“Ah, William, come in. Take a seat. Tell me all about your visit with the Lockharts.”
William grimaced.Time to report.He sat down reluctantly.
“What do you wish to know?”
“Don’t be coy, William. You and I both know what we’re about.”
“Mr. Lockhart is well and asked after you,” came the evasive reply.
“William.” Mr. Cole’s voice had an edge of warning to it.
William sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“Miss Lockhart is pleasant enough, if that is any recommendation.”
“Good. I told you she is no longer the scrawny lass you remembered.”
“She still has some odd notions.”
Mr. Cole furrowed his brow. “Such as?”
William pictured Verity’s pout at not being able to study further. Somehow, it seemed a betrayal to lay her secret desires bare to his father’s scrutiny. Instead, he chose another, lesser flaw for a woman to have.
“She is preoccupied with the study of butterflies.”
Mr. Cole gave a gruff laugh. “If that is her only fault, William, you have little cause for complaint.”
“It was but a first meeting since childhood.”
Mr. Cole pressed his lips firmly together. “I suppose you will make sure to visit just frequently enough to find something unacceptable about her.”
“It shouldn’t take long.”
Mr. Cole rose from his chair and rapidly crossed the floor toward his son.
William flinched. He had gone too far. But his father had never been a violent man. Surely, he wouldn’t…
Mr. Cole strode past him. He pulled the door closed with a soft click, then turned to face his son.
“William, let us speak plainly. You are a man now. But you are a man without purpose. You do not serve your king or country as a good Englishman should. You offer nothing back to your community, nor do you provide for a family. In short, you do nothing but gamble with your friends, flirt shamelessly, and ride about the countryside. What value is there in such a pointless existence?”
Ah, there it was. The speech of the long-suffering parent. A reminder of how worthless he was.
“Well, do you have nothing to say for yourself?”
“What would be the point?”
“Thepoint, William, would be that you actually cared what happened to you!”
“Why bother when everyone else has such firmly decided plans for me? You tell me to find a wife, but you already have one in mind for me…”
Mr. Cole interrupted with an exasperated wave of his hands. “We only suggested Miss Lockhart because you spent an entire summer in Steeples, supposedly looking for a bride, but came home empty-handed! Even your little detour to visit your sister in Munro brought you no new prospects. Honestly, William, are you even trying?”
William was silenced by these words. He had believed Munro held the answer—a life with Ellena, the one woman for whom he would willingly be the better man. But it had ended badly. His sudden return to Fernbridge had not been his choice.
At least this one failure had been successfully hidden from his family. He suspected that his father’s tolerance, though extensive, would find its limit if he knew the circumstances surrounding his departure from Munro.
Perhaps he should at least offer a semblance of effort. It would not do to test his parents to a breaking point.
He forced the words from his lips. “I will try, Father. If you wish, I will return to the Lockharts tomorrow.”
His father breathed out his visible relief. It was at once replaced with caution.
“No, no, that would lack propriety. You are not officially courting Miss Lockhart yet and should not seem overly eager. But she turned eighteen last month, and her parents have indicated she will soon be allowed to come out into society. A visit to the family once a week would be neighborly and indicate a general interest for when the time is right. Besides, you could learn more about the duties of a vicar and what will be expected of you when Mr. Lockhart retires.”
William bit his tongue. This was not the time to argue. He had gained a few weeks’ reprieve. A handful of visits enduring Mrs. Lockhart’s chatter was a small price for perhaps a month of freedom. And then? He had no idea. But he suspected that young Miss Lockhart would hold the key.
