them rather than meeting Samuel’s gaze. “Perhaps she won’t be so old after all.” It was said as a mere suggestion, but Samuel was no fool.
“Burke,” he said suspiciously, turning toward him at the gate that led from the parsonage to the village lane. “Do you know something I don’t?”
Burke grinned widely, and Samuel shut his eyes and shook his head. “Never mind. It hardly matters.”
“Oh, come, Sam,” Burke said, his smile replaced by a look of exasperation. “You can’t keep every outsider at arm’s length.” He put up a finger which he shook at Samuel. “I’ll laugh unabashedly at you if the day comes that you fall headlong in love with one of these strangers.”
Samuel put a hand on Burke’s shoulder. “Don’t hold your breath, my friend.”
“You do realize that you will never marry if you refuse to look beyond Rushbury for a wife.”
Samuel kept his eyes on the village lane where one of his parishioners crossed to the house opposite his, a bundle in his arms. Burke was right: there were no women of marriageable age in Rushbury.
But Miss Baxter had been a member of the gentry, just like Miss Paige. Whoever replaced the poor woman would also undoubtedly belong to that class, and Samuel had no desire to enter their ranks. Of course, he himself could technically be considered a gentleman, but he felt much more at home with his hard-working parishioners than he did with any of the people who flitted in and out of Amblethorne Park or Granchurch House.
“Yes. But why need I look for a wife at all? I am perfectly content as I am.”
Burke raised his brows censoriously. “Nevertheless neither is the man without the woman, neither the woman without the man in the Lord.”
Samuel controlled the unruly smile that formed on his lips and narrowed his eyes at Burke. “I dislike nothing so much as when you use my own calling against me. A constable shouldn’t know scripture nearly as well as you do.”
Burke shrugged. “Someone has to reprimand the reprimander.”
Samuel reared back. “You refer to me? I am the reprimander?”
Burke nodded.
Samuel let his head drop back, chuckling. “Yes, and that someone is the bishop.”
Burke’s brows drew together dramatically, and he shook his head. “Ah, but how often does he come to Rushbury? Not with nearly enough frequency to issue reprimands as often as you stand in need of them.” He chuckled and put a hand on Samuel’s back. “Are you off to Granchurch again?”
“Yes,” Samuel said, trying to stifle a sigh. “I will be glad of it once Miss Paige’s new companion arrives.” Seeing the enigmatic and hopeful expression forming on Burke’s face, he rushed to add, “Only because, whoever she is, she will be able to take on some of the burden of buoying the woman’s spirits. I am running out of scriptures to give comfort to the woman. Miss Baxter’s death rattled her considerably.” He frowned. “Though she has been relying on me as much for my medical knowledge as for my spiritual knowledge.”
Burke set his hat atop his head with a smile. “The trial of having had a doctor for a father, eh?”
Samuel let out a scoffing laugh. “Only in a place like Rushbury would I be considered knowledgeable enough to act as a sort of doctor.” He shook his head. “Perhaps her new companion will be able to convince her to seek medical wisdom from someone qualified.”
He was glad to provide help wherever he could, but he wished that the apothecary who served the area were nearer. Samuel’s training and knowledge were both lacking and highly informal, coming as they did from observing and accompanying his father on visits.
“You’re a good man, Sam. May Miss Paige’s replacement arrive swiftly.” Burke opened the gate, wished Samuel good day, and was off toward home down the village lane where his wife was no doubt preparing him a hearty supper.
Samuel watched his friend’s form grow smaller and smaller then sighed, turning back toward the parsonage.
The following day, Samuel eyed the grand exterior of Amblethorne Park across its manicured lawns, his eyes scanning the row of tall, white-bordered windows that lined the first floor of the manor. He didn’t particularly relish being there. How many times over the course of his life would he be obliged to welcome new tenants or owners to the area? Would Sir Clyde and his wife even attend church? Or would they make Amblethorne the home at which they spent only three weeks of the summer?
He scoffed lightly. For better or for worse, Londoners and the gentry seemed unable to withstand the winters of the Yorkshire West Riding. He was frankly surprised to find Sir Clyde here as early as March, even if it was only to transport some of his belongings and get a feel for the place.
