Not that she expected him to share all of his business dealings with her.
But if he is to take on more servants, he must be planning to stay.
Though she originally hoped for such a thing, the idea now caused some anxiety. How had she allowed herself to grow so familiar with him in such a short time? The man called her by her childhood nickname, for goodness’ sake.
Calm down. She went to the basin of water in her room and washed her hands, then her face. She started to undress. I wanted him to stay, to take his place in the community. Knowing that he will should not change anything about our regard for each other as friends.
She turned her mind more firmly toward her visit with the countess, thinking on how she might present her plan to the lady in a convincing manner. By the time Mrs. Bramston appeared, Daisy had settled her nerves enough to discuss the fair with enthusiasm.
Once dressed, she found her father in his study, kissed him goodbye, and stepped out the door. She walked to Annesbury Park, the home of Lord and Lady Annesbury. It was the countess’s at-home day. Daisy rarely visited the great estate due to her status being far beneath Lady Annesbury’s. Not that the countess had ever made Daisy feel unwelcome in the past. Daisy simply couldn’t imagine they had enough in common to form anything more than a neighborly sort of acquaintance.
The leaves and gravel crunched beneath her half-boots at a steady rhythm. Daisy kept rehearsing her explanation of her school and how best to bring it into conversation without sounding as though she was hoping for money. It would be the height of rudeness to go visiting on such an errand. The purpose of this visit was to obtain the countess’s interest in the project, perhaps gain some support through her approval of the school.
Daisy bit her bottom lip when she came within sight of the large house atop its hill. It lazed about in the afternoon sun, stretched out, comfortable and old. The great big trees lining the path from road to house had all turned yellow, some tipped with brown leaves. Doubtless the gardeners would be coming through to rake up those that had fallen very soon.
She paused long enough to pick up a yellow leaf, newly fallen, and twirled it between her fingers. She tucked it in her reticule on an impulse. If all went well, the leaf would be a memento of the day.
The butler showed Daisy to an upstairs parlor and announced her to the room. Daisy entered just behind him and curtsied to Lady Annesbury. Thankfully, Daisy appeared to be the only caller at the moment.
“Miss Ames, how delightful to see you.” Virginia Calvert, the Countess of Annesbury, carried herself with the poise and grace one would expect of a princess. It often startled people to find out she had six children, ranging in age from twenty down to three years old.
“Thank you, my lady. It has been some time since I visited.” Daisy took the chair Lady Annesbury gestured to, prepared to begin her conversation with speaking of the fair. That was the topic most on people’s lips at the moment, after all.
Lady Annesbury spoke first. “I have not been to the vicarage of late, either, but I was planning to send word to you this very day and ask for a visit.” Her deep green eyes sparkled and she leaned forward, almost with excitement. “My cousin, Mrs. Gilbert, came yesterday and told me about your plans for a school. The idea has taken a strong hold on me, and I am terribly envious I did not have it first. I hope you will let me help you.”
It was as though a vice binding her heart loosened with those words. Daisy stared at her ladyship for a long moment, too startled to speak. Finally, she found her voice again. “You think it a good idea?” she asked at last, her question nearly a squeak. Her whole plan for the conversation dissipated. “Oh, I am so relieved, my lady. I have spent the entirety of the last two days trying to decide how to speak to you about the school.”
“Leave it to Christine Gilbert to take the business of others in hand,” the countess said with a gleam in her eye. “My cousin devotes herself to people and causes, and as you have given her both she wasted no time in championing you. If you tell me what I can do to help, I will do it. May I have your permission to speak to others of the idea? I have several friends in the neighborhood who will likely be interested, too.”
Daisy had to clasp her hands together firmly in her lap to keep them from fluttering about like excited birds. “Of course, my lady. Allow me to tell you the particulars of my plan.” She stayed longer than the quarter of an hour expected of guests, and the countess asked several questions. She even retrieved a sheet of paper and pencil to take some notes, making certain she understood the manner in which the girls would be taught and what would be considered essential skills.
“I am impressed by you, Miss Ames.” The countess put the pencil down in her lap and regarded Daisy carefully, her eyebrows raised and her expression most cheerful. “Most young women your age are not thoughtful of the less fortunate. I have but one concern for the whole venture. What will happen to the school when you marry?”
As her own father had voiced this worry, Daisy had an answer. “I have no intention of marrying at present, my lady. If I should change my mind one day, a great deal would depend upon the gentleman.” For some reason, Harry Devon’s crooked grin came to mind.
Daisy tried to put thoughts of him away, but the memory of him holding her injured hand and binding it with his handkerchief added itself to her thoughts.
“Your own children will take precedence over the daughters of others.” The countess rose to return her paper and pencil to the little desk in the corner of the room. She stood still for a moment, elegantly framed by a tall window. “As you say, you have no present plans. If anything changes in that regard, please let me know. I will speak to my friends, and perhaps we could hold a meeting in a fortnight with those who are interested in assisting. When do you hope to start?”
