Mr. Clements nodded. “It is a shame Miss Wakefield’s temper got the better of her.”
George’s ears pricked at that. Though he was well acquainted with the strength of Marian’s temper, he was also equally certain it was not she who had caused the ruckus. It may get away from her at times, but the lady was quite aware of that shortcoming and had admitted as much during her tearful confession.
“I find Miss Wakefield’s determination to do her best admirable,” replied George. “Especially, when it is in regards to helping others.”
With a furrowed brow, Mr. Clements clarified. “I was not denigrating her charitable heart, Mr. Finch, and I apologize if that was the impression I gave. I simply meant that she can be a bit…”
The vicar frowned and stood there, sorting through his words, and George bristled at the implication rife in his tone and the faltering manner in which he spoke. While the vicar considered what description to use, George’s mind raced through the possibilities and how he would refute them. Marian had flaws like anyone else, but he would not stand silently and hear her character impeached when her strengths and virtues far outweighed the weaknesses.
“Miss Wakefield is…” But Mr. Clements’ words drifted off once more as he studied Marian. Then, turning to face George, he said, “I hate to be so bold—we hardly know each other, after all—but I fear I am not well acquainted with many in the area, and you have known Miss Wakefield for some time now, and I wished to know—no, I need to know—that perchance if it might…”
The man continued to babble on, tiptoeing towards something, though never explicitly saying anything until George finally came to the point.
“You may ask me anything, Mr. Clements,” he said, though he wasn’t certain he wanted to hear it.
Puffing out his cheeks, the vicar looked far more like a young man than a stodgy vicar. “Is Miss Wakefield always so forceful in her opinions?”
George fought back a groan, and his thoughts cobbled together a litany of condemnations for that question. Did he prefer to court some silent, wilting flower who merely smiled and gave a quick, “Yes, dearest,” to any petition? If so, Mr. Clements had proven himself a fool of the highest order.
But a heartbeat before he was going to tell Mr. Clements just that, George came upon a startling realization. Was he truly trying to convince Marian’s suitor of how unique and wonderful she was? If the vicar could not see it on his own, the wretched fellow did not deserve her—just as George had not all those years ago.
Mr. Clements was unsuited for Marian, but before he could tell the fellow just that, Father’s words came to mind once more. As much as George wanted to believe he would’ve been wise enough to listen to his father’s counsel, he knew that if anyone had confronted him about Juliette during their courtship, he would’ve clung all the tighter to her. Hearts were silly organs at times, especially when one’s pride was pricked. No, this required a more subtle hand. And if Mr. Clements were asking such questions, he wasn’t wholly snared yet.
For both Marian and Mr. Clements’ good, George had to speak up. It was his Christian duty to aid the pair in avoiding a foolish decision such as the one he had made. He was Marian’s friend, after all.
“Marian is an opinionated creature, Mr. Clements. Though she listens to reason, she will not be swayed by anything less.” And as much as George thought that adequate, doubt pricked at him, prodding his tender feelings with questions about whether or not it would be enough for Mr. Clements to see how poor a match they’d make.
Shifting the mugs of cider in his hand, George cleared his throat and added, “If I may speak candidly, I would not fret about Miss Wakefield’s forthright manners. She will champion many good causes and do much good in your parish, and you can soothe whatever feathers she will ruffle among your parishioners. Look at how you managed the charity concert. Yes, you shall be called upon to mediate many disputes, but that is of little consequence. I am certain you are used to spending much of your time tending to your flock that adding a bit more will matter little.”
George spoke carefully, straying not into falsehood, but he placed subtle emphasis on “disputes,” echoing that tone throughout his speech. It was better to simply hint at the issues that would likely cause him trouble, as George suspected Mr. Clements was the sort of shortsighted fool who preferred a calm and biddable wife. And frankly, there was a reason so many vicars chose mousey ladies; when one’s income was directly impacted by how well both he and she were liked among the parishioners, a lady who might tread on toes was not an asset. Marian was a gem of a woman, but she struggled with social politics.
Taking another sip of his drink, George gave Mr. Clements a moment to think that through. Marian was a lovely woman, but she was no vicar’s wife, and the fact that the fool hadn’t seen that already only added to the rightness settling into George’s heart. This was for the best.
“You have given me much to think about, Mr. Finch,” murmured Mr. Clements with a frown. “Thank you for your insights.”
Mr. Clements watched the ladies as they enjoyed the little performance, and Marian cast her gaze over her shoulder, catching George’s eyes and widening her own, as though pleading for an escape. Needing no more invitation than that, he crossed the distance between them and came to stand at her side.
Chapter 24
Only a curmudgeon would turn a nose up at a festival, and Evelyn was no curmudgeon. There was hardly anything disagreeable about it; the simplest, silliest little things were diverting—even a puppet show. In other situations, Evelyn may not have chosen to spend quite so much time watching dogs prance about or foot races, but everything was better at a festival. Except for the company at present.
That was unfair of her. Miss Abbott was not as wretched as she appeared, but after days of imagining herself and Mr. Townsend sharing this moment, Evelyn was not pleased to have another hovering about. It did not help that Miss Abbott was not as merry as the others in attendance, but with the addition of George’s party and other ladies to draw the lady into conversation, Miss Abbott’s company was easier to enjoy.
“So, Mr. Finch is your elder brother?” asked Miss Abbott, turning her attention away from the cavorting dogs.
“Yes.” Evelyn had thought that clear when she introduced him.
Miss Abbott glanced at the fellow in question with a coquettish expression before turning back to the performance. “And is he unattached?”
Evelyn’s gaze darted to Miss Wakefield, though the lady seemed not to notice the conversation. “That is a question you shall have to ask him.”
“What a thought,” said Miss Abbott with the first true show of mirth she’d demonstrated that afternoon.
And then the gentlemen joined them once more with mugs of cider in hand, but Evelyn’s heart sank when she found Mr. Townsend missing. George made the fellow’s apologies and handed her a drink, though it was a poor substitute for her beau.
“Do you wish to get a slice of ginger cake?” asked Evelyn. She did not need any more food at present, but it was a better diversion than watching the same performance again and again. It had been entertaining the first time, but Miss Abbott seemed determined to spend the entire day watching the “dear little puppies.”
Miss Abbott waved the suggestion away, and Miss Wakefield tried to follow Evelyn, but Miss Abbott took her by the arm and kept cooing over the creatures. With a dejected sigh in her gaze, Miss Wakefield nodded for Evelyn to go on; at least one of them would escape for a moment. For their part, the gentlemen were both focused on Miss Wakefield and oblivious to the other ladies.
