The Vicar's Daughter

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “Had you ever ridden a horse prior to coming to Leagrave?”

  Evan cut out a bite of his dessert but did not lift the spoon. “I’m afraid there is little opportunity for horsemanship in Mile End.”

  “Yes, I imagine that’s the case. I happened to watch you set out with the steward yesterday and thought you looked ill at ease in the saddle. You have been a very good sport about riding when it’s been required of you, but I imagine you find yourself rather uncomfortable the next morning. When you live in the country, riding should be as natural to a man as walking.”

  Evan shifted and shrugged his shoulders. Indeed he was usually very uncomfortable after riding, but embarrassed to admit it.

  “I shall agree to your use of the storage room and allow you to clean it out yourself, if you will allow me to offer you riding instruction.”

  “I don’t mean to sound argumentative, Uncle, but riding instruction is for children.”

  “And for grown men who didn’t learn when they were younger. You’re a gentleman now, Evan, and will be required to ride for a great many activities. That you’ve been able to avoid it as much as you have thus far is surprising, but you don’t seem to be improving much on your own. After this many weeks, you should not feel the saddle the next day.”

  “You will hire me an instructor from the village?” Evan said, making a face and feeling like a schoolboy. Would he become the topic of jabs and jeers when the working-class men gathered in the pubs at night just as he and his friends had done to the noblemen who crossed their paths in London? He could see jesting now as a way to equalize their situations with those of their betters, but he did not look forward to becoming the topic of such raucous discussions.

  “No, I shall teach you myself. I think a few mornings over the next weeks will iron out the missing patches of education and lend to great improvement.”

  Having his uncle teach him was a much more attractive prospect. “And if I accept these lessons, I can have my wood shop?”

  “Not a shop,” Uncle corrected. “You might have your wood . . . room.”

  Evan smiled. “My wood room.”

  Uncle lifted his chin. “Yes, a woodworking room. In exchange for riding lessons that will save you a great deal of discomfort.”

  “Well, I can’t see how I can lose in this arrangement,” Evan said, spooning up the last of his custard. “I agree.”

  “Very good,” Uncle said with a nod. He pushed back from the table. “Meet me at the stable at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Eight?” Evan raised his eyebrows. Uncle was never up that early.

  “Riding is best learned in the morning, before anything has spoiled the horse or the rider.” He turned to Jeremiah, standing near the door. “I shall not retire to my study tonight, but please bring a single glass of brandy to the library. I should like to read for a time.”

  One glass of brandy? Evan wasn’t sure his uncle could stick to such an ideal.

  Uncle pointed at Evan while closing one eye. “Eight o’clock. Don’t be late.”

  “Yes, sir,” Evan said with a crisp nod. “Eight o’clock.”

  Uncle paused on his way from the room and turned back. “What time is that blasted church social?”

  “Uh, it begins at two o’clock. Will you come with me, Uncle?”

  Uncle grunted. “Not a chance, but I want to make sure we conclude your lesson in plenty of time for it. That’s all.” He left the room, turning left for the library.

  Evan finished his custard with a smile on his face, optimistic about how things were turning out. Tonight, he was going to a card party with other men of the village, and tomorrow at the social he would see Miss Wilton in person for the first time. Within the week he would get started on his woodworking room. Better than those things, however, was the fact that his uncle was choosing time with Evan in the morning over time with the bottle tonight.

  Lenora blinked her big blue eyes at Cassie as they sat in the parlor the afternoon before the May Day celebration. “You had a dream about me?”

  Cassie nodded with reverence even while silently praying for forgiveness for this lie. A necessary lie to be sure, but a lie all the same. Their parents were out on parish business or Cassie would never have dared this conversation.

  “And about Mr. Glenside?” Lenora asked further.

  “The new Mr. Glenside,” Cassie said, wanting to make sure that detail was clear. “He asked you for a kiss and you refused him.”

  “As well I should!” Lenora said, scandalized by the very idea.