“January,” Daisy answered firmly. “Many of the girls will have nothing to do at home and their brothers will be attending the National School run by Mr. Haskett.”
“It is a shame they cannot all be educated together.” The countess returned to her seat with a sigh. “The old Sunday Schools started out with boys only, but they allowed girls in after a time. I kept hoping our local school would do the same.”
Daisy twisted the strings of her reticule. “Thank you for your time today, my lady.”
“The pleasure was sincerely mine.” Lady Annesbury rose and gestured to the door. “Do you intend to enjoy the fair this year, Miss Ames? My husband has already promised to take our children to look at everything each day. I am not certain who will tire of the arrangement first.”
Daisy laughed. “I remember extracting similar promises from my father. Yes, I hope to spend a little time enjoying the general excitement of the event. It is so important to our farmers and community. Good day, my lady.”
“Good day, Miss Ames.”
After taking her leave, Daisy exited the house with the bounce returned to her step. She took out the leaf she had claimed and twirled it between her fingers again, this time unable to hold back her grin of delight. She would press the leaf between the pages of her journal at home. The day was one to be remembered happily.
When she stepped onto the lane, beginning her walk home, Daisy listened for horse-hooves on the road. Not that she was looking for anyone in particular, but it was near the time she’d encountered Harry before. And if he wished to go anywhere in the county, he would have to start his journey on that very road.
She made it home without sight of him, but he stayed in her thoughts. Was he truly staying at Whitewood? For how long? And why did her heart’s rhythm increase when she thought upon him, or heard others speak his name? It was nonsensical. It wasn’t as if she cared for him—beyond friendship. Yet telling herself that, as often as she had, did nothing to decrease the tightness in her chest, the warmth in her cheeks, when she though about his kindness, the way he listened to her as if what she said was always of great interest and importance.
His esteem meant a great deal to her, his attentions
lifted her spirits. At times, when they spoke alone, she wished their conversations needn’t ever end. It was a selfish thought, vain and foolish.
His being here is good for the community.
That was all that mattered.
Chapter Twelve
The somewhat musty smell of sheep wool in the sunshine wasn’t particularly enjoyable, but as Harry’s new steward had informed him they could use more livestock on the property, he stood outside a large pen full of the bleating animals. He wasn’t making the purchases himself, of course, but observed how the process went. After several ewes and a ram had been deemed good enough for his flock by an elderly shepherd, Harry paid the bill. He shook hands with the old man who had possibly more fingers than teeth.
“Thank you, Moore. I appreciate your expertise in this matter.”
“Not at all, Mr. Devon. I’ve been keeping sheep for your family for fifty-three years. I wouldn’t ever lead you astray.” He tipped his cap, then lifted the crook he’d carried with him. He called to his great-grandson, a boy of twelve, who hurried to offer his shoulder for the old man to lean on.
The old shepherd had been pensioned off by Harry’s father and lived with his grandson, the current man in charge of the sheep. Harry watched them go, thinking of Daisy’s opinion on whether those men were sheep-herders or shepherds.
Daisy. Would she be present today? As it was a day dedicated to the buying and selling of livestock more than entertainment, he tried to put his hopes of seeing her aside. He wandered between pens full of animals, not really paying attention to where he was going, except to avoid walking into other people.
He left the animals behind for a smaller field, cleared to showcase plows and the like.
“Devon,” a voice called, pulling his attention out of his thoughts. A tall blond man waved at Harry from beside a shining, low phaeton. “You are just the man to give me an opinion.” It was the Earl of Annesbury, and Harry’s cousin-in-law, if there was such a thing.
Harry picked up the pace to hurry to Lucas’s side and made the requisite bow. “Annesbury. Good to see you. How may I be of service?”
Lucas gestured to the phaeton behind him. “I am thinking of getting Phillip his own vehicle. Just for use at home, of course, not at school. He claims all my gigs are not dashing enough.”
As Harry wasn’t far from the age of wanting the latest in wheeled transportation, he could well understand Lucas’s stepson. “How old is he now? Nineteen?”
“Twenty, this summer.” Lucas sighed, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. “And determined to finish his formal education so he can run off and be a baron. He is a good lad, but I worry if I leave the choice up to him he will select something his mother will disapprove of and then we will both be in her ladyship’s black books.”
“We cannot have that.” Harry turned his attention to the phaeton, a low and light model of the variety, though he quickly realized it was not built with fashionable men in mind. “I believe this is a model considered suitable for ladies to drive. I am not certain the baron would appreciate that.”
Lucas glared at the dark-blue paint of the equipage and sighed. “I cannot get him one of the taller monstrosities. Virginia seems to think every carriage accident involves one of those foolish things.”
