The Vicar's Daughter

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “I shall find a place, and I am not worried for my comfort. I can share a room with the girls if needs be.” Mary had four children, and her home was already barely controlled chaos in too small a space. But it would be preferable to here. Cassie needed time and distance, and Mary could give her both. She had considered asking to visit Aunt Gwen in Bath instead, her widowed aunt was always eager for company, but Cassie feared there would not be enough there to distract her. She knew that would not be the case at Mary’s.

  “Perhaps you would be of greater use once the baby actually arrives. Rose will need assistance before Mary will.”

  Cassie refrained from showing her frustration. Why could they not simply give their consent? Why must everything be an inquisition? She took a breath, reminding herself that her parents did not deserve blame. “I simply feel it would be good to have a change of scenery. That is all.”

  Mama looked at her with greater intent, similar to that which she’d had at tea this afternoon. “Perhaps you are right.”

  The words were pointed, and Cassie looked into her lap.

  “No more than a fortnight,” Papa said, distracted and yet not really. “You’ve responsibilities here too.”

  “A fortnight?” Cassie repeated. “I had hoped for a month, perhaps even two.”

  “A fortnight is all we can spare.” Papa looked over his spectacles. “It would be unfair to leave the household to your mother and Lenora alone as well as expecting Mary to put you up for much longer than that.”

  Cassie nearly asked what they would do when there were no daughters left to help manage the household, but that only led her to think about Mr. Glenside and Lenora . . . getting married . . . setting up a household of their own. He would be Cassie’s brother.

  She had to get away from Leagrave, even if it were only for a fortnight. With some distance she could better convince herself of her foolishness and be spared watching Mr. Glenside court Lenora. She nodded her consent. “May I write to Mary and ask if I might come?”

  “You have my blessing,” Papa said, then returned to his paper.

  “It is a credit to your character that you feel such compassion for your sister,” Mama said.

  Cassie met her eye, wondering which sister Mama was referring to but not daring to ask for clarification. It would tell too much that must not be told.

  “Being sisters is a particularly important relationship,” Mama continued, holding Cassie’s eye. “It requires sacrifice and patience at times, especially when sisters are close in age and situation. More than any other people in the world, your sisters are bound to you and you to them. You should always be mindful of their needs and opportunities and do what you can to support and extend such things, even if it is sometimes difficult.”

  “So true, my dear,” Papa said as he crossed out a line on his paper. “Sisterly affection is one of God’s greatest gifts, and what a lucky girl you are, Cassandra, to have five such gifts from your Creator.”

  Cassie could feel the heat in her neck and face, caused by both Mama’s warning and Papa’s patronization. There was no need for argument, however, and so she simply nodded.

  Lenora continued to play the same musical line over and over again.

  “If you write to Mary tonight,” Mama said, picking up her sewing, “I shall see that it’s posted first thing tomorrow. Tell her we’ll send a food basket.”

  Cassie stood quickly. “Thank you, Mama, Papa.” She hurried from the room. “Two days for the post to reach Mary,” she said under her breath as she lifted her skirts and fairly flew up the stairs. “Then two days to hear back, three at most.” Cassie could be on a coach for Bletchley in a week’s time. “Not soon enough.”

  What she wouldn’t do to go back in time and never have sent that first letter. Then she wouldn’t know Mr. Glenside enough to want to know him better. Then she would not be standing on the precipice of coveting her sister’s husband.

  Mary’s response to Cassie’s request for a visit was—blessedly—­received Friday afternoon. Mary would be more than happy to have Cassie come for a visit and would have a bed made up for her in the room her two daughters shared, if Cassie didn’t mind. Cassie didn’t mind. She would sleep on the kitchen floor if it meant she could get away from Leagrave. Away from Mr. Glenside. Away from what she’d done.

  Mr. Glenside came to the house on Saturday evening to escort Lenora to a dinner party. For once, Cassie was glad she wasn’t attending a party. The idea of seeing Lenora on Mr. Glenside’s arm all evening would be more than Cassie could handle, she was sure. Instead, Cassie stayed home all evening, packing her trunk in order to leave for Bletchley first thing Monday morning.

