The Road through Rushbury (Seasons of Change Book 1)

by Martha Keyes

  A disbelieving scoff sounded, and Georgiana turned toward it, finding that it had come from Mr. Burke. “You cannot truly mean to ask a lady to take on the role of surveyor of the highways, Sam.”

  “Why not?” said Mrs. Green. “She said herself that she would like to be of help, and she wouldn’t be the first woman to do so—in Honley parish, Mrs. Peterson did so after the death of her husband. And it ain’t paid, so it can’t offend her fine sensibilities.” She chuckled, and the woman next to her gave a little snigger.

  Georgiana held Mr. Derrick’s eyes, and he met them with a smiling challenge in his own. He had certainly put her in a corner. To turn down the role would be to confirm the view he had no doubt taken of her already: a woman of the Town, all too ready to criticize anything that inconvenienced her, but loath to lift a hand herself.

  Delight and victory shone from the vicar’s eyes, and it struck at Georgiana’s contrary side. She needed to show him—and the village—that they were wrong about her.

  “I should be happy to accept such a position, providing it doesn’t interfere too greatly with my role as companion to my aunt,” she said, letting her eyes linger on Mr. Derrick for a moment. She turned to the villagers. “That is, if you will have me. I fear you will have to have a great deal of patience, for I am not only new to Rushbury but a great novice when it comes to the administrative and practical concerns involved in maintaining roads.”

  “Well, as to that, we must all start from somewhere, miss,” said Mrs. Green, seeming to thaw a bit toward her.

  “True words,” chimed in Mr. Burke. “And I’m sure Mr. Derrick will be more than happy to teach you our ways. It is his responsibility to choose the surveyor, after all, and no one knows the parish better than he. I shouldn’t think your duties will take up much more than two or three hours a week.”

  Georgiana smiled graciously, putting aside the thought that the only reason she was accepting the role of surveyor—whatever that title entailed—was that their ways hardly seemed to be working.

  Mr. Derrick cleared his throat, his eyes resting on Mr. Burke for a moment. “Indeed.”

  It was Georgiana’s turn to smile pleasantly at Mr. Derrick. He could hardly have imagined that in his attempt to teach Georgiana a lesson, she would be consigned to his responsibility.

  She sat through the rest of the vestry meeting, hands in her lap, listening with interest to the inner workings of the small Yorkshire village. Mr. Derrick seemed to be very skilled as guide of the conversation, and the villagers quite clearly held him in great esteem based on the way they deferred to him when any small conflict arose. Though Georgiana had never been present at any such meeting before, she suspected that this one was accomplished with much less tension or clashing of wills than would be the case elsewhere.

  As the group stood to leave, Georgiana found herself next to Mr. Burke.

  “Regretting having attended, are you, miss?”

  She laughed, gripping her bonnet in her hands as she shook her head. “No, I actually found it quite fascinating to listen in, for I have never attended such a meeting.”

  “Well, there’ll be plenty of opportunity. We hold them more frequently than most parishes. Sam—Mr. Derrick, I mean—believes that the more time between vestry meetings, the more time there is for matters to pile up and get out of hand.”

  Georgiana’s eyes moved to Mr. Derrick as he shook hands, smiling genially, with Mrs. Green. The woman appeared much less intimidating interacting with the vicar than she had when taking stock of Georgiana. Like the vicar, her face transformed when she smiled.

  “I imagine he is quite right,” Georgiana said. “In any case, it was very kind of you to welcome me when I know nothing at all of the village yet—something I hope to remedy.”

  The last of the villagers headed for the door, and Mr. Derrick turned toward Mr. Burke and Georgiana.

  “Sam,” said Mr. Burke, “were you not saying that you were meant to visit Miss Paige’s aunt today to see how she was getting along?”

  Mr. Derrick glanced at Mr. Burke and then manufactured a smile at Georgiana. “Indeed. I promised her a visit, though it will need to be short—the dinner hour approaches.”

  “Oh, Aunt Sara will quite understand,” Georgiana said. “She wouldn’t wish to keep Mrs. Derrick waiting.”

