by Martha Keyes
They met eyes, and he slowly nodded his understanding. “We are fortunate to have found an advocate in you, Miss Paige. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I feared what type of person might replace Miss Baxter.”
She laughed. “Only to have that fear confirmed and more when I arrived with a fire lit beneath me, expressing my intention of fixing your roads.” Her smile faded. “May I be quite frank with you, sir?”
He nodded, turning toward her attentively and finding his heart picking up speed.
She took in a breath and then looked him in the eye. “We may be able to delay or—with a small miracle—even stop the Gilmours’ plans, but I confess myself doubtful that that is the best course.” She looked more nervous than he had seen her, and he waited for her to go on, determined to hear her out if only to reassure her that she had nothing to fear from him.
She smiled wryly. “Was it not Heraclitus who said that change is the only constant in life? To resist that change might help people like Mr. Reed in the short-term, but I am afraid that, once it does come to Rushbury—or even to a nearby village—it will hurt him more than it ever would have if he had embraced it and adapted to it in the beginning.”
Samuel shifted his weight from one foot to the other, lowering his chin so that it rested on his cravat. She couldn’t possibly understand what she was suggesting. She had only been in Rushbury a few days—Samuel had been there for most of his life.
“You love this village and its people dearly,” she said. “I have been here only a short time, but nothing has been more apparent than that fact—not even the abysmal state of the roads”—she looked at him with such teasing camaraderie that he felt his defenses slide down. “You want what is best for your parishioners, and I admire you greatly for it. I suspect that the best advocate will keep his—or her, in my case—ear to the ground to anticipate whatever changes might threaten the villagers and then find a way to lessen the blow by helping them to adapt.” She fiddled with the finger of her glove and then looked up at him, her face so full of understanding that it boggled him how she could possibly comprehend things so far from the sphere within which she had lived her life. It seemed impossible. “You cannot keep them from change, but you can be sure that they are not left behind when it comes. You can take a place at the forefront of that change in order to influence the way that it manifests itself in your particular parish.”
His jaw shifted from side to side, and he let out a small chuckle. “If this is your way of persuading me to accept whatever changes you have in mind for the roads….”
She smiled widely. “The merest changes, I assure you! Though it is true that the Gilmours’ plans cannot succeed with the roads as they now are. They might build the greatest mill in all of Yorkshire, but if a carriage cannot arrive there without falling to pieces…” She gave a shrug of pretended helplessness, and he followed suit.
“Now,” she said, turning away from him, “tell me about this quarry.”
Chapter 11
“Is that all the roads in the parish, then?” Georgiana said, scribbling an unsatisfactory note with the dulled tip of the small pencil she held.
Mr. Derrick let out a short bursting laugh. “No, it is not. We have seen perhaps half of the roads within the boundaries of the parish.”
“Good heavens!” she said, looking alarmed. “Who in the world is making use of all these roads? We haven’t seen more than one cart since we set out.”
He smiled. “You have your London crowds to avoid people you don’t wish to see. We have our roads.”
“Ah,” she said, tucking away the book and pencil in the bag dangling from the saddle. “A much more effective approach, I imagine.”
“Perhaps we can finish what we started tomorrow?” Mr. Derrick suggested.
Georgiana looked at him, noting how much the prospect appealed to her. Did it appeal to him too, or did he simply consider this one of the many duties to be carried out in the name of helping the village? “I should like that.”
He met her gaze, the hint of a smile on his face. “As should I.”
The next day’s survey was without incident, but Georgiana found herself falling slowly in love with the Rushbury landscape. The sun showed its bashful face a handful of times during the ride, and she couldn’t decide whether she preferred the somber hues of a cloud-covered sky or the vibrant ones when the sun happened to peek through a small gap in the clouds.
She felt brim full of energy and gratitude as she swayed back and forth on Aunt Sara’s bay. Not even the unevenness of the road could detract from her satisfaction with life.
She had learned so much about Rushbury from Mr. Derrick—and she had pieced together a number of things about the vicar himself, as well. Some source of pain lay in his past, and all Georgiana knew was that it was connected somehow with a family who had lived at Amblethorne. She imagined it might be responsible in part for the way he looked askance at the genteel families who flitted in and out of the neighborhood.
That her association with Mr. Derrick was closely connected to the enjoyment she had taken from her time surveying the parish roads was something that had occurred to Georgiana. But it was not something she cared to dwell on. The irony of it was not lost upon her, though—that she should leave London, the Marriage Mart, and its hordes of marriageable gentlemen, only to fall victim to the first man she encountered in a miniscule village like Rushbury.
For she couldn’t deny the way she responded to Mr. Derrick—she certainly had enough experience in her eight years on the Town to know that there was something very different in the way she regarded Mr. Derrick. Much like Rushbury, he could appear stern and somber at first. But underneath that façade and underneath his wary demeanor lay a warmth, a playfulness, and a kindness that made her heart yearn for his company. In some ways, she wished that she could prolong the inspection of the roads indefinitely.