  Sunday dawned bright and beautiful, and although Cassie considered feigning illness to get out of going to church, the concern it would trigger in her parents—especially her father—did not seem worth the risk. They might change their mind about letting her visit Mary. So Cassie went to church and forced herself not to look behind her to see if Mr. Glenside was there, though she was certain he was. He’d been attending church every Sunday since the May Day celebration. To see Lenora? she wondered. Envy rose up like steam from an open pit.

  After services, Cassie struck up a conversation with Miss Parell, a spinster always eager to talk of her four canaries. Cassie hoped that by the time she exited the chapel, Mr. Glenside would be gone from the churchyard. She and Miss Parell were the last two out of the chapel—other than Lenora, who was still at the organ, and Mama, who was gathering up the hymnals—but they had not taken enough time. Mr. Glenside was talking with Mr. Bunderson and a few other young men beneath the shade of an elm tree beside the path leading to the vicarage.

  Mr. Bunderson caught her eye and said something to his companions before crossing the yard to her. She put a welcoming smile upon her lips and raised her chin while waiting for him to join her. Flirting was exactly what she needed to distract herself.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Cassandra,” Mr. Bunderson said with an elaborate bow. “Your father’s sermon was particularly moving today.”

  “You are an abominable liar, Mr. Bunderson.” Cassie cocked her head and narrowed her eyes playfully, glad she could so fully cover her otherwise mournful mood. “I’m quite sure I heard your snores. I happen to know you only come to church because your mother sulks if you do not.”

  “Not true.” Mr. Bunderson put a hand to his chest as though offended. “I come to church because the view”—he paused and looked her over with completely improper boldness—“is always so delightful. I love to see the ladies turned out in their Sunday best.”

  Cassie didn’t even blush. Why did she not blush? Mr. Bunderson had never said anything so bold to her—no one had. And yet she did not blush a single shade. Trying to cover her lack of reaction, she lifted her chin higher. “You are a cad, Mr. Bunderson.”

  He moved his hand from his chest to his forehead. “Ah, you wound me.”

  Taking the chance for escape, Cassie began moving forward. “Which is no less than you deserve.”

  Mr. Bunderson stepped in front of her, blocking her way. She stifled her irritation. “I’m afraid the only remedy—for both my caddish ways and your insulting accusation—is that you allow me to walk you home by way of the canal road.”

  Cassie felt her polite smile falter. She had no interest in being walked home by Mr. Bunderson. In fact, she felt a mild irritation with everything he said to her, though she felt sure a few weeks ago she’d have been aflutter from his attention.

  “I don’t believe my father would allow it,” she said as an excuse. “I am not out in society, you know. Perhaps you should walk Lenora home instead.” And fall in love with her and propose marriage before Evan can and then he and I can be together!

  Mr. Bunderson wrinkled his nose, which made Cassie feel defensive of Lenora even though she was as irritated with Lenora as she was with Mr. Bunderson. Yet n
either of them deserved her annoyance. She was so out of sorts.

  “Well, you might not be officially out,” Mr. Bunderson said, leaning toward her slightly, “but I hear it on good authority that the situation will be shortly remedied, and, as I am a bit of a gambling man, I am willing to play the odds now so as to be the first man to walk arm in arm with you. Once word spreads that the prettiest of the Wilton girls is on the market, so to speak, I am quite sure I shall have to stand in line.”

  Cassie swallowed, his extreme compliment lost on her. It was not easy to keep her tone casual, but she did her best. “What do you mean my situation is to be shortly remedied? Are you a fortune teller, sir?”

  Mr. Bunderson lifted one eyebrow. “In fact I am.” He leaned even closer. She could smell the musk of his cologne. Such nearness would have sent her swooning—at least on the inside—not long ago. “And I have divined a very happy turn for your family and, more specifically, for your dear sister.”

  He looked over his shoulder, and Cassie couldn’t help but follow his gaze to where Mr. Glenside stood beneath the elm tree. The other gentlemen were gone, and Mr. Glenside seemed to be waiting, either for Mr. Bunderson or, perhaps, for Lenora, who was not yet in the yard.