  Cassie hurried to redeem Mr. Glenside of his fictionalized action. “Then he said that he would be content with a token of your love, a lock of hair or scrap of lace, so that his heart might continue in patient waiting.”

  “Shockingly forward. Had we been introduced in this dream?”

  “No,” Cassie said, shaking her head. “But he was so ardent in wanting your attention. Finally, he said that if you could just smile at him from across the way then his heart would be filled and he would have the patience he needed to await your confidence in knowing him.”

  “Confidence in knowing him,” Lenora repeated, looking toward the window and pondering the words.

  It was low character for Cassie to use a dream against her sister—as the children of a clergyman, they took such things very seriously—but Cassie felt rather desperate. The more she had considered Mr. Glenside’s request for a smile, the more she understood how important it was he receive it. He had made himself vulnerable through his letters, and it had become a heavy weight on Cassie’s shoulders to realize how trusting he’d become. If Lenora ignored him after he’d shared such depth in his letters, Cassie could see the potential for him to retreat from this course altogether. He deserved validation of his connection; Lenora was the only reason he would even be attending the social.

  As the mastermind behind the match, Cassie must make sure he left the social feeling confident and willing to continue their secret communications. And so here she was, the morning of the social, divulging a fictitious dream to her sister in the desperate hope that it would result in a smile shared between the two of them at the social.

  Cassie had considered confessing the letters directly, but she dared not tip her hand too soon. The thought flashed through her head that she would miss her vicarious connection to Mr. Glenside once the truth was revealed, but she stopped that line of thought with a swift self-­reprimand. Honestly, was she such a selfish girl as to covet what she wanted so much for her sister? Cassie wanted Mr. Bunderson’s attention—that was her goal. The letters with Mr. Glenside were just the means to an end. Nothing more.

  Lenora was still pondering Cassie’s dream. “Confidence in knowing him,” she said again, looking up at Cassie. “That is such an interesting turn of phrase. I’m not altogether sure I know what it means.”

  “It means that once you know someone, you can be comfortable with them—confident in their connection to you. Is that not how relationships work for you, Lenora? Once you feel as though you know someone you can be yourself. The eyes of family and close friends do not cut through you as a stranger’s does.”

  “And Mr. Glenside understood this about me in your dream?”

  Cassie couldn’t meet the trusting expression in her sister’s eyes and looked away. “That is what he said,” she said, shoring up her own confidence while smoothing her skirt over her legs. “What’s more, I could feel it. I could feel his sincerity, his goodness, and his true desire to have your friendship.” That wasn’t a lie. The impressions hadn’t come from a dream, but from his letters. Cassie sensed Mr. Glenside’s true desire to find his place here in Leagrave—and his place with Lenora.

  Cassie took a breath and ignored the sinful nature of what she was saying and, even more, what she was about to say. “Lenora.” She took her sister’s hand in a display of affection an
d smiled. “I feel, in my heart, that the hand of Providence you have waited for is being extended. I feel that this dream is meant to encourage you, to help you break free from your nerves that might otherwise keep you from acknowledging Mr. Glenside. We know that faith without works is dead, and I feel that you need to make this effort in order to encourage Mr. Glenside as much as you can.”

  The longing in Lenora’s eyes made it clear that she did want such a connection.

  “But if that is so,” Lenora said carefully, “why would God give you a dream about Mr. Glenside rather than send such a thing to me?”

  Cassie blinked, but it only took her a moment to answer. “Perhaps because I would be more objective than you. I know how it frightens you to be around strangers, especially men. Perhaps my encouragement will help build your confidence.” She paused a moment before continuing. “Remember how much better the Dyers’ ball was after you and I spoke? You said you felt so much more equanimity and comfort.”

  Lenora frowned. “I still ran for the garden.”

  “But you were sociable until that time, and you came home with a much lighter heart, did you not?”

