Page 18 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

She studied him, her gray eyes taking in his expression, reading him. Did she see his earnestness, or did she only see a presumptuous man who had no right to prod her in such a manner?

“Here I thought you a most incorrigible gentleman,” she said at last. “But you really wish to know these things?”

“I do. Yes.”

She regarded him with the same sort of interest one might a mathematics problem. Searching for an answer yet not entirely willing to work one out.

“The thing you have most against you is not of your doing,” she said at last. “Your father’s reputation has cast something of a shadow. People wonder just how alike you are to him.”

Harry’s blood ran cold. He turned away from her, clenching his jaw. “That is all?” he asked at last, the light tone obviously false. “Of course. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, after all. Thank you for your information, Miss Ames. I hope you have a good day.” He bowed and took his leave of her, not meeting her eyes again.

While she said people wondered such a thing, he could hear the question in her voice. She wondered, too, if he was as miserly and selfish as the late Mr. Devon.

Miss Ames’s conjecture irked him. Hadn’t he been invited to meet any number of gentlemen in their homes?

Of course, there had been some interesting lines of conversation in those instances. Especially in regards to his desire to settle at Whitewood. Harry had assumed people were merely curious, looking for gossip to share with friends. But—no. Thinking on it now, there had been at least two instances when the men he spoke to encouraged him to go back to London. One had said, London isa fine place for bachelor’s such as yourself. Harry had laughed and agreed, though he abhorred the town, in an attempt to be polite.

Furthermore, he certainly hadn’t been invited to anyone’s dinner table since his arrival, with the exception of the vicar. The young ladies he had met at the church had seemed eager enough to reacquaint themselves with him. Their parents, less so.

Having done everything in his power to avoid being like his father, the thought smarted. A whole village of people silently questioned his character.

Brighton would be lovely. No one knows the Devon name there. I think.

Working against the reputation of a dead man, to earn the esteem of neighbors he barely knew, didn’t appeal to him in the slightest. His father’s history loomed over him, casting a long shadow indeed, and overcoming it would take more time and energy than he wished to give.

He’d never particularly wanted to come back for that very reason.

Harry’s steps slowed as he approached his family’s estate, the thought taking hold of him.

I never wished to confront all that my father left behind.

Miss Ames’s words came back to him. “You could be an example of kindness, of gentility, to this neighborhood.”

His thoughts spun and his heart ached. All he wanted was to find some purpose, find his place in the world.

Why did it have to be here?

Chapter Seven

Daisy’s Father leaned on his walking stick in the doorway, watching for Mr. Haskett and the Gooches. Mr. and Mrs. Gooch had a little farm and were near neighbors to the Ameses, so when they offered to give the vicar and Daisy a ride to the assembly ball, Daisy had thought nothing of accepting their kind invitation. After she said yes, Mrs. Gooch informed her they were to bring the curate as well. Five people in a carriage, for such a short ride, would normally be no inconvenience. Knowing Mr. Haskett would be one of the party, however, caused Daisy to feel terribly crowded even before the conveyance arrived.

“Being tardy to a ball is hardly a matter to worry over,” her father said, misinterpreting the way she fidgeted with her gloves.

Daisy peered out the doorway again. “Yes, Father. I know.”

“Are you anxious about something else?” he asked, studying her with his thick brows furrowed. A tall, thin man, he’d never exactly been an imposing figure. Perhaps that was why he took great pains to speak slowly and in such a forward manner. Daisy had often privately thought so.

“Not at all.” She managed a tight-lipped smile. “Merely looking forward to dancing.”

He nodded sagely and opened his mouth to say something—when the sound of hooves and wheels on gravel came to their ears. The carriage had come, and in another moment they were finding their seats inside.

Thankfully, Daisy was given a seat between Mr. and Mrs. Gooch while her father and the curate sat across from her on the forward-facing seat. The Gooches were terribly respectful to clergy.

“My dear Miss Ames, you look quite pretty this evening,” Mrs. Gooch said. “Isn’t it wonderful to be on our way to a ball? Mr. Gooch so enjoys dancing.”

Mr. Gooch chuckled and bent toward Daisy. “It is very true, Miss Ames. If possible, I will dance every set this evening. Some say it is not seemly for one of my age, but the young ladies never seem to mind.”

“Especially if there is a lack of unmarried men to ask them.” Mrs. Gooch tutted. “Of course, with Mr. Haskett added to our numbers, and now Mr. Devon as well, we will see many of our girls cheerfully engaged in dancing this evening.”