  Mr. Glenside caught Cassie’s eye and smiled, making her cheeks heat up in an instant. What traitors! Not blushing when Mr. Bunderson said brazen things but turning on like lamps when Mr. Glenside did nothing but look her direction.

  Cassie forced her eyes from Mr. Glenside’s blue ones to Mr. Bunderson’s brown ones. Such boring eyes. Nondescript. Ordinary. She refocused on their conversation, though she wished to all the stars in heaven she were not talking of this at all. “You are making reference to Mr. Glenside?” she asked.

  “The very man,” Mr. Bunderson said with pride. “His relocation to Leagrave could not have come at a better time, do you not agree? With a few more well-placed—and well-meant—bits of advice from his newest friend—” He put a hand to his chest and bowed slightly. “—I feel sure the banns shall be read in just a few weeks’ time.”

  Cassie sorted through Mr. Bunderson’s words, moving them around until she thought she knew what he was implying. She did her best to keep her expression free of judgment. “You have encouraged Mr. Glenside’s attention toward Lenora?”

  Mr. Bunderson’s smile grew slightly, and he shrugged his shoulders with mock humility. “Perhaps.”

  “How so, exactly? Do you mean that Mr. Glenside’s attention is not sincere on its own?”

  “I certainly don’t mean that.” The fact that Mr. Bunderson’s tone lost some of its teasing lilt seemed to emphasize the truth behind the words. “I only encouraged him to do right by her, that is all.”

  “Do right by her?” Cassie’s stomach tightened.

  “I mean the letters, of course,” Mr. Bunderson said, his eyebrows coming together slightly. “Mr. Glenside told me you were aware of them.”

  He’s spoken of me. He’s told his friend that I know about the letters! What would Mr. Bunderson say regarding Mr. Glenside “doing right” if he knew Cassie had written the letters?

  Cassie forced a nod, swallowing to relieve the increasing dryness of her mouth.

  “I told Mr. Glenside that no gentleman could toy with a woman’s heart that way, not in Bedfordshire and certainly not with one of the Wilton girls. Poor chap doesn’t really know the way of things, you understand, so I explained that the exchange of letters was as good as an understanding.” He winked and smiled.

  Cassie put a hand to her stomach in hopes it might put off the burning.

  “So Mr. Glenside is not truly interested in Lenora’s hand.” It was the same thing she’d said before, only worded differently. How horrid she was for wishing for Mr. Bunderson’s confirmation.

  “Oh, no, he thinks very highly of her,” Mr. Bunderson hurried to amend. “Only he seems concerned by the contrast between the woman on paper and the woman in person.” He shrugged again. “But I have relieved all his concerns, and he is moving forward as best we could hope.”

  “We?” Cassie said, noting his emphasis.

  “Why, yes.” Mr. Bunderson turned and put out his arm, apparently ready to walk her home even though she had not agreed to it. Cassie hesitated but did not know how to deny him, especially when she needed to hear exactly what he meant by we. Once her arm was through his, he put his hand over hers and gave her fingers a quick squeeze. “When Lenora marries, you will be free to make a match of your own, will you not?”

  The idea made her muscles stiffen. “Well, I would need to be presented first.”

  “A formality, to be sure.” He leaned close so that his breath tickled her ear. She shuddered with poorly suppressed irritation, not delight. “And once those formalities are out of the way, perhaps you can thank me for making it happen. Why, I do believe you might very well owe me the greatest favor of your life, but we can talk of repayment at a later date.”

  She looked over in time to catch his wink, then faced forward and told herself to breathe and smile and try to feel complimented. What more could she do? “I’m afraid Papa would never allow me to walk along the canal road,” Cassie said. “But if you would like to walk me through the churchyard, you may. I am leaving to visit my sister in the morning, and there is a great deal to do before I go.”

  “Well, it is not nearly the time I hoped to spend with you, but I suppose I can be patient a bit longer. Know that you will be greatly missed while you are gone.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bunderson.” However, I am so very eager to go.