  Lenora paused, then smiled. “I did feel so much better than at prior events, and I have reflected on that a great deal as we’ve prepared for the social. I think that confidence is why I can participate this year.”

  Last year Lenora had been unable to attend the social, even though the family had hosted the event for years and she had helped with preparations for days leading up to it. At home she was excited and optimistic, but the day of the event was a poor one for her nerves. She stayed in her room while the rest of the family made excuses for her absence. This year she had not shown the least bit of reluctance to participate fully.

  Lenora continued, her voice animated. “Each time my anxiety has seemed ready to send me into a panic, I remember that I did sit and talk with Rebecca for several minutes at the ball, that I kept a smile on my face and did not feel so conspicuous. Because of that success I am hopeful that tomorrow will not be so difficult.”

  Cassie smiled and squeezed her sister’s hand. “I am so glad to hear of your confidence. My hope is that you will feel well enough to share a smile with Mr. Glenside if the opportunity presents itself. Don’t forget that it was not only Rebecca with whom you conversed that night; you also managed to speak with Mr. Glenside at the Dyers’ ball.”

  “I spoke with him through the arbor,” Lenora said, her eyebrows puckering. “And I was terrified he would come around and present himself.”

  “But he didn’t. He respected your need for distance, which I think speaks volumes about his character. It is just a smile, Lenora. You have such a lovely smile—just let him see it. Let him feel who you are on the inside.”

  Lenora smiled a moment, but then it fell and she was instantly nervous again. “What if he comes over and requests an introduction?”

  “Then you shall smile and breathe and get through it just as you did at the Dyers’ ball, but I feel sure he will not do so. I am certain that a smile is the only interaction you can expect for tomorrow.”

  Lenora took a breath and straightened slightly. “Then I shall trust in your dream, Cassie,” she said with a nod. “I will be brave and let your confidence in my ability to do this, and God’s confidence in sending you such a dream, give me the strength I need.”

  Cassie forced her smile wider to cover the prick of conscience. “Good,” she said, hurrying to stand, her guilt increasing now that God had been pulled into her charade. “Very good.”

  Cassie hurried from the house to the pavilion holding the tray of sandwiches, her arms burning. She should have waited for a ­servant—Father had hired half a dozen to help the usual staff at the ­vicarage—but everything was behind schedule, and she thought she could manage the tray. She was almost running before she finally reached the table, and Mama took the tray from her arms.

  “Goodness, Cassie, it’s a wonder you didn’t drop the lot of them.”

  Cassie shook out her hands, which tingled from the exertion. “You’re welcome,” she said tartly, then lowered her eyes when her mother gave her a look and an arched brow. “Sorry, Mama, I was only trying to help.”

  “Is the punch ready?” Mama asked, positioning the platter on the table.

  “Almost. Timothy said he would have it out in a moment. What else can I do?”

  Mama glanced at the skies, still thick with clouds. “Pray that we do not get rained out after already being delayed.”

  The morning’s rain had been enough to delay the social, but not enough to cancel it. The Wilton family and a handful of other women from church had been working for days on the food. Canceling the celebration outright would result in so much waste. When the rain stopped at nine o’clock, Mama decided that they would go ahead with the social and hope for at least two hours of fine enough weather that the preparations for the annual event would have purpose.

  “At least the wind has died down and the day is warmer,” Cassie said while Mama secured an oilcloth over the food to prevent it from drying out.

  “Yes, at least that.” Mama paused and smiled at Cassie while putting a hand to her cheek. “Thank you for looking for the positive.”

  Cassie shrugged as though she was always optimistic. Perhaps if she were better at looking for the silver lining she would get more praise from her mother. Mama went back to laying out the refreshments. The truth was that Cassie needed this social to not only happen but to go well. She needed Lenora to smile at Mr. Glenside across the park so as to keep the connection growing between them. That this was also Cassie’s chance to see him for the first time was an additional incentive. She had been writing to him for three weeks and had never actually met him.

