Clutching his hands behind his back, Caleb glared at her smiling face. She looked genuinely happy to see Mr. Townsend, which only made Caleb want to strike the man. Preferably in the face.
“Oh no, Miss Clemens,” Mr. Townsend assured her, faltering slightly when she steadied the fishing rod against her hip, took hold of what Caleb presumed was a tiny fish, and proceeded to unhook it from the end of the line. “I...er...ah...” Mr. Townsend continued, his gaze darting between Miss Clemens's face and the fish she was trying to release.
Eliot, too, watched in awe, as if the idea of a woman handling such matters was the most impressive thing he'd ever seen. And then, with a flick of her wrist, Miss Clemens sent the fish flying back into the lake where it landed with a tiny plop.
“You were saying?” she asked Mr. Townsend.
Caleb grinned. He had to give her credit for her ability to ruffle the man who now sputtered as if he'd just lost the ability to speak.
“I...er...”
“Yes?” Miss Clemens prompted.
“I hope you can forgive me for staying away so long,” Mr. Townsend finally said. “The farm has kept me very busy this past week. Do say you'll forgive me.”
Caleb groaned in response to Mr. Townsend's simpering tone, earning a scowl from Miss Clemens. He raised an eyebrow in return.
“Of course I do,” she said with a smile.
Again, Caleb felt inclined to bury his fist in Mr. Townsend's face. Until he saw how fake Miss Clemens's smile actually was. It did not reach her eyes or tug at her lips with genuine pleasure.
But Mr. Townsend did not seem to notice, because rather than take his leave, as Caleb hoped he would, he said, “My sister will be coming to visit next week. I would like for you to meet her, so I thought I’d invite you to dine with us during her stay. Shall we say Thursday at seven o’clock?” He beamed at Miss Clemens as if he’d just bestowed a great honor upon her.
Caleb watched her in anticipation of what she might say. She was biting her lip, hedging a bit as if she wished to decline but did not want to be rude either. “Thank you.” She drew the word out, her mind clearly searching for some acceptable excuse. And then she met Caleb’s gaze, and her eyes immediately sharpened. “I trust Mr. Crawford is permitted to join us?”
Rendered immobile for a second, Caleb pondered the significance of this request. She wanted him there, which made him feel seven feet tall and ridiculously smug. Especially when he caught the frown on Mr. Townsend’s brow and the displeased slant of his mouth. It was as if there had just been a contest between them and Caleb had won, though what he had won, he wasn’t quite sure. But it was certainly clear that Miss Clemens did not want to suffer Mr. Townsend’s company without his added presence, which suggested she hoped to dissuade him from making advances or getting his hopes up about a possible match between them.
“Well…er…” Mr. Townsend blustered. “Would you not rather ask Lady Cassandra or Miss Howard, if it is a chaperone you require?”
“No,” she said. “Considering the late hour, I would much rather have the reliable escort of a man I know and trust.”
Caleb’s heart swelled. In this strange competition he’d unwittingly entered, it did seem as though he was faring much better than his opponent.
“But he’s a laborer, Miss Clemens,” Mr. Townsend said. “Does he even own acceptable evening attire?”
“He certainly does,” Caleb said with a low growl. He’d visit the tailor in the village if necessary.
“But what about shoes?” Mr. Townsend glared at Caleb’s mucky boots.
“Do you wear your best when you’re plowing the fields?” Caleb asked. The barb struck. He could see it in Mr. Townsend’s eyes.
“Fine,” Mr. Townsend muttered. His cheeks had turned ruddy. “As long as you look the part, you’re welcome to join us.”
Caleb smiled. “How kind you are, sir. I’m already counting the days until we meet again.”
“I—”
“Yes, I know. There is a lot for you to see to now that we have accepted. Preparations must be made.” Caleb took a step forward. “Please, don’t let us keep you.”
“But—”
“After all, I am sure you want to impress Miss Clemens and your sister with your hospitality. Might I suggest you get started right away?”
Mr. Townsend glanced at Miss Clemens, who immediately nodded. “He does have a point.”
“Right.” Mr. Townsend tipped his hat in Miss Clemens’s direction. “Until we meet again, Miss Clemens.” He started back toward the house, nodding at Caleb as he passed him. “Mr. Crawford.”
Caleb waited until the other man was well out of earshot before returning his attention to Miss Clemens, who stood with her hands on her hips and undeniable censure in her eyes. Casting a quick look at Eliot and Peter, she made sure they had their fishing in order before approaching him. It had been days since they had conversed in private, which somehow served to increase the tension as she moved in closer to where he stood.
