Page 19 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

Heat rose in Daisy’s cheeks. She’d been trying, and failing, not to think about the possibility of Mr. Devon attending the ball. After their last meeting she’d known they parted in less than favorable circumstances. Something about their conversation had put him out of humor with her, which she regretted terribly. He had behaved so kindly toward the girls, and to her. His handkerchief, cleaned and pressed, sat on her dressing table reminding her every day of his gallantry.

“Will he be in attendance?” Mr. Haskett asked. “I do look forward to making his acquaintance. We have not yet been introduced, and I have not had the opportunity of paying my respects to him.”

Daisy raised her eyebrows without thought. He has been here more than two weeks. I thought everyone had called upon him.

“Several young misses have taken the opportunity to be certain of his attendance,” Mrs. Gooch said, a knowing sort of humor in her words. “I believe quite a few new gowns will be seen tonight.”

Daisy’s eyes lowered to her lap. The carriage was too dark to make out the simple lines of her best evening gown. It was hardly more elegant than the dresses she wore to church, with few frills and a less-than-daring neckline. She’d worn the gown several times in the past year, but had nothing more appropriate for the evening. Her very best dress she kept back for special occasions, such as the earl’s Christmas ball.

I should not wish to wear it tonight, she thought for the tenth time at least. People would notice and certainly think it had something to do with either Mr. Devon’s arrival or the curate’s incidental escort.

Father took up another line of conversation with Mr. Gooch, as they were of a similar age. Mrs. Gooch took the opportunity to lean in closer to whisper to Daisy.

“He really is a fine young man, Mr. Devon. He came to the house last week and spoke to my husband for some time. What do you guess it was about?” she asked, sounding delighted.

Daisy swallowed and kept her eyes down upon her lap. Heat filled her cheeks, which was ridiculous. Thankfully, no one could see her in the dark to guess at the reason behind her embarrassment.

“I cannot imagine,” she said, trying to sound polite without sounding interested.

“Tenant rents.”

Daisy’s head came up and she tried to make out Mrs. Gooch’s expression through the shadows. Surely, she hadn’t heard the woman correctly. “Rents? That is an odd topic of conversation, I suppose.” She clamped her lips shut. She would not participate in gossip or conjecture. It was unbecoming of a vicar’s daughter to do so.

Mrs. Gooch didn’t require further encouragement, however. “Indeed. He said he had been asking several of the gentlemen about in order to determine the fairness of what his tenants are paying. My husband says that the late Mr. Devon was too hard on his tenants. He says—”

The curate’s voice interrupted Mrs. Gooch’s whispering. “Mrs. Gooch, I understand you are one of the women who assists in the organization of the fall harvest celebration held in the village. Will you have need of any assistance from me, madam?”

Daisy realized the men likely had stumbled onto that subject in their own conversation. Mrs. Gooch didn’t seem to mind being interrupted in the least.

“I would be most happy, Mr. Haskett, to have your help. We make something of a fair out of it. There are pie tastings, and weighing of the pigs and such. Perhaps you could be one of our judges.” She started speaking with great animation, describing the past harvest celebrations with delight.

Daisy didn’t pay much attention. She was rather busy puzzling over Mr. Devon’s sudden concern for the local cost of rent. Though he’d told her of his time spent with the steward, she hadn’t realized he had extended his education to other landowners. She admitted, if only to herself, the knowledge impressed her.

It is only right a man take such an interest in his responsibilities. I shouldn’t be surprised. Mr. Devon is doing what he ought to have done all along.

His charming smile appeared before her mind’s eye, his hat full of blackberries teasing at her memory. Nothing about him, so far as she could tell, was selfish or unkind. Her thoughts remained on Mr. Devon for the duration of the carriage ride, much to her annoyance. A man who had no relation to her daily activities ought not to hold such a place in her mind. Turning her thoughts more resolutely to the evening ahead didn’t take him far enough away. She wondered who he would dance with, considering several of her peers would likely attempt to secure a set with him. Certainly, the whole neighborhood would be watching Mr. Devon with interest.

Well. She wouldn’t. She’d keep her attention where it belonged. On her friends, her neighbors, and her dance partners.

The carriage rolled to a stop before the village’s largest building, the Sword and Shield Inn. The lower rooms on the ground floor would be set apart for gentlemen to play cards, while the larger room on the first floor would be given over wholly to dancing.

Daisy accepted Mr. Gooch’s hand out of the carriage, then took her father’s arm to enter the building. She could already hear music coming from the windows. The public ball occurred the first full moon before harvest, every year. She smiled freely, happily anticipating the hours before her.

“Miss Ames,” the curate’s voice called before she and her father had made it many steps.

Father paused and turned, releasing her arm as he did so. His expression was solemn in the torchlight.

Daisy bit back a sigh and gave Mr. Haskett her attention. “Yes, Mr. Haskett?”

“Might I have the pleasure of requesting your first dance this evening?” he asked, bowing.

She could give only one answer, as was expected of her. “Of course, Mr. Haskett.”

Her father took her arm again and swept her away. He bent slightly, once they were inside the inn, and murmured in her ear, “He is a good man, Augusta.”

She nodded her agreement, but her heart clenched. Her father hadn’t shown any interest in marrying her off to anyone. He hadn’t done much to encourage his elder daughters to wed, either, though he approved of both of their husbands. She hoped, most fervently, he wasn’t about to start matchmaking.

Daisy wasn’t ready to wed. One and twenty wasn’t quite the age for her to worry over such things. Not when she was still a help to her father.