  Mr. Burke looked to Mr. Derrick and then back to Georgiana, his mouth widening into a grin. He set a hand on the vicar’s shoulder and squeezed. “While Sam has the staid and steady disposition that’s the mark of a winning husband, there is not as yet a Mrs. Derrick.”

  Georgiana’s heart leapt inside her, and she tried to swat it down immediately. And unsuccessfully. What in the world was happening to her? Rushbury was bringing out the fool within her.

  “Thank you for that, Burke,” said Mr. Derrick in anything but a gracious tone.

  Mr. Burke stared at Mr. Derrick, still grinning and then finally clearing his throat.

  Mr. Derrick turned to Georgiana. “May I escort you home, Miss Paige?”

  “I imagine the two of you will have plenty of parish matters to discuss,” said Mr. Burke. “Sam, could I have a quick word before you leave?”

  Mr. Derrick smiled politely at Georgiana and moved with Mr. Burke out into the nave.

  Georgiana sighed, unsure how to feel at the prospect of the walk home with Mr. Derrick. She felt a flutter of nerves and an impatient curiosity to hear his reaction to the turn of events.

  She hated the recognition of those feelings within her.

  They didn’t bear considering. Rushbury was the place where she was meant to put the idea of marriage behind her once and for all. She had not come all this way only to fall in love with someone.

  Chapter 7

  Samuel braced himself for an earful as he followed Burke out of the vestry door. The man turned toward him, an accusatory expression on his face.

  “What is the subject of today’s lecture, Bishop Burke?” Samuel asked.

  “Dishonesty.” Burke’s tone was censuring, but there was a touch of humor in it.

  Samuel frowned, nonplussed.

  Burke moved in closer, his eyes flitting to the doorway of the vestry. “You failed to mention that the new Miss Baxter was a beautiful young woman.”

  Samuel scoffed, rubbing at his chin. “My deepest apologies. I wasn’t aware that it was relevant.”

  “So, you agree?” Burke said, smiling mischievously.

  “Oh, have done, Burke.”

  “You made her sound like a miserly old woman, man! When the truth is that Rushbury has never seen the likes of anyone as beautiful as her—saving my Molly, of course. And perhaps Miss McIntyre.”

  The last words were said with slight hesitation, and Samuel felt his stomach clench. Yes, Miss McIntyre had been undeniably beautiful, and Samuel had allowed himself to be made a fool for that beauty. It had been a hard-won lesson about outsiders, and it was only now, years later, that he felt himself capable of wishing the woman well. She had toyed with his heart, making him believe she would welcome an offer of marriage from him, only to disappear in an instant. It was village gossip that had put Samuel out of his misery, informing him of her sudden match with a baronet in Derbyshire.

  “Sorry,” Burke said, head dipped in remorse. “Beauty isn’t everything, is it? My Molly is one of those rare treasures whose inner beauty eclipses the outer.”

  Samuel managed a chuckle. Molly Burke was entirely average in her appearance, but Burke truly believed her to be unmatched in every regard. “You certainly married up when you managed to convince Molly to marry you.” He raised his brows. “Is that all you wished to say, then. Here I was, certain you wished to chastise me for appointing Miss Paige as surveyor.”

  “I admit that I was opposed to it at first,” Burke acknowledged, “but I have changed my mind. I think it a very good idea—one of your better ones.”

  Samuel twisted his mouth to the side. “Because I shall be obliged to take her in hand?”

  Burk
e grinned widely.

  Samuel grasped his friend by the shoulder. “Stick to your constable duties, Burke. You make a wretched matchmaker.” He turned back toward the vestry, but Burke grabbed his arm.

  His face was sincere, the humorous light gone from his eyes. “You know that she didn’t just lose a wheel on her journey the other day?”

  Samuel shook his head. “What do you mean?”

  “The carriage was intercepted by a highwayman.”

  Samuel’s eyes scanned Burke’s face, and he thought back on his encounter with her. “So that’s what the pistol was for.”

  Burke nodded. “You might extend a bit of compassion her way, Sam. I can only imagine what it must have been like to receive such a welcome to a new place.”

  Samuel’s conscience squirmed. He had only compounded the inhospitable reception with the things he had said to her.

