Page 17 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

“No valet?” she asked, looking him over with obvious skepticism. “I find that difficult to believe, with a gentleman of your standing.”

“I make do. The Gilberts’ footman saw to assisting me today. There is usually someone about if I need help.” He withdrew some berries and held them out to her, realizing belatedly he’d never put his gloves back on.

Miss Ames regarded him with puzzlement, but then took the berries, her fingertips not even brushing against his palm. But his skin remembered the feel of hers anyway, from bandaging her scrape. Her hand, warm and soft, marred by the brambles, had been delightful to hold for even a short amount of time.

With a sudden need to say something to her, to repair the opinion she had of him, he blurted out, “I have been meeting with the estate’s steward.”

She started at his rush of words, her lips parted with a berry hovering just before them. She cleared her throat and lowered the fruit. “I recall you said you wished to do something of the sort.” She waited, politely, for him to continue.

Harry, without much direction of thought, began talking to cover his embarrassment. “I thought a single meeting would be enough to determine how the estate ought to be managed, but it has been twelve days and I feel more confused than when we began. There is much to take into account in running a property the size of Whitewood, things I never considered. Did you know there is a dam on the property? And twelve families are tenants. Twelve. And there is a household staff, the gardeners, the groomsmen, the gamekeeper, and likely a flock of other people I have yet to hear about.”

While he spoke, her expression changed from confusion to amusement. “You didn’t know how many people depend upon your estate for their livelihood? Was that information not in the regular reports your steward sent you?” She plunked a berry into her mouth, her eyes laughing at him even if her lips were pressed together.

Harry fished more berries from his hat. Their progression down the road was slow, they were barely nearer the vicarage than when they’d begun. Miss Ames showed no impatience to be on her way. Perhaps she wanted to know more about the situation, and given her view of gossip she was likely a safe confidant.

“A lot of information was not in the reports.” Harry huffed. “There are things I am learning of that I find important, like knowing the number of children running about on my lands, that my father apparently never cared for. The steward has been sending me reports of a nature that would be sufficient for Mr. Charles Devon but are entirely lacking for me.”

Miss Ames reached out and brushed her fingers against his knuckles, arresting his attention to the spot where she touched at once. He realized he’d taken hold of the brim of his hat and started twisting it in his frustration. He immediately relaxed his grip.

“You do not wish to spoil your hat even more,” she said, her voice gentle and almost teasing. “Mr. Devon, you seem rather vexed. Why? You have found a problem, but I am certain you will find a solution as well.”

He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers, his heart thrumming quite pleasantly to find her so near.

One would think I have never been in close proximity to a pretty girl before. Harry cleared his throat and tucked his hat beneath his arm, berries still inside. “I am not certain I am the right person for this, Miss Ames,” he said. “My father had a good head for business. He managed things in a certain style, in a particular manner, and I haven’t been trained up in his way. I am giving serious thought to leasing the house.”

She tucked her hands behind her back, regarding him with a frank expression. “Mr. Devon, that will only delay the inevitable. You have already started your garden, you may as well finish and see what sort of harvest you reap.” She nodded once, firmly, then began walking again. She’d made it several steps before he rushed to follow.

“Garden? Miss Ames, I have only just begun to understand shepherds and sheep. Please, no more metaphors.”

“Parables, Mr. Devon.” She gave him a disapproving frown. “But very well. I think, sir, that you are troubled by the idea of walking away more so than you are by the idea of staying put. What I cannot understand is why you would consider leaving in the first place. Whitewood estate is stunning in its entirety. The people of Annesbury village are kind. The neighborhood charming. Why not remain here and build your life? Especially considering all the good you might do.”

He drew up, his mind sorting through her words and latching on to a horrid idea. “All the things I might do because of my money?” he asked, then clamped his mouth shut. One did not discuss one’s income in such a manner, with a near-stranger. Why had his tongue been so loose?

She shook her head. “Because of your influence. Because of the people who depend upon you. Your standing in this community could be of nearly as much importance as that of the Earl of Annesbury. You own nearly as much land in this county as he does. Yes, you have wealth, but it means nothing to the people here if they never see any of it.” She spoke as if the money meant nothing, and he supposed she might be free with it when it did not belong to her.

“I have no influence here, Miss Ames,” he said. It seemed the smiling Miss Ames was gone and in her place was the sermonizing vicar’s daughter once more.

“You could change that.” She regarded him with a more cautious expression. Perhaps she sensed the withdrawal of his more charming nature. “You could be an example of kindness, of gentility, to this neighborhood. The earl is a good man, but he is often gone to other properties and to London. It would be good to have another to look to when he is away. Someone to be a voice of respect and reason.”

“I would think your father would fill that position readily enough.” Harry didn’t exactly sound bitter, but he knew he didn’t sound pleasant either.

Her eyes grew distant and she turned away. “My father does his best, but the people are not particularly close to him.” She sighed. “And the curate is still too new to have much trust.”

“I’m as new as Mr. Haskett.” Harry bit his tongue. Why was he continuing this conversation? He ought to bid her good day and have done with all of it. Especially given his mounting frustration. It would be easier to leave again. Much easier than accepting the responsibility she put upon him with her words.

“Not really.” She appeared focused on the ground before her feet, stepping lightly around the larger stones and pebbles. “Your name is familiar, your sisters well-liked, and your reputation somewhat established. There is far more in your favor than against it.”

Harry tamped down his frustration, turning his hat over as they walked, spilling the last few berries, leaves, and twigs onto the road.

“What is against it, Miss Ames?” He didn’t look at her as he fixed his hat back upon his head. “Besides my lack of caring for my responsibilities.”

Her head turned sharply in his direction, her eyes narrowing at him. “Mr. Devon, I have obviously offended you with my observations. Perhaps it is best that we leave this conversation where it is.” They were nearly to the vicarage gate. He could easily do as she asked.

Except now that they had come to this point, the conversation irritated him as surely as a pebble in his shoe might.

“Miss Ames.” He stopped, and she did as well, straightening her shawl. “I cannot say the idea of settling permanently in the neighborhood appeals to me, but you are not the first to suggest it. If I am to consider such a thing, I should like to have facts laid out before me. You have given me a great many things to think about in regard to the way I can help this community. But then you imply there are things not in my favor. What are those things?”

His long hours working with his steward gave him every reason to wish to bolt, to take up a life of leisure in Brighton, Bath, London, anywhere but this country village. Yet learning how ignorant he truly was of what it meant to be a landowner stung his pride.