“Good, good.” The vicar nodded. “I am glad to hear it. It seems your parents, like ourselves, have just one nestling left to push out into the world. Speaking of which, I believe you are interested in joining the clergy. A very fine occupation. But then, of course, my opinion on the matter is biased.”
Mr. Cole did not answer at once. When he did, it was merely to say, “That has not yet been decided.”
“Oh, my dear!” Mrs. Lockhart threw her hand to her bosom once more. “You cannot wait! A young man must keep busy, or he will fall into bad habits for want of better things to do. See how happy and content Mr. Lockhart is.”
Mr. Cole was obliged to do just that. He turned to Verity’s father, who sat amicably in his deep, upholstered chair, his light-brown hair a little long and wild, belying his calm nature. Beside him lay a small stack of books with spectacles resting on top. Across his lap lay a warm, woolen coverlet. Truly, he was the very picture of contentment.
As if satisfied that Mr. Cole had seen enough, Verity’s mother added, “No, indeed, sir, the church is the very thing!”
Mr. Cole shook his head. “If I were made of the good stuff that Mr. Lockhart has in abundance, I would agree. I know it is what my father wants for me. However, I am not convinced that I am suited for it.”
“‘Not suited’?” Mrs. Lockhart waved a hand dismissively. “Fiddlesticks! You can speak well enough to deliver a sermon. Mr. Lockhart simply reads them from the books the diocese publishes.” Her eyes glanced at her husband and then looked hard at Mr. Cole. “You have two strong arms and I daresay a healthy pair of legs with which to serve your neighbors. What more is there to it?”
Mr. Cole looked at the floor.
Verity took pity on him. “Is there something else you would rather do, Mr. Cole?”
He looked up, his face shining, only to drop his gaze to his hands and say, “I did consider the military.”
“The military!” Mrs. Lockhart whipped around to face her husband. “Did you hear that, Mr. Lockhart? All that marching up and down in the mud when he could have a nice, clean pulpit once a week. Who would not rather have a congregation that loves him instead of an enemy trying to murder him?” Sheturned her attention suddenly to her daughter. “Verity, dear, do tell him he is being silly.”
Verity wanted to declare,“I will do no such thing! The man should follow his dreams!”Instead, she bit her feelings back and said, “I do not think it is my place to speak to him so.”
“You’re in want of a good wife, Mr. Cole.” Her mother scolded him since Verity would not. “If you had a fine woman to come home to of an evening, you would not be so keen to run off to war.”
“No doubt you are right, ma’am,” their visitor said, mostly to his boots. His soft voice had grown quieter still. Then, with alarming abruptness, he stood. “I’m afraid I must be on my way. I had only meant to stop and look in on you as I passed.”
“I say, my boy,” protested the vicar, “you will not stay even ten minutes more?”
“No. You will have to forgive me. Thank you for your hospitality, but I must take my leave at once.”
“Well!” Mrs. Lockhart breathed out heavily. “I will not say it pleases me. But of course, if you are expected elsewhere… Perhaps we will see you again soon?”
Mr. Cole bowed stiffly. “We will no doubt see each other with great regularity, now that I am returned to Fernbridge.”
“Ah, well, that is good. Will we see you at church on Sunday, then?”
Mr. Cole’s face tightened. “My father will likely insist.”
And with these words, he turned and walked his long legs to the front door. With a curt “Good day,” he was out and into the garden, striding toward the gate post, where his horse was tethered.
Mrs. Lockhart looked at her husband. “Well, I never! How strange he has grown. And will you look at that? He has forgotten his hat. Verity, run and take it to him. Quickly now, before his head catches a cold.”
Verity took the hat in hand and stepped lightly onto the path, reaching Mr. Cole before he had mounted his horse.
“Here,” she called, making him turn, “you left your hat.”
The man’s eyebrows rose from a frown into high arches, his mouth softening and parting slightly.
“Ah, so I did. Thank you.” He tipped the hat onto his head and was about to resume his departure when Verity gasped.
“What is it?” he asked, his eyes darkening with concern.
“Your hat…” Verity pointed to the curved brim. “It’s a red admiral.”
William relaxed into a smile. “I have never heard the style described as such. As far as I am aware, it is a simple top hat.”
“No, no…onyour hat. It is a red admiral butterfly! They’re not usually this far north in October. I haven’t seen any for several weeks now.”