Samuel continued up the dirt path toward the front door, where he was admitted by a liveried servant and led to the morning room.
Sir Clyde and his wife glided into the room a few minutes later, Lady Gilmour smiling benevolently upon him as her eyes took in Samuel’s serviceable but well cared for clothing. She was young, likely not much older than Samuel’s thirty-one years, but she carried herself with the confidence and poise of a well-seasoned matron.
“Mr. Derrick,” Sir Clyde said. “Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Lady Gilmour.”
She inclined her head regally, and he executed a bow.
Sir Clyde gestured for him to take a seat. “Very kind of you to come visit us here at Amblethorne. I was quite happy to receive your note, for we had been wondering when we would have the opportunity to make the acquaintance of Rushbury’s vicar.”
Samuel took a seat on the soft, embroidered chair indicated by Sir Clyde. “You are very kind, sir. I hope you don’t feel at all neglected—I didn’t wish to disturb you while you were arranging things here and settling in.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Sir Clyde said with a smile. “Though we are very much looking forward to getting better acquainted with the area”— he leaned in toward Samuel with a knowing gaze —“and hopefully making some improvements.”
Samuel felt himself stiffen and forced his shoulders to relax.
Sir Clyde leaned back and set a hand on each of his knees. “I was led to understand by the previous owner that Rushbury is somewhat…behind, shall we say, in many areas of advancement.”
Samuel cleared his throat, trying valiantly to control the way his fingers clenched against his palms. “Certainly we are not like London, Sir Clyde, but I have often found that to be to our credit rather than to our detriment.”
“Ah, yes,” said Lady Gilmour with a sugary sweet smile. “There are certainly advantages to life in the nether regions of the country, I imagine. But”— she inclined her head — “some matters must be addressed. We are fortunate to have someone as obviously capable as yourself serving as vicar, so we need not concern ourselves with that responsibility.”
Samuel frowned. “Am I to understand that you have purchased the advowson of Rushbury along with Amblethorne Park?”
She nodded enthusiastically as the tea tray arrived, which she began preparing with her fluid, graceful movements. “Yes. Mr. Corbyn was very loath to part with it, was he not, Sir Clyde? But as we know the bishop very well indeed, he was…persuaded.”
Though Amblethorne Park had passed through many hands during Samuel’s life, the advowson had always remained with the same man who, though he preferred not to keep Ambleth
orne Park itself, seemed to care for the fate of Rushbury enough to preserve control over the living. Samuel had no rational reason to fear the Gilmours. He was already installed in the living, and only the bishop could change that. But if the Gilmours had managed to persuade—Samuel didn’t at all like Lady Gilmour’s intonation as she had said the word—the bishop into making the purchase of the advowson possible, might they not find a way to oust Samuel if they didn’t like his way of running the parish?
“Matters of safety, too, must be attended to, such as the appointing of a constable.”
Samuel laughed, but it sounded nervous even to him. “Thankfully we have a very able man who holds that position—Mr. Michael Burke.”
Lady Gilmour again smiled her overly sweet smile. “I think you will understand that we would like to meet the man who plays such a significant role in preserving the safety of us all.”
Samuel’s throat constricted, but he nodded. “Of course.” The threat implied in her words was that, if Burke did not meet their expectations, he would be replaced.
“In any case,” Sir Clyde said, “we hope to bring Rushbury into the new century and grow it into the great hub of activity it deserves to be, for it has wonderful potential, I am sure you will agree.”
Nausea filled Samuel’s stomach and, to keep his mouth occupied, he took a large gulp of tea, which he found to have the same cloying factor that he found in Mrs. Gilmour’s demeanor.
She and her husband clearly intended to take the reins in Rushbury and exercise their influence to the fullest extent possible—and certainly not with any regard for how the community had been doing things for decades. The only hope Samuel had was that the Gilmours would spend too little time in the village to do as much damage as they seemed intent upon doing. Or that they would find life in Yorkshire not at all to their taste and let Amblethorne Park to tenants.
