Page 13 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

Harry grinned to himself. I must thank her for putting the thought into my head.

Although he wasn’t sure how long this first step could take, after spending years in studies at Oxford he ought to be able to learn all there was to know from his employees with little effort.

Chapter Six

Pulling her sunshine-yellow shawl around her shoulders, Daisy slipped out the rear door of the vicarage at nearly the precise moment Mr. Haskett knocked on the front. She’d seen him from an upstairs window, approaching from down the lane. If he’d come to see her father, she would be required to attend them with refreshments and then perhaps be expected to sit while they discussed the ponderous aspects of Psalms.

She let a puff of air escape her, her back against the brick of the vicarage. I am hardly a dutiful daughter, running off like this.

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees from the lane, bathing the road in gold everywhere the blue shadows didn’t touch. The brisk fall air wrapped its coolness around her and she pushed away from the house’s shadows into the light. She’d hoped to take a long, rambling sort of walk today but chores had kept her indoors.

Thrilled to finally be outside, Daisy let the day take her, quite forgetting she didn’t wear her bonnet as she should. The blue sky beckoned her to hurry, and so she would.

Once on the lane, her house safely disappearing behind the trees, the weight of her duties fell away from her shoulders. She would necessarily take them up again when she returned home, but for the moment she enjoyed the sense of freedom in her breast.

Was this always how Harry Devon felt? The man seemed to have no cares, no concerns, given his interactions with her thus far. But why would he? If rumors were to be believed, he was richer than Midas.

Had he even given thought about their dinner conversation after he’d left the vicarage? That had been a fortnight ago, and she hadn’t seen him since, except for a short glimpse after services, when he’d been surrounded by young ladies.

Gossip inevitably made its way to her ears as she visited people in the parish, though she certainly didn’t seek it out. She’d heard he had begun making his neighborly visits to gentlemen all about the neighborhood, but no young ladies yet boasted of a similar honor.

“Their mothers must be beside themselves,” she said out loud, kicking a pebble from the road. How did a young man like him fill his days? Did he ever find himself afflicted with boredom?

Two children turned into the lane ahead of her. Daisy narrowed her eyes and studied their figures in an attempt to discern who they were. They seemed to see her at the same moment she recognized them.

“Miss Ames, good afternoon,” said the older of the two, Lucy Reeves. She was ten years old, fair-haired and freckled.

Janie Chandler added her enthusiastic wave to her greeting. “Miss Ames, hello!” Janie’s curls escaped the twist beneath her bonnet, and the strings were knotted untidily. The nine-year-old was forever smiling.

Putting away the thought of Harry Devon, Amelia quickened her step to catch up to the girls. They were the best of friends, nearly always in each other’s company. Lucy was the daughter of the local butcher and Janie’s grandmother was the town’s talented seamstress.

“What are you two doing this fine afternoon?” Daisy asked when she drew near enough she didn’t have to shout the question.

“Berry hunting,” Janie said, holding up the basket she’d been holding. “Lucy says it’s too late to find any, but I’m sure there must be some hiding about somewhere.”

“Are you after anything particular?” Daisy asked, looking from one little face to the other. “I happen to be an expert forager when it comes to berries. My sisters and I used to walk every lane in search of the best.”

Lucy’s eyes brightened. “Really? Will we find much in October?”

“We have had a very warm summer, and the weather has stayed fine. If the birds haven’t found all the berries yet, I’m certain I can help you find a few.” Daisy leaned closer to them, sharing a secretive smile. “I happen to know the very best place for wild strawberries is the Ensley farm, just along the road, or we could find hawthorn berries down by the Milton’s mill.”

The girls exchanged a wide-eyed look.

“Which do we want?” Janie asked, excitement creeping into her whisper.

The older girl narrowed her eyes as she thought. “Wild strawberries are tart. And hawthorn doesn’t make very good pies.”

“Is it pies you’re after?” Daisy straightened. “Why then, you must have my favorite. Blackberries.” She pointed down the lane. “The absolute best patch of blackberries, in the very whole county, is less than half a mile from here.”

“It is? Really?” Janie asked, gripping the handle of her basket tighter. “Where?”

“At Whitewood,” Daisy answered, immediately reminded of Harry Devon again. “Along the hedgerow.”

“Whitewood?” Lucy asked, starting to frown. “Do you think anyone will mind?”

“No one lives there,” Janie said quickly. “My granny told me. The owner came back, but he’s staying at the Gilberts’.”

Even the children were gossiping about Harry Devon. Daisy resisted the desire to sigh. “I don’t think anyone will mind if we go pick a few berries.”