  Evan came in from what would soon be his woodworking room—not a shop—and undid the knot of his cravat, letting the ends hang loose down his shirtfront, damp with sweat. He was hot and dirty and starving, since he hadn’t come in for lunch, but he’d enjoyed working with his hands again. There was something about the straining of muscle and sharp intake of air that felt rebellious considering his current situation and status. Now that the storage room was emptied and the items once stored there properly contained elsewhere, he could determine the best setup for the interior structures. With a bit of time and effort, he might have his shop complete in just a few more weeks.

  Evan took the back stairs to his room two at a time. Though he’d enjoyed the work, he was eager to clean up now that he was finished for the day. Once he was presentable in fresh linens and clean boots, he went to his study. He sat down at the desk and shuffled through a collection of old newspapers and the stack of mail on the corner of his desk—it must have come while he was working. When he caught sight of his mother’s familiar, flowing script, he smiled and moved her envelope to the top. She wrote him once a week and he was always glad to hear from her, but he was particularly interested in this letter.

  Last week, after both his uncle and Mr. Bunderson explained Evan’s obligation to Miss Lenora, Evan had written his mother. Though he trusted both men, he had remained unsettled to the point where he had not sought out Miss Lenora’s company since Sunday, when he’d accompanied her home from church and watched Mr. Bunderson flirt with Cassandra. He’d walked with Lenora’s arm through his and not cared that she didn’t say a word to him. His eyes were on Cassandra. He wanted to hear what she was saying; he wanted to be the one walking with her. Was it because he believed Lenora was like her, only not yet comfortable enough to show it? Because he had conversed with Cassandra more easily at his uncle’s dinner party than he had ever spoken with Lenora?

  Evan shook his head and pushed the confusing thoughts away for the hundredth time so as to focus on the letter he held in his hands. It was his final attempt at making sense of his situation. Unlike Uncle and Bunderson, Evan had not only trust in his mother, but history.

  Dearest Evan,

  I am grateful that you confided your circumstance with me, and I have done all I could to find reliable information. I spoke with Mr. and Mrs. Mundy and they have confirmed that while yo
u are certainly not obligated to pursue the match—and if you have a strong objection to it you should not—the correspondence has put you in a bit of a spot. You are new to Leagrave and therefore your character is unknown. Should you withdraw your attention and the letters become public, you could face some recrimination. Yet the young woman would be foolish to broadcast the correspondence, especially where she was the one who began the exchange. She would be the one inflicting damage on her own reputation in that regard, and Mr. and Mrs. Mundy felt it a slim chance she would do so, especially considering her shy nature.

  That said, I must confess that it is the greatest wish of my heart for you to find a good woman with whom you can have a family and a future. For so long you have put the comfort of your sisters and myself ahead of your own, and now you have the chance to pursue happiness and contentment for your own sake. I have told you before that my marriage to your father was arranged by our parents. He was little more than a stranger to me when his family returned from India, and we were introduced just weeks before the wedding. It was during those early years of marriage that my heart truly opened to him, and I have always been grateful that I did not allow only my heart to guide me prior to our vows. I would have missed the greatest joy of my life.

  Miss Wilton sounds like a fine woman who does not give her trust easily, yet she has trusted you. I would never presume to tell you what to do, but I would be a poor mother if I did not encourage you to consider carefully before you withdraw your connection. A good woman from a good family is a very fine start to years of happiness, and as she is not so young as the typical debutant, you may find in her a more steadying element.

  Please know that I would welcome a new daughter such as you have described with open arms and an open heart. What a gift she would be for our family and, most importantly, for you. She sounds loyal and good-hearted. I could wish for little more.

  I long to see you again and look forward to joining you in Leagrave as soon as the Dower House is ready. Mr. Carswold has informed me that you may have your father’s equipment collected any time after the first of the month. He is having it packed in crates for safe transport before then and appreciated your generosity in allowing him to use the tools without charge this last year—the money he has saved has allowed him to buy enough of his own equipment. I am so pleased to know you will continue your father’s legacy in woodworking. That Grace has smiled on us with such brightness fairly dazzles me.