“My family has spent many holidays there, Mr. Townsend,” replied Miss Abbott. “It is such a wonderful place to visit.”
As the pair seemed content to lead the conversation in different directions, George herded it back with a quick, “The circus?”
Mr. Townsend blinked. “What do you think, Miss Abbott? Ought we to give it a chance?”
But the lady wrinkled her nose once more. “I hardly think it entertaining.”
“Then how about we sample some more of the culinary offerings?” asked Mr. Townsend. “I, for one, would like to sample some more of that delightful cider and maybe even a slice of cake.”
“One must be careful with street food,” said Miss Abbott with a frown. “It is far too often tainted by unsavory things.”
George blinked at the lady and caught Marian giving her a look that was remarkably like his own. Not so much disgust as disbelief. Who attended a festival without sampling the food? Giving Marian a slanted smile, he held her gaze and shared a silent laugh over the ridiculousness of it all, and her eyes sparkled with repressed laughter.
“Oh, what a lovely puppy.” Miss Abbott beamed at a nearby performer who had his dogs prancing about on two paws. “Come, Miss Finch and Miss Wakefield. It is positively delightful.”
To his thinking, George couldn’t see how that was preferable to the circus’s equestrian tricks, but Miss Abbott would not be put off, hooking the other two ladies by the arms and hauling them to where the dogs danced. Yes, they were handsome creatures, but Miss Abbott cooed over them an inordinate amount, growing even more animated as the “little dears” circled her on command.
“We shall secure us some refreshment,” called Mr. Townsend, nodding at the gentlemen to follow him to the nearby stalls.
Though he did not wish to, George tore his gaze from Marian and followed Mr. Clements and Mr. Townsend. It was not fair to judge Mr. Townsend after such a short acquaintance, and this would be a good opportunity to know the man courting Evelyn better. She clearly liked him, so George would give this Mr. Townsend a fair shake. And as Mr. Clements was no longer hanging on Marian, George found the vicar’s company not wholly detestable.
Leading the trio over to the cider stand, Mr. Townsend ordered three mugs while Mr. Clements ordered one for himself and Marian, leaving George with a solitary drink. Heavens, it would be quite pathetic if he allowed himself to dwell on that.
“Your sister is a fine girl,” said Mr. Townsend with a grin, handing over his coins and taking the mugs in hand.
“She is,” said George.
“It’s been a joy to come to know her better,” he added, taking a sip.
“I’m glad to hear that,” said George. “I understand you are visiting your cousins. How long do you plan to stay?”
Mr. Townsend cast a warm look in the direction of the ladies and smiled. “Father wishes me home at once, but a month is hardly long enough. Nothing is waiting for me at home but my position, and it’s wretchedly boring, and I’m all thumbs when it comes to figures and ledgers. My uncle’s business is better served with me remaining where I am. Besides, I am in no mood to hurry home when I am having such fun here.”
The man spoke with that jovial air of one who assumes the rest of his party agree heartily with his opinion, though Mr. Clements frowned and George’s brows furrowed. Mr. Townsend either ignored it or did not notice (more likely the latter), choosing instead to study the crowd. Then, spotting a sign pointing towards the boxing ring, the fellow nodded towards it.
“The ladies are occupied with their fluffy little creatures. Do you want to catch a few minutes of something more diverting?”
Mr. Clements gave that all the response it deserved and shook his head, while George tried to cobble together a more politic reply.
“My thanks, but I do not wish to get separated from the ladies.”
“Nonsense,” said Mr. Townsend, sucking back a swig of his cider. “They are fine where they are, and we shall be back before they even notice we are gone.”
But when neither fellow accepted his offer, Mr. Townsend handed the ladies’ mugs to George and sauntered off in search of other diversions. Mr. Clements huffed, that small noise conveying enough irritation and disapproval that George couldn’t help but smile, though he hid it by sipping from his drink.
There were plenty of fribbles who matured under the influence of a good lady, and George knew Evelyn could be the making of such a man, but he couldn’t see why his sister was giving the pompous twit a second glance. Though Mr. Townsend held her in esteem, George couldn’t see any other redeeming qualities about the fellow. He supposed he ought to withhold judgment until they had gotten to know one another properly, but George dreaded a second conversation with him.
His eyes darted from where the ladies stood to Mr. Clements and back. The gentleman slanted George several silent glances as well, and the pair stood there sipping their drinks and waiting.
“Have you known Miss Wakefield long, Mr. Clements?” George was rather pleased with how nonchalant the question sounded. Though he had no desire to know Mr. Clements better, if one expected to meet a rival in the field of battle, it was best to arm oneself with knowledge. But that thought had George wincing. He and Marian were friends. Nothing more. For now, at least. He was here as her companion—her confidant at best—and it was best not to think in terms of battles and rivalries.
“I had the pleasure of making her acquaintance when I took over the parish a year ago. She is involved with the church and various charities, and thus, our paths have crossed often.” Mr. Clements’ tone warmed as he spoke, a faint smile lifting his lips, which had George’s expression tightening.
“For as long as I’ve known her, she has always been quite industrious,” he replied with a nod. “Always working towards something. Though she can enjoy a quiet afternoon, I am quite certain she is not happy lazing about for long.”
That thought brought to mind Mr. Townsend, and George found himself shaking his head at the fellow once more. Mr. Clements’ gaze met his, a spark of understanding in his eyes, and they shared a silent laugh at Mr. Townsend’s expense. Shaking that away, George brought his cider to his lips once more. One ought not to fraternize with the enemy.
“It is a shame how things unraveled with the concert,” said George, speaking the words aloud before he could think better of it.
