Page 47 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

Mr. Haskett stood on the doorstep, wearing a scowl as black as his coat. When he realized who had answered the door, his expression lightened somewhat. It went from darkly angry to mildly dismayed.

“Miss Ames.” He bowed. “Good afternoon.” He shifted, removing his hat. “Is your father at home?”

It was the first time she had seen him since denying his suit, as she had remained home from services with her father the day before. He’d developed a cold. Daisy couldn’t allow for awkwardness between herself and the curate, however. A small community such as theirs would grow uncomfortable if she did not attempt some sort of friendliness.

“Good afternoon, sir. Yes, my father is in his study. Is he expecting you?”

“No.” Mr. Haskett held his hat before him like a shield, protecting himself from her. “But I come on a most urgent matter.”

Attempting to portray an ease she did not feel, Daisy stepped aside and waved him in. “Father is always happy to speak with you, Mr. Haskett.”

He walked past her and she closed the door behind him, but before she could offer to take his hat, he was striding down the hall to her father’s study.

Daisy shivered in the cold air she had let in along with the curate. She ought to find the shawl her sister sent, though it was not as warm as some of her others. The beauty of the Indian shawl always made her feel as though she wore a bit of summer. Rather than go in search of it right away, she trailed after Mr. Haskett to make certain her father received the curate kindly and to see if they needed refreshment of any kind.

When she stepped over the threshold, she caught the end of Mr. Haskett’s rather fervent speech.

“—all of them torn down, right before winter. I confirmed it myself.”

“It cannot be right. Surely the man would understand, would know what that would do to his position in the neighborhood,” her father argued, though she saw the doubt of his own words fully upon his face. “Though it is something his father would have done.”

Daisy remained standing where she was, uncertain as to what she walked in upon. Neither man noticed her.

“The man from London was taking measurements all day, refusing to talk to the tenants to tell them what he was about. But when I spoke to him, as he left, he told me the truth. He’s been hired to demolish the cottages with a crew of workmen. He’s even been asked to hire the men who live inside the cottages to lend a hand. What is this going to do to the families, Mr. Ames? We cannot let it stand.”

Daisy leaned against the doorway, her mind putting together what was said. “Which tenants, Mr. Haskett?” she asked softly.

He barely spared her a glance. “Devon’s.”

Then he dropped his hand, and Daisy’s heart dropped with it, before he started pacing before her father’s desk.

“That cannot be,” she said softly. “Mr. Devon would not put families out of their homes.”

“None of us really know what he would do,” Mr. Ames said, running his hands through his graying hair. “His father would have done it, after all.”

“Sons take after fathers.” Mr. Haskett made the pronouncement as if he were reading scripture.

Daisy shook her head. “I do not believe it of him. There must be some mistake.”

“There is none. Mrs. Dempsey caught me as I walked along the road and asked if I could find out. She said she had a terrible feeling about the man roaming around, measuring things. I found him at the inn, and he told me everything. Devon hired this man, who claims to be a mason or builder of some sort, to demolish the tenant houses. The man came out to measure the property and provide an estimate of labor costs. It’s barbaric.” Mr. Haskett ceased his pacing and sat down in a chair.

Daisy did not believe it. She would not. It was impossible.

She hurried from the room and found her cloak, muff, and a bonnet lined with flannel. She donned the winter clothing with speed and hastened from the house, going to Whitewood. Harry would be gone, in London, but Mr. Ellsworth would be present. He would know what was going on.

The whole walk there passed by in a haze of denial and puzzlement. Why would Harry want to tear down the tenant cottages? There was no reason for it. There had to be a misunderstanding.

She arrived at the front gate of Whitewood and paused, realizing her course of action was not entirely prudent. Young women simply did not call upon bachelor households. It could damage her reputation.

But she had to know. Had she not given her kiss freely to Harry? Contemplating, as she was, giving him her whole heart gave her ample reason to worry.

Daisy walked through the open gate and went to the house, deciding to enter by the servant’s door. That would lessen any whiff of scandal.

She obtained the kitchen door, her heart hammering from her rapid progression across the lawns of Whitewood. The door flew open after but a single knock, a footman standing before her.

“Miss Ames,” he said. It was Mr. Howard, a young man she had practically grown up with. “What can I do for you?”

“I am here on a matter of business. Is Mr. Ellsworth here?”