“Miss Paige?”
She looked to Mr. Derrick, who was staring at her with an expression of mixed concern and amusement.
Blinking, she laughed at herself. “I am sorry. I was wool-gathering.”
“An apt phrase to use in this part of the country,” he said, still looking at her. “Whatever it was you were thinking of, it must not have been pleasant.” He nodded, indicating her forehead, and she relaxed it, feeling her cheeks pink at the knowledge that he had caught her in the act of thinking about him. She would not have called her thoughts unpleasant, though. Merely troubling.
“No, not unpleasant,” she said with a reassuring smile. Hoping to change the subject, she offered, “Well, now that I have taken copious notes”—she flipped through the pages of the book, of which the first quarter or so contained pencil markings —“on the state of all parish roads”—she stopped, looking expectantly at the finger he had raised.
“But you have not—not all the roads. You are forgetting the main road.”
She scoffed. “I could hardly forget that road. It is indelibly written upon my memory and shall be for as long as I live. I hope you will agree that I need not revisit it today, for I walked it myself. Indeed, I imagine it will require every last page in this book for me to document my thoughts and feelings on the subject.”
Mr. Derrick chuckled, reminding her with the instantaneous lightening of his features why she found such great pleasure in teasing him and making him laugh.
“Very well,” he said. “With the time left to us before we arrive back in the village, let us rather discuss the ideas you have formed after spending a few hours on these roads.”
She shifted in the saddle, tilting her head and frowning. “Well, I think that the first concern is whether anything can in fact be done to address the problems that exist. If, as you have mentioned, no one is prepared to pay or to contribute to the betterment of the roads in the way of labor, a list of desired improvements would be pure fancy—and a waste of time.”
“Very true,” Mr. Derrick replied. He gave a great sigh. “I suppose we will just be obliged
to leave everything as is.”
She looked at him askance. “How very poor-spirited of you!”
“I prefer to think of it as pragmatic, rather.”
She smiled and then suddenly sat up straighter in her saddle. “The Gilmours!” she exclaimed.
He glanced around and then turned to look behind them as if he might see the Gilmours.
“No, silly,” she said, reaching for his arm and tugging him back around. “We can apply to them for the funds to fix the roads.”
He stared at her, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered her words.
“Just think,” she said animatedly. “If they are so set on making Rushbury a hub of activity and trade, they will surely see that the roads cannot be left as they are. An investment in the roads of Rushbury is an investment in its future.” She paused, seeing how the lines had only deepened in his forehead. It amazed her how different he could look when he was displeased and when he was laughing. His jaw line was hard, his eyes shadowed by his lowered brows so that they looked almost black.
“What is it?” she asked.
He took a moment before answering. “You wish to persuade the Gilmours to give their money to the repairing and maintenance of the roads, but you wish to do so by dangling in front of them the prospect of the Rushbury they wish for—and that is not the Rushbury I desire. I would sooner leave this place”— he motioned around him at the glowing afternoon landscape —“than see it ruined.” His voice went soft. “I will take craters and broken carriage wheels over the vision of the Gilmours any day.”
Georgiana was silent. Mr. Derrick’s love of Rushbury ran deep. She gazed down at the village, tucked in its small valley at the bottom of the hill they rode down. It was so far distant from any place she had ever lived, and yet she already felt more attached to it than she did to the London townhouse she had spent eight Seasons in.
“I quite see what you mean,” she said softly. “I am growing very fond of this little village, provincial or no. I can only imagine what my sentiments might be after spending as much time here as you have.” She glanced at him, and his eyes met hers, his face softening and something between a smile and a grimace passing over his lips.
“No doubt you would be wiser than I,” he said, staring off at the approaching village and sighing. “You are right about change being only a matter of time—I promise you I see that. And I wish I could welcome it with as much rationality as you do, but….”
“You love it the way it is,” she offered.
He nodded, smiling wryly. “Very unsophisticated of me, I know.”
She returned his smile, feeling mischievous. “Perhaps you need a bit of an incentive—something to inconvenience you. Might I suggest a fast-paced carriage ride on one of the roads we’ve just traveled?”
He chuckled reluctantly.
“In all seriousness,” she said. “I am afraid that there may be little we can do to entirely prevent the Gilmours from making changes to Rushbury. But if we can delay those changes for a time—using the roads as our method, for I imagine that the task of bringing the roads into good repair will take some time—perhaps we can increase our influence with them and help them to see things from a different perspective?” She rushed on. “I know that it is not ideal, but I think it may be the best option we have.”
He looked at her with a glint of wonderment in his eyes. “Why do you put yourself to trouble for us?”
She averted her eyes, feeling suddenly and unaccountably shy. “It is no trouble. I am not so unselfish as you assume.”
He continued to stare at her, and she squirmed under his gaze. It was as if he was trying to understand her and believed he could do so by merely looking at her for long enough. “I think you are.” He smiled lightly. “You are different.”
