“How charitable of you,” Miss Townsend said.
“I told you she’s got a heart of gold,” Mr. Townsend said, his eyes fixed on Mary.
Discomfited by the attention, Mary shifted in her seat. “It was actually Lady Cassandra’s idea we do so. Considering her daughter’s lack of a father, she sympathizes with children who have lost their parents.”
Mr. Townsend frowned. “But her daughter’s a bastard, is she not?”
A disgruntled snort could be heard from the vicinity of the fireplace.
Mary clenched her jaw. “Your point?”
“Only that Lady Cassandra’s daughter lacks a father for a reason,” Mr. Townsend said. “While I appreciate Lady Cassandra’s kindness toward others, she is a sinful woman who was too easily lured into temptation by the devil himself.”
Mary gaped at Mr. Townsend. In all the discussions they’d had, he’d never given her reason to believe that his beliefs would be so strict and so…so…impossible for her to align herself with.
“Our father always warned us of such failings of the human flesh,” Miss Townsend muttered.
“I trust he was a very devout man?” Mary asked, forcing the words out past the dryness in her throat.
“He was a vicar,” Mr. Townsend said.
Another snort from the fireplace had Mary glancing in Mr. Crawford’s direction. “That is what my father wanted for me,” he said. “I told him to go to hell and thank God for that.”
Miss Townsend gasped while Mr. Townsend glared at Mr. Crawford. “I’ll remind you to watch your tongue sir. There are women present.”
“Yes, of course,” Mr. Crawford muttered. A smirk curled his lips, only easing marginally when he met Mary’s gaze. He raised his glass in salute and winked before taking a sip, returning his attention back to the fire.
“I do not believe you ever mentioned your father’s vocation before,” Mary said for want of anything else.
“It never occurred to me to do so,” Mr. Townsend said. “After all, I am the one vying for your hand, Miss Clemens. Not my father.”
If his intentions had been dubious before, they were now abundantly clear. Mary steeled herself in preparation for what she intended to say, but then the door opened and a maid announced that dinner was ready.
“Allow me to escort you,” Mr. Townsend said, offering Mary his arm.
She wanted to decline, but that would be rude. So she set her hand upon his forearm and gave Mr. Crawford a helpless look. His expression was firm, completely lacking all manner of emotion. Turning away, he offered his arm to Miss Townsend, who accepted with a bright smile that Mary instantly detested.
A tug on her arm pulled her attention back to the man by her side. “You look lovely by the way,” he murmured. “Quite healthy.”
Of all the compliments in the world…Mary sighed and resigned herself to what promised to be the worst evening of her life. When they reached the dining room, Mr. Townsend helped her into her seat before claiming the chair directly beside her. Mr. Crawford and Miss Townsend would sit across from them with a large floral arrangement placed squarely between them.
“May I offer you some beef?” Mr. Townsend inquired after filling Mary’s wine glass to the brim. He held an oval serving dish toward her.
“Thank you,” she took a small piece, her appetite lost somewhere between the front door and the parlor.
“I understand you’re a laborer, Mr. Crawford,” Miss Townsend said once the meal was underway.
“He is more than that,” Mary said, unable to stop from refuting Mr. Townsend’s ill opinion of one of the most incredible men she’d ever had the pleasure of knowing.
“In what sense?” Mr. Townsend asked with an unmistakable edge to his voice. “He mends houses, does he not? That is, as far as I have been able to surmise, the extent of his skill.”
Mary bristled. “You are wrong, Mr. Townsend. Indeed, Mr. Crawford…” She paused when she noted the slight shake of Mr. Crawford’s head. He wanted her to keep quiet about his achievements, which made no sense at all, but she would respect his wishes, so she reached for something else to say and eventually settled on, “he made fishing rods for the boys and in so doing has made them both incredibly happy. Peter, the eldest boy and the most recent arrival in our home, struggled with social interaction for a long time until Mr. Crawford managed to pull him out of himself.”
“Pull him out of himself?” Mr. Townsend chuckled as did his sister. “Sounds rather peculiar.”
“It is the only way I can think to describe it,” Mary said.
“The boy had an inward perspective which kept him apart from everyone else,” Mr. Crawford said.
