Page 1 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

Chapter One

December 31st, 1820

The snowfall in the darkening skies, and the surrounding blanket of white, made the ride from the Earl of Annesbury’s house to Whitewood Manor eerily silent. The only sound beyond Harry and his brother-in-law’s breath was the jingle of the carriage harnesses. Neither man spoke, though Harry knew he ought to say something. Normally he broke tension with a witty remark, but that was hardly appropriate in these circumstances.

“What if he won’t let you help him?” Harry said suddenly, disturbing the silence.

“I have to try, Harry. I am a doctor; it is my duty to see to any who need medical attention.” Nathaniel Hastings, Harry’s brother-in-law, shifted in his seat. “Tell me again exactly what the footman said.”

It was New Year’s Eve, and both men had been attending a celebration at the Gilbert home, where their family and friends had gathered to feast, play games, and sing until the old year ended. No further parties would be had in the country for many months, as all the nobility and many members of the gentry would make their way to London for the Season.

Twenty-year-old Harry Devon had been looking forward to this night. Home from university for a short holiday, twenty-year-old Harry Devon had been looking forward to this night. But his desire to sing and tease his sisters had been forgotten with one urgent message sent from his father’s home, Whitewood.

“Father had a riding accident this morning,” Harry said, holding a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. “A broken leg. No one knew of it until hours passed and he was found by a tenant. He was brought home, the apothecary has been attending him, and they only sent for me when he requested it.”

Harry’s fear that his father might refuse any help that Nathaniel selflessly volunteered was well-founded; Mr. Devon had never spoken the name of Nathaniel Hastings, or even that of his eldest daughter Julia, since they had wed.

Never mind that Nathaniel is a respected physician. Harry knew his brother-in-law was well-published in medical journals. Really, most would consider it an honor to be attended by him.

“Perhaps it is not too serious,” Nathaniel said, tone cautious. “You would’ve been called home sooner.”

Harry chuckled, without much of his usual humor. “My father would sooner give up his fortune than admit to any weakness, in body or mind. The fact that he sent for me, instead of waiting until I came home in the morning, worries me.” Harry tensed when the carriage turned into the lane leading up to his house.

Every window glowed with light, and the old butler threw the front door open as the carriage rolled to a stop. Harry climbed out first, Nathaniel barely a step behind.

Carmichael, the butler, met them on the landing and began to explain the situation in hushed tones. “Mr. Devon went on his morning ride as usual, sir. No one even thought to look for him until the farmer brought him to the door.”

“It was an accident, nothing more.” Harry swallowed and nodded. “And his injury, Carmichael?”

“When he fell from the horse, it apparently stepped backward. The lower part of his right leg is broken and protruding. Mr. Neeson has been here all day, tending to Mr. Devon.”

Harry looked over his shoulder at Nathaniel, whose expression had turned very grim. “Show us to my father.”

Carmichael bowed and then lead them to the hall of family rooms, where Mr. Devon’s bedchamber lay. Harry stepped into the room, immediately overwhelmed by the heat within. The fire was blazing and scores of candles had been placed on every surface. His father’s large four-poster bed was against the far wall, swathed in green velvet curtains, and Harry could see his father’s pale face in the center of the bedding. His cold blue eyes leapt out, hostile even in the midst of misfortune.

Harry’s eyes were a matching shade, but he hoped they never caused a person the trepidation his father’s did.

Mr. Neeson, the village apothecary, came forward with a straight back and narrowed eyes. “I am afraid your father isn’t doing well, Mr. Devon.”

“Mr. Neeson, this is my brother-in-law, Doctor Hastings. Please, tell him everything about the injury and what has been done for my father.” Harry gestured for Nathaniel to come forward, which he did, only to be met with an almost scornful huff from the old apothecary.

“Doctor Hastings,” Mr. Neeson said, his tone one of disinterest. “Mr. Devon has suffered a riding accident. After falling from his horse, he was trampled upon. He has sustained a break just below his hip and a compound fracture in his shin. The bone was protruding by three inches. He was exposed to the elements for above two hours. I have treated his wound and stretched the bone back into place. There is nothing more for you to do here.”

Shocked at the tone of the man, Harry opened his mouth to say something sharp, but Nathaniel began speaking, calm and collected.

“I understand your protectiveness of your patient, Mr. Neeson. Please answer just a few questions for me, as a professional courtesy. Did Mr. Devon have many bone fragments in the wound?”

Drawing himself up, Mr. Neeson spoke as though to a simpleton. “As a doctor, sir, you should know the danger of going into a man’s leg and poking around. You must’ve read the work of Samuel Cooper in regard to the danger of gangrene should the wound be too disturbed.”

Nathaniel closed his eyes and spoke with patience. “I am familiar with the esteemed Doctor Cooper, but I would rather not discuss medical theories. Did you clean any debris from the wound?”

“I packed the whole with the appropriate medicines and poultice,” Mr. Neeson stated firmly. “As is recommended in cases such as these.”

Although Harry didn’t even pretend to understand the world of medicine, he trusted Nathaniel’s reputation as an expert in medical care.

“Mr. Neeson,” Harry said, breaking in before the argument continued. “I ask that you defer to Doctor Hastings in the care of my father. He’s family, and I trust him.” Harry exchanged a meaningful glance with Nathaniel before going to his father’s side.

Mr. Devon, his dark hair flecked with gray, lay as pale as a ghost in his bed. He moaned as Harry approached, then appeared to come more to his senses. “Horace,” he said, using Harry’s given name.