Truth be told, Frederick wasn’t certain that those were the precise words his father had spoken to him mere hours before the fellow had collapsed in the library, never to rise again. Yet those sentences refused to leave him. Or rather, the tone with which he spoke. There had been something so final in it.
Was it possible to sense one’s end coming? No doubt Thea would have some grand insight into this quandary, accompanied by a few words to buoy his spirits. In a trice, she would decipher the words and dispel the unease they inspired.
But today was not the day for such morbid conversations. Some day soon, certainly. Not now.
“Jealous that I’ve secured the heart of the most beautiful creature in all of Lincolnshire?” replied Frederick, sloughing off the fellow’s arm. “You needn’t worry. I am certain some girl will take pity on you. Eventually. Assuming the man she wants isn’t available.”
That earned him the usual guffaws, and Frederick added with a grin, “Besides, Miss Keats’ face is far nicer to look at than yours. Who wouldn’t prefer staring at her whilst you ramble on and on?”
And that she was. Frederick couldn’t help but take another look at her.
Though Thea would despair over him calling her anything more than perfectly average, no other word but “gorgeous” or “lovely” could describe the beauty that shone from every inch of her. The dark gold of her hair deepened toward brunette at times, but in the sunlight it gleamed as though each strand had been warmed by fire. And that smile—hesitant at first, as though she doubted her right to offer it—seemed to belong to him alone.
“He is doing it again,” muttered Gordon with the sigh of one whose patience was being tested beyond its endurance.
“Give it a few weeks, and they’ll announce their engagement, then we will never see him again,” said Lambert. “Enjoy his company while we can.”
The pair continued to tease and twit Frederick, but his attention drifted when his eyes fell to Mr. Stout. Though entirely inappropriately named, the fellow’s grim expression and arms crossed tightly across his lithe chest made the grocer imposing enough.
Frederick felt the weight of that gaze as though it bore down on his shoulders. He shifted his stance, feigning a careless posture, but the air around him thickened all the same. Every few moments, he glanced elsewhere, only to find that the man’s stare had not wavered. A prickle ran up his neck, that uneasy awareness of being measured and found wanting.
“Please excuse me,” he tossed at his friends before weaving through the parishioners; Frederick didn’t know precisely what he was going to say to the fellow, but his conscience wouldn’tallow things to fester as they were. Mr. Stout deserved an apology.
The fellow turned to face Frederick as he drew near, and thankfully, Mr. Stout stepped apart from the other parishioners to allow the pair a touch more privacy as Frederick reached out to give the man a shake of the hand. There was no reason this misstep couldn’t be easily sorted out and forgotten.
“Do forgive us the tardy payment. Had I realized our bill was outstanding, I would’ve sent the funds before your clerk arrived on our doorstep,” said Frederick whilst thanking the heavens the family hadn’t been present when the dunning letter arrived; the moment had been embarrassing enough without any added hysterics or judgment.
“So Mr. Johns said,” replied Mr. Stout, his posture, tone, and expression remaining stony.
Trotting out the grin that worked best with menfolk, Frederick added a faint grimace to it. “Please do not let it reflect badly on my family. I assure you that it was entirely accidental. With our loss being so recent and unexpected, some bills were overlooked, and I am trying my best to sort it out.”
Matters weren’t helped that Mr. Howlett had yet to respond to Frederick’s letters, but as appealing as it was to lay the blame entirely on their man of business, a gentleman took responsibility when duties were mishandled.
Mr. Stout nodded. “I am sorry for your loss. Please do not think me heartless for pestering a grieving family or ignorant of the difficulties you face at this time, but my children need to be fed, and your family’s debts are significant.”
Frederick’s brows rose, and he lowered his voice. “Do we owe more? I sent the full amount, as was indicated in the dunning letter—”
“That was only the most outstanding debt, sir. There is a proper order to such things, and the rest haven’t arrived at thepoint where such steps are necessary. Again, I do not wish to trouble a grieving family.”
Frederick straightened. “And I am grateful for it. I am still sorting out my father’s records, and I fear it’s a bit of a tangle. I appreciate your patience, and if you will send me a bill itemizing all that is still owed, I will ensure that the whole of it is paid immediately. The entire amount. We will not short you.”
But for all those reassurances, Mr. Stout’s expression remained impassive. “Your father gave similar promises.”
“And I have no doubt he would’ve delivered on them had he not passed so suddenly.”
“Some have been outstanding for nigh on a year,” said Mr. Stout. “And I am not the only tradesman in town awaiting payment.”
Fighting the frown that threatened to make itself known at that revelation, Frederick gave his warmest and most earnest of smiles. It helped that it wasn’t an affectation but a genuine show of concern; he didn’t know how the finances had gotten so tangled, but he would sort it out. Immediately.
“I do apologize for any pains we have caused you, Mr. Stout, but I promise that every last farthing will be paid as soon as I know what is owed.”
Holding out his hand, Frederick hoped his words were enough to appease the fellow, and though it took a moment, the grocer accepted the handshake. Likely Father would think it strange to put so much stock in the acceptance of a tradesman, but Frederick didn’t want anyone (even those amongst the middle class) to think a Voss’s word meant nothing.
“I will sort this out,” he promised once more, infusing every word with all the honesty of his heart. One way or another, Frederick would make this right.
Chapter 3
Turning back to his friends, Frederick considered returning to the previous conversation. Yet watching Gordon and Lambert from afar (their ridiculousness evident even at this distance), he couldn’t bring himself to return to his friends. For all that they believed his good humor was overflowing, Mr. Stout’s words and the accusations leveled against his family rested heavily on his shoulders.