  “And don’t take out the past on her. I happen to like her— and I think you do, too.”

  Samuel felt his cheeks warming and opened his mouth to retort, but Burke talked over him. “One more thing. I’ve captured three beetles for you to let loose in your garden. But only if you promise me you’ll be kinder to them than you were to the last one.”

  Samuel chuckled. “Very well, but in truth, I am not entirely convinced that this isn’t some malicious attempt on your part to ruin my garden, Burke.”

  Burke scoffed. “What, so I can add that hard bit of dirt to my duties farming the glebe? No, thank you.”

  Samuel smiled. “I will do my best not to step on any of your precious beetles.”

  Burke nodded approvingly, then pushed him toward the vestry, giving him a look that said, “Go on, now.”

  Samuel stepped back into the room, putting out a hand to invite Miss Paige to precede him back out into the nave. She certainly was handsome—and decidedly more so now that she didn’t wear the scowl she had been wearing upon their meeting the day before and now that her hair was coiffed—but that fact was still entirely irrelevant.

  Their footsteps echoed loudly in the nave as he followed her out of the church.

  “So,” he said, closing the door behind him and blinking in the brighter light of the outdoors. “Surveyor Paige.” He debated offering her his arm but settled upon clasping his hands behind his back.

  She laughed lightly. “Yes, and I am afraid you have no one but yourself to blame for that, Mr. Derrick.”

  He looked down at the ground, trying not to smile. “I am sure I haven’t any idea what you mean.”

  “Ah,” she said, one of her eyebrows creeping up. “I must have been mistaken, but I was convinced that you were trying to teach me a lesson back there.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “That would have been very presumptuous of me. I can’t imagine that you would have any need of a lesson. And certainly not from me.”

  “Because you believe I think myself above you and your village?”

  He raised his brows and put up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I never said such a thing.”

  She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him, and he couldn’t help but grin in response.

  “Well,” she said, her eyes lingering suspiciously on him, “I meant to have a word with you before the meeting began, but I hadn’t any idea just how punctual people were here.”

  “Used to London manners, no doubt.” He was struggling to control his mouth. There was something thoroughly enjoyable about sparring with Miss Paige.

  She sent him a playful glare. “Yes, if you must know. But the point is”— she lifted her chin slightly — “I wished to beg your pardon for my behavior yesterday.” She glanced at him quickly and then back down to her hands. “I hope you can forgive me for taking out my anger upon you. I had been obliged to hold it in on account of the extraordinarily tender feelings of both my maid and the hired postilion who was present for both mishaps.” She looked at him with something between a smile and a grimace. “You just happened to be the first person who looked strong enough to withstand my ire.”

  He laughed. “I think that is meant to be a compliment?

  “Mr. Derrick!” a voice called to them from the seat of an approaching donkey cart.

  “John,” Samuel said with a wide grin.

  The donkey cart pulled up beside them, and the man looked to Miss Paige. Samuel recognized the wary look in his eyes. It was the same look he had seen in everyone’s eyes at the vestry meeting— and he had little doubt that Miss Paige recognized it too. She was no fool.

  “John, allow me to present you to Miss Georgiana Paige, the niece of Miss Paige. She has come to stay at Granchurch House. Miss Paige, this is John Reed. He is the most talented stockinger in the West Riding.”

  John nodded briskly. “How do ye do, miss?”

  “Very well, I thank you,” she said. She shivered slightly and clamped her teeth together with a chattering smile.

  Mr. Reed glanced at her gloves and clothing. “Miss ain’t dressed for a Yorkshire spring, not with a cotton pelisse and kid gloves.”

  “Oh dear,” she said with a shaky laugh, looking up at the overcast sky. “Is this what I should expect for the next few months? I was rather hoping that you were experiencing an irregular burst of cold temperatures.”

  Mr. Reed let out a reluctant laugh, and Samuel sent her a look of commiseration. “Yorkshire springs—and particularly those of Rushbury—are late to bloom. But well worth the wait, I assure you. You should let Mr. Reed here make you a few things more suitable to living in the North. A pair of wool gloves, at least.”

