Page 56 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

“Fetch my overcoat,” Harry barked.

The footman jumped to obey, going to a closet near the door and pulling forth a heavy gray wool coat. Harry did not wait for help putting it on, but snatched it from the man’s hands before ripping the door open and charging through it. He pulled his arms through the sleeves, did not bother doing up the buttons, and ran down the lane.

“Miss Ames!” he shouted at her retreating figure.

She stopped, then turned deliberately around. Seeing her for the first time in more than a fortnight, Harry stopped his mad dash to catch up to her. Simply staring, he drank in the sight of her. Lovely as ever, her gray eyes were heavy and sad, her fair features framed by honey-colored curls.

“Mr. Devon,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

His feet started moving again, but slowly. “Miss Ames.” Had he already said her name? Yes, he had, to call to her. To make her stop walking away.

“H-how are you?” she asked.

Harry stopped, several feet away from her still. “I am well. And you?”

Daisy took a step closer. “I have been miserable, actually.”

That made him blink, and he tilted his head to one side. “I am sorry to hear that.”

“I would think you would wish the very worst upon me.” Her breath misted as she spoke, reminding him of the cold.

“Never, Miss Ames,” he said, forcing a smile. “I would never wish any ill upon you.” A large snowflake landing on one of his ears made him look up. He’d forgotten his hat.

“You are very kind.” She stepped closer, now nearly within arms’ length of him. “I have come to return your handkerchief.” She pulled one hand from her muff, holding a square of linen.

Harry stared at the fabric, slightly baffled. “You still have it.”

“You have never collected it. And I have tried any number of times to give it back.” She did not hold it out, but looked down at it, as though studying the embroidery upon the edges. “It has adorned my dressing table for a long time now. I have seen it every day. It will be strange to have it gone.”

Perhaps he ought to tell her to keep it. But no. A lady did not keep a gentleman’s handkerchief. It was too personal an object, too intimate a thing to do. Yet Harry could not bring himself to reach for it.

“Is that all?” he asked, studying her bent head. “Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Ames?”

Daisy lifted her eyes to his, her soft pink lips pressed tightly together. For a moment she only stared at him, the snow falling around and between them.

“Would you give me your forgiveness?” she asked at last, her voice a whisper in the cold and her breath coming out in a puff of mist. “Though I know I do not deserve it. I failed you, Harry, as a friend. I have regretted my weakness and the pain I caused you every day since.” She swallowed, maintaining eye contact. “I am deeply sorry for it.”

A tiny piece of Harry’s broken heart clicked back into place. “Then I forgive you freely, Miss Ames.” He forced a smile, the moment laced in regret. “I have been informed that I was too quick to be offended. Misunderstandings are a common thing in life, even between friends.”

“You are too kind.” Daisy dropped her eyes to the handkerchief again, and he saw she ran her thumb over his embroidered initials as she held it. “Perhaps I am taking liberties, Mr. Devon. But I would ask one more thing, since you granted forgiveness.”

“What would that be?”

§

Everything depended upon her next question, and Daisy had never been so frightened in her life. Despite the hopefulness she felt at his sudden appearance, he had every right to hold her in contempt. She had come this far. She must be brave.

“Might we be friends once more?” she asked, her voice quiet despite the boldness of the request.

Softness stole over Harry’s expression, and a new emotion appeared in his eyes with it.

Delicate snowflakes landed upon her cloak, and his cheeks, melting nearly as soon as they landed. It swirled around them, hitting the ground between them. Daisy felt one large flake when it hit her cheek, melting at once, like a cold tear against her blush.

Without a word, Harry raised his ungloved hand to brush it away, his thumb gently caressing her cheek. The whole world went still, and Daisy stared up at him, a prayer in her heart. His hand stayed, cupping her cheek.

“Friends?” he asked, stepping closer, bending his head toward her. “Is that what you want, Daisy?”

She swallowed and her eyes flickered to his lips, then up again. He stood so close, she felt the warmth of his breath against her lips. “Yes. But I want more than that, too. I want you, Harry.” She had never been so bold in her life, and there was only one thing more she could do.