The press of parishioners slowed the pair’s pace, requiring Thea and Phoebe to offer a murmured greeting and a polite nod before they could continue on their way. It was the familiar rhythm of a Sunday in Haverford, with the congregation spilling into the narrow walks as they were reluctant to part company just yet. Thea adjusted her hold on Phoebe’s arm, guiding her through the shifting clusters of neighbors—until a voice called for them to pause.
“Pray, a moment.” Mrs. Godwin stood beneath the shadow of a yew, a tall gentleman beside her. She beckoned them nearer with a gloved hand, her expression alight with satisfaction as she pointed to a gentleman with such somber clothes that he must either be an undertaker or a cleric. “May I introduce my husband’s nephew, Mr. Samuel Godwin. He is visiting our lovely corner of the country.”
The gentleman bowed. “And a very lovely corner it is, Aunt. Quite the most delightful I have seen in some time.”
“Come now, your home in Kingsmere is quite breathtaking,” said his aunt.
“Breathtaking, yes,” Mr. Godwin agreed smoothly, “but the beauty of Haverford is heightened when one takes into account the civility and warmth of its people. Your village, madam,possesses both in abundance. It is heaven on earth, and I shall be loath to leave it.”
Phoebe’s smile curled upward, and Thea braced herself for what was to come: Frederick wasn’t the only Voss who enjoyed needling others.
“Such a broad statement, sir,” said Phoebe with a hint of puzzlement pasted over her tone. “You must’ve been here a good many weeks to have made such an assessment.”
Mr. Godwin’s expression didn’t falter in the slightest. “I only arrived yesterday evening, but from the moment I set foot in Haverford, it was clear that this village is one of the greatest jewels in England. As is my own humble home, of course.”
“Sir Anthony Whitcombe is his patron,” added his aunt, her tone steeped with reverence, as though speaking of the Almighty Himself.
“I do have that honor, though we rarely have the pleasure of his presence,” said Mr. Godwin with a solemn shake of his head. “Mrs. Whitcombe manages the estate in his absence, and never has a village been more blessed than Kingsmere. She is the finest of ladies and best of patronesses.”
“That is quite a blessing, indeed,” said Phoebe, infusing her tone with a level of awe befitting her disinterest, though Mr. Godwin sensed none of her subtle laughter.
“Too true, madam,” said the gentleman. “I have been most fortunate, indeed. It is my constant prayer that my conduct reflects the Whitcombes’ virtue, for they embody everything our great country stands for. The finest of conduct and manners. A pattern card for our behavior.”
“My good sir,” said Phoebe with eyes wide with feigned shock. “I dare say it is folly for us to hope that we might achieve such goodness. They are clearly superior in every facet.”
“True, madam,” said Mr. Godwin with a condescending nod of his head. “I suppose the best we can hope for is to learnfrom their wisdom. It is the reason I did not hesitate when Lady Agatha insisted it was high time I find myself a wife: a flock cannot thrive beneath a bachelor clergyman, after all.”
“And is that your purpose in visiting Haverford?” asked Phoebe with the faintest of smirks. “I would think Kingsmere has ladies aplenty from which to choose, and you needn’t venture so far from your flock.”
“Yes, but you can well imagine how difficult it is for a gentleman in his position,” interjected Mrs. Godwin, giving her nephew a beaming smile whilst patting him on the arm. “He is bound to cause a stir when he chooses one lady over another. What with his good living, fine house, prestigious patron, and of course, my husband’s connections to the Archbishop, there isn’t a lady in Kingsmere who wouldn’t be desperate to secure his hand in matrimony.”
“As they should,” said Phoebe with a solemn nod. “And how fortunate we are that he condescended to bless our little corner of Lincolnshire during his search for the perfect shepherdess to assist with his flock.”
Thea pressed her lips together, torn between horror over Phoebe’s irreverence and astonishment that Mr. Godwin appeared not to notice. If anything, he seemed gratified, mistaking her dry tone for admiration; his posture grew more upright, his expression fixed in solemn dignity whilst his aunt looked on in delight, plainly convinced that her nephew was making a most favorable impression.
Passing parishioners cast curious glances, drawn by the sound of his voice (the sort that did a clergyman proud whilst standing at the pulpit), but Phoebe stood serenely, her hand light upon Thea’s arm, her eyes gleaming with suppressed amusement. It was as though she played a game whose rules were known only to her, and the unsuspecting rector was losing badly.
Thea managed a small smile, her gaze flicking to where Frederick waited by the gate. It was at moments like these that Thea couldn’t decide if she liked the Vosses’ boldness or despaired over it. Of course, seeing Frederick wield it when his victims needed to be brought down a peg was always entertaining, but as her heart tended toward beating against her ribs as though she were standing on a stage with all eyes on her, it could be equally embarrassing as well.
The gentleman’s lips pulled up into that self-assured smile, which had all the confidence of a man who knew he was the object of attention and reveled in the spell he cast over her—whilst ignoring that he was just as ensnared by her as she was by him. After all, one couldn’t notice another noticing if one wasn’t noticing the other in the first place.
That grin was what most people noticed first about Frederick Voss. It filled the whole of him, shining with joy, impishness, and amusement. His hair was the color of unripe wheat, and though he secretly despaired that his field was thinning, Thea thought it naught but the worry of a man who (like far too many) believed only women were victims of vanity. But truth or not, it made no difference: Frederick Voss was the handsomest of men.
And when those light blue eyes met hers for the third time, Thea’s own smile broadened. His gaze was as lovely as a clear afternoon day when the sun shone bright, making the blue all the richer and deeper.
Her Frederick.
*
“Heaven save us from cow-eyed fools,” said Gordon, giving Frederick a “good-natured” jostle that rattled his teeth.
“Leave him be,” said Lambert, straightening his cuffs. “A man ought to stare longingly at the lady he loves and thank his lucky stars that she finds him amusing.”
Frederick pasted on his usual smile whilst righting his jacket. Though he certainly had been doing the former and did the latter on many occasions, they didn’t need to know that this time his thoughts were otherwise occupied. A gentleman didn’t admit that he was thinking of his father whilst looking at his sweetheart. Not that Thea reminded him of his father. They were nothing alike. But the gentleman was never far from Frederick’s thoughts.
With a careful touch, he adjusted the mourning band that rested on his forearm. A father’s passing left a mark on a son, even if he was a grown man of three and twenty.
“There is more strength in you than you know. You’ll manage in ways I never could. You’ll do just fine, Frederick. Better than I have.”