  Mr. Reed opened his mouth—to decline, no doubt—but Samuel directed a significant glance at him, and he clamped his mouth shut.

  “Would you?” Miss Paige asked hesitantly. “I would be terribly indebted to you, for I assure you that I am the weakest of creatures when it comes to the cold and in the end shall likely need to be fitted for an entire wardrobe of wool.” She chafed at her arms, and Samuel wished he had thought to wear his great coat to offer her. He was far too accustomed to Yorkshire winters to bat an eye at the relative briskness of the end of March.

  Mr. Reed nodded. “Come by tomorrow morning, miss. Third house from the end, on the right.”

  “I shall come,” she replied, giving another shiver, “wearing every last article of clothing I possess.”

  Approaching hoofbeats and carriage wheels sounded, and Mr. Reed tipped his hat at them, tossing the reins and continuing on his way to make way for the equipage.

  A well-sprung chaise appeared around the bend, drawn by four sturdy, black horses whose wavy manes flowed with the wind. It was the Gilmours.

  Samuel took Miss Paige gently by the arm and guided her to the edge of the road so that they came up against the drystone wall behind. “You have no doubt noticed that our roads are somewhat narrow here.”

  She tossed him an arch look tempered by the slight smile tugging the corner of her mouth upward. “That was the least of the issues I noticed.”

  He chuckled. “Touché.”

  The chaise drew up beside them, and Samuel took in a steadying breath, reminding himself that it was in the entire village’s best interest if he could manage to stay on good terms with the Gilmours.

  “Mr. Derrick!” called Sir Clyde, his head and arm appearing through the window. “How good to see you again so soon. And who have we here?” He looked at Miss Paige, and Lady Gilmour’s head appeared behind him, attempting to see of whom he spoke. A nudge from her resulted in his opening the chaise door, allowing for a greater field of vision.

  Mr. Derrick began performing the introductions, but he had gotten no farther than Miss Paige’s surname when Lady Gilmour cut in.

  “Paige,” she said with a wrinkled brow. “Are you any relation of Albert Paige?”

  “Yes,” Miss Paige replied, “very close in fact. He is my father.”

  Lady Gilmour covered her mouth with one very elegantly gloved hand. “We are acquainted with your father, you know.” She frowned slightly. �
��But then, where do you fall amongst the children? For I thought that he had only one daughter out in Society, though quite firmly on the shelf, poor thing.”

  Miss Paige’s lips pinched together as pink seeped into her cheeks. She smiled. “I am that poor thing, in fact, but the shelf suits me.”

  Samuel’s eyes widened in sympathetic embarrassment on Lady Gilmour’s behalf. There was only good humor in Georgiana’s voice, but Samuel hadn’t missed the way she had shifted her weight before responding, nor the way one of her hands clutched at her skirts.

  “Oh!” Lady Gilmour said, blinking. “But you do not look at all as if you have been out for ten Seasons, my dear!”

  “Only because I haven’t,” she replied with an amused smile. “I fear the reports you have heard have been far exaggerated, for I have been out a mere eight Seasons, my lady.”

  Samuel’s shoulders shook at the look of dismay on Lady Gilmour’s face. He might have felt sorry for a woman in Miss Paige’s position—indeed it seemed incredible that such a woman would have managed to go so long without being married—only she didn’t seem terribly bothered by it. She wasn’t like any woman he’d ever known.

  “Well,” said Sir Clyde, stepping into the awkward pause, “you positively must come pay us a visit at Amblethorne tomorrow, miss.”

  “I should be delighted,” Miss Paige said.

  They moved back onto their seats, shutting the chaise door, and it tumbled forward along the bumpy lane.

  Miss Paige let out a sigh as she watched it disappear. “So those are the Gilmours.”

  Samuel smiled down at her and began walking toward Granchurch House. “Yes. Somehow they were even more charming to you than they were to me earlier today.”

  She tried in vain to suppress a smile. “So very charming that I shall have to think of an excuse to prevent my visit tomorrow.”

  The lane began to turn up on an incline, the dirt still a deep brown from the rain they had received two days ago, and he offered her his arm. The last thing he needed was for Miss Paige to slip on the road on her first day in the village.