  “Dear heavens,” Mama said, drawing Cassie’s attention to the road that ran alongside the pavilion. The Sherwood family had just come around the corner, the children running and laughing ahead of the parents. “We are not nearly ready.”

  “I shall see what else needs to come from the kitchen.” Cassie turned back to the house and lifted her skirts so that she might hurry. Time was of the essence. The Sherwood children would be hard to keep at bay from the food.

  In the kitchen, Cassie quickly helped load another platter with shortbreads. Servants and family—Rose and Victoria had come to help, though Rose was too pregnant to be of much use—were scurrying this way and that. Everyone was intent on one task or another to the point that Cassie didn’t dare ask anyone to stop what they were doing and take the cookies to the tables. She was sure this tray would not be as heavy as the sandwiches, but when she reached the halfway point on the lawn, her arms began to tremble. She tried to speed up, but that made the tray unstable. She slowed her step, afraid she would not reach the table in time, when someone came up to her from behind.

  “Let me take that,” an unfamiliar low-timbered voice said as he slid his arms beneath the tray.

  “Thank you,” she said while releasing the breath she’d been holding. “I was near to dropping it.”

  “As I saw,” he said.

  Cassie rubbed her weary arms and looked up to thank her rescuer, only to freeze as she met the darkest blue eyes she’d ever seen. One instant she didn’t know this man at all and the next moment she knew exactly who he was. Mr. Glenside. Perhaps the only man in town she would not recognize, and one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.

  The realization set her toes on fire. “Th-thank you,” she said again, forcing herself to look away from those lovely eyes and strong jaw and fine nose and . . . She took a breath for fortitude and met his eyes again. “I’m Cassandra Wilton. I do not believe we’ve met.”

  “No, I don’t think we have.” Was it her imagination that he was studying her as intently as she had been studying him? He broke eye contact and looked around them. “Is there someone nearby who could give us an official introduction?”


  Cassie furrowed her brow, then remembered the letters where he’d talked about being unsure of all the protocols of this new society. She should wait for someone to introduce them, but who would that be? Mama was tending to the refreshments, Father was busy greeting the parishioners, and it appeared Mr. Glenside had arrived alone. Perhaps, between the near catastrophe his kindness had averted and the odd way in which they felt alone, there was little need for such formalities.

  “I believe when a gentleman rescues a damsel in distress it is perfectly acceptable for the two of them to introduce themselves without a third party. Every rule must have some room for exception.”

  He smiled, and her toes began to burn again. This was the man she wanted for Lenora?

  “Well, thank you for putting my mind at ease,” he said, bowing as well as he could while holding the tray. “Would you be so good as to direct me toward the destination of these particularly fetching biscuits?”

  “Yes, of course.” Cassie moved a step ahead of him, though all she really wanted was to stay and stare. “This way.”

  He followed her to the tent, and she directed him where to set the tray. Mama was still there, unpacking plates and cups from their wooden storage crates. “Thank you, Mr. Glenside,” Mama said, smiling at the man.

  “You know him?” Cassie asked in surprise. It seemed strange that anyone could know this man and not have told her how breathtaking he was.

  “Mr. Glenside introduced himself a few minutes ago and asked if he might be of help,” Mama explained. “I sent him to the kitchen.”

  “And he found me instead, halfway across the lawn and floundering,” Cassie said sheepishly. She looked at Mr. Glenside again. Those eyes.

  “Shall I return to the kitchen and see what else can be done?” Mr. Glenside asked.

  “I should forbid it,” Mama said with an apologetic smile. “But the morning rain has set us behind schedule, and I cannot thank you enough for lending a hand.”

  Mr. Glenside left them, and Cassie turned to watch him depart. He was dressed in blue trousers and a lightweight, black coat, as appropriate for the party. His hair was short rather than worn fashionably long as many other men, giving a polished air she would not have expected from a working-class man. He cut a very fine figure, and she found herself wishing he would look over his shoulder and smile at her.