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She said nothing more, taking up her staring again as they all remained stiffly standing about the room. She didn’t appear absent-minded like her mother, nor judgmental like her father, but Charles could see how deeply her thoughts ran, and he shifted beneath her gaze.

He didn’t like how anxious she made him feel. He wanted a woman who made him feel loved, even admired. Not…intimidated.

Mother would tell him to give her a chance. But was that not what Charles had already done? Miss Oakley was beautiful. But already, he could see she was too withdrawn. Too quiet. Too…calculating. He preferred living life to its fullest, and clearly, Miss Oakley was not of the same breed.

And first impressions were always worth listening to.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, “I fear our meetings will continue to be few and far between, as I do live a rather vagabond life. And that life, I have no intention of leaving behind quite yet.”

It was as if Charles had called the woman a potato.

All eyes fell on him with varying degrees of frowns. Mother pulled back with a subtle but fierce shake of her head, Mr. Oakley’s lowered brow nearly hid half his eyes, and even Mrs. Oakley’s airy appearance shifted to slight confusion.

Could they truly be so astonished that he and Miss Oakley had not matched the way they had all hoped?

Miss Oakley was the only one who remained mostly unchanged, her eyes only slightly narrowing.

That put paid to it. He could never be with a woman who did not emote. Such a dull life, he could not stomach.

He fought the desire to pull out his pocket watch. Once again, a quarter of an hour seemed far too long. He might last another five minutes, but even that was pressing his patience, especially when no one else was speaking. What was the matter with everyone?

Father met his gaze, then subtly motioned toward the Oakleys once more. Apparently, Charles was the only one allowed to speak in this circumstance. Stupendous.

“So,” he said, trying again, “lovely weather we are having.”

Thunder rumbled outside.

No one made a response.

“Do you enjoy walks in the sunshine, Miss Oakley?” Heaven help her to know he was not requesting they do so together.

“I suppose.”

He fought the urge to frown. She supposed? Who didn’t enjoy walking in the sunshine?

A woman who was not for him, that was who.

He gave his parents a look that very clearly stated, “I am finished. I have done my duty. It is now your turn.”

However, Mr. Oakley spoke instead. “I apologize for the delay. You must be wondering why we have not yet begun.”

Charles looked between his parents and Miss Oakley’s, confusion parting his lips. Begun? Begun what?

“I have already shared this with your parents, Charles,” Mr. Oakley said, “but Mr. Berryman extended the time this morning by a quarter of an hour. He ought to arrive any moment now.”

Mr. Berryman? The vicar? Why on earth was the vicar invited to their simple introduction?

But as Charles glanced at each person about the room—noting their looks of expectation and recalling their strange behavior—ruminations began to stir within him before pieces fell into place, forming a very unsettling picture.

“Mother,” he began, his polite smile vanishing.

But his words ended as boots thudded outside of the door and Mr. Berryman appeared, holding in his hands a large copy of the Book of Common Prayer.

There was only one reason a vicar needed such a book in such a place, and Charles and Miss Oakley were clearly the main parts in this equation.

Blast it all. Mother had tricked him again.

Chapter Three