She swallowed. “Different?” She almost wished she hadn’t said anything. She knew she was different. A woman of her family and dowry didn’t spend eight Seasons in London without becoming acutely aware that something must be wrong with her.
“Miss Paige,” he said with an amused smile. “In the past ten years, we have had no fewer than seven families take up residence at Amblethorne Park. Not one member of any one of those families has shown the interest or concern for Rushbury in their months or years here that you have shown in the past week.” He held her eyes. “You are different in all the best ways.”
Her throat caught, and she turned her head to blink away the burning at the back of her eyes, mortified at her emotion.
“Miss Paige?” Mr. Derrick said with a hint of alarm. “What have I said? I truly meant no offense.”
She kept her eyes away from him as she pulled in a shaky breath to steady herself, widening her eyes in hopes that the cool air would dry them. She put on a smile a turned back to him, shaking her head. “You have not offended me. On the contrary.”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “Surely what I said is not news to you?”
She laughed. “I spent eight Seasons in London, Mr. Derrick. Believe me when I say that it is an entirely new experience not to have someone attempting to pinpoint precisely what is wrong with me.”
He grimaced, but then one side drew up in a slight smile. “Well, you already know my feelings on the judgment of London folk. I should take their inability to recognize all of your charms as a compliment rather than anything else, if I were you.”
Samuel stood at the back of the nave, staring at the stained glass window opposite him. It had been two days since he and Miss Paige had finished their surveyal of the roads, and he felt an impatience to see her.
It struck fear into his heart. He had felt this before, this aggravating and restless need to be with someone. He found himself creating excuses to make a visit to Granchurch House. It certainly would not have been irregular for him to do so—he had spent a great deal of time there since Miss Baxter’s passing—but he forbade himself, knowing that his motivations were not on the elder Miss Paige’s account. They were almost entirely selfish.
He had been pondering on Miss Paige’s words regarding Rushbury and the changes that were threatening it since the arrival of the Gilmours. He felt such a great responsibility for the welfare of the villagers, and her words weighed heavily on his mind. In all his attempts to keep things as they were, to keep Rushbury from changing away from the village they all knew and loved, had he set his parishioners up for disappointment? Failure, even?
Heaven help him if it turned out to be so. Perhaps he had been too quick to mistrust anyone outside of their little world, but it wasn’t without good reason. He had seen small villages like his succumb to the lengthening reach of London, with MPs concerned only with the political power such places afforded them. He had watched as the creeping tentacles of progress in places like Leeds and Manchester had slowly but surely widened their net, leaving behind them a wake of struggling poor whose wages fell even as the cost of food rose.
They had felt it even in Rushbury, insulated as they were in the dales of the West Riding. People like John Reed had been forced to lower the price of their products in order to compete with what was being produced in the mills that were beginning to dot the Yorkshire and Lancashire landscapes—all wool of lesser quality.
A creaking sounded, and he turned his head toward the door.
Miss Paige appeared, and Samuel felt his heart stutter at the welcome sight of her. She wore a short cape over her shoulders, and her blue bonnet was spotted with dots from the rain. One of the maids from Granchurch House followed her in, and Samuel was conscious of a feeling of slight disappointment.
That was ridiculous. And far from proper. But he couldn’t help wondering if she had brought a maid along after feeling uncomfortable after the rides they had taken together.
“Mr. Derrick,” Miss Paige said, smiling and shutting the door behind her. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
Entirely aware that he had been lost in a brown study for the last five minutes, during a large part of which his thoughts had been dir
ected toward her, he shook his head. “No, not at all. Please,” he gestured to welcome them. “Come in.”
“We are on our way to Amblethorne, in fact,” she said, brushing at her shoulders with her hands. Little flecks of rain flew off. “I came upon Lady Gilmour yesterday on the village road, and I mentioned to her that you and I had a matter we thought might interest her and Sir Clyde. She insisted that we come speak to her about it today. I wasn’t certain if you would be at liberty to come—or if you would wish to—but I thought I would just stop in and check.” Her mischievous smile appeared. “And now that I have come on such short notice, you will have a perfectly reasonable excuse not to accompany me if you don’t wish to. I know you aren’t overly fond of the Gilmours.”
He smiled at her stratagems. She was right—a visit to the Gilmours was very near the last thing he wished to do, particularly given what he inferred would be the subject of conversation. He didn’t imagine that he would relish hearing the comments that would be made by Lady Gilmour and her husband. “Very thoughtful of you—and slightly cunning, I might add,” he said. “I am unsure whether I should be disturbed or impressed. But I think I should come, despite that. Who knows but what, absent my grounding influence, you and Lady Gilmour might not end your visit with plans to construct the next Vauxhall Gardens in the center of Rushbury.”
She glared at him playfully. “Come, then. You can exert your provincial influence upon us—what did you call us?—Town folk and stop our evil designs.”
“Very good. Allow me to just fetch my hat.”