“Let us walk on.” Harry gestured to several more carriages. “Where is the man in charge of selling these things?”
“I sent him off,” Lucas admitted. “He chattered at me like a weasel. Seems not many have come by looking to purchase carriages at the last several fairs he’s attended. The man is rather desperate.” Lucas stopped before a two-wheeled vehicle. “What about this one? It is dashing without being deadly-looking.”
Harry looked it over. “A Stanhope gig.” It was painted red, which gave it an additional sort of charm he knew would appeal to a young man. “This is a better option than the phaeton.” He spotted a curricle, painted a bright yellow that immediately put him in mind of Daisy’s shawl from the day he’d discovered her caught in his blackberry bushes. Harry approached the vehicle with narrow-eyed interest.
“What have we here?” Lucas asked, coming up behind him. “Suggest the gig for Phillip and then find something better for yourself?”
“Something expensive, more like.” Harry walked around the curricle, inspecting its wheels and axle with interest. “If I am to stay in the country for any length of time, a carriage would be more the thing than a horse. Wouldn’t it?”
Lucas crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows at Harry. “I had heard rumors about you staying. I must confess, at your age, I wasn’t all that interested in country life. Not until I decided to marry Abigail.” Abigail was Lucas’s first wife, who had died of an illness five years before he met and married Harry’s cousin Virginia, who had been a widow with two young sons.
“Town life isn’t all that exciting.” Harry paused on the other side of the gig, crossing his arms over his chest. “If a man isn’t a gambler or womanizer, what does he do in Town? I will return for a portion of the Season, of course. But as I learn about the details of running an estate, I find I am more resolved to see the thing done correctly. And I haven’t an interest in going to London just to have young ladies in search of a husband thrown in my path.”
“No?” Lucas mimicked Harry’s stance and smirked. “Most gentlemen in your position would not mind such attentions. Unless, of course, you already have a lady who is of interest to you.”
Dropping his arms back to his side, Harry pointed in the direction of the village. “Where did you say you sent the carriage man to? The inn, perhaps? I shall go and tell him we will take two vehicles off his hands.” He made it a step before Lucas started laughing.
“Come now, Devon. I am jesting. Let me come with you.” The earl came and clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Although if there is a young woman on your mind, I will advise you to make your feelings known sooner rather than later. There is no use waiting for happiness.” He squeezed Harry’s shoulder before leading him to the inn.
After their business with the carriage-seller was complete, with promises of delivering the very vehicles the men had inspected by the fair’s end, Harry and Lucas parted ways. Lucas to bring his smaller children to gawk at sheep, as he said, and Harry to peruse the market stalls in the village. It did not take him long, once on the street, to spot a familiar bonnet.
It was the same bonnet Daisy had worn home when he walked with her from the inn, last week. She was standing before a booth full of pies, arranging them from the front while another woman behind the structure laid out more.
He took two quick steps before he noticed a gentleman standing behind Daisy, apparently speaking with her. It was the curate.
I am obviously not the only man who enjoys being near her. His shoulders tensed. Harry approached in a more sedate manner, determined not to appear over-eager.
Perhaps the curate was only on friendly terms with her, like Mr. Ellsworth. Harry came near and cleared his throat when he was but a step away, in order to gain attention.
§
Mr. Haskett’s long-winded explanation of the importance of vestments for members of the clergy cut off abruptly when a throat cleared behind them. Daisy, who had barely been listening to the curate, glanced up at the welcome interruption.
“Mr. Devon.” She straightened and curtsied. “What a pleasure to see you at the fair today.” She did not even attempt to hold back her delighted smile.
“Thank you, Miss Ames. I admit, I am glad to have found you here as well.” He returned her grin, one side of his mouth rising higher than the other. “And Mr. Haskett. Good day to you, sir. I regret I must once again steal Miss Ames away. I have a matter of business to discuss with her.”
The tall curate’s eyebrows came down and a most disapproving frown appeared on his face. “Business? I confess, I cannot fathom what sort of business one might have with the vicar’s daughter. Is it a matter regarding the church? I would be happy to discuss such with you, Mr.
Devon.”
“I am afraid it has nothing to do with the church.” Harry offered his arm to Daisy, which she took without comment. “But if I have any need for such discussion in future, I will know who to speak to. Thank you, Mr. Haskett.” After they had taken a few steps away, Harry bent his head toward her. “I hope that was not too forward of me.” His voice, lowered in such a manner, caused a shiver to run down her back.
“You are a most direct gentleman, Harry.” She matched his tone as best she could, watching him from the corner of her eye. The warm, spiced scent of cider floated through the air. It seemed everyone had thought food and drink would be wanted.
As though he had heard her thoughts, Harry stopped before the booth with the cider and obtained a mug for each of them. “Here you are. You look as though you might be cold.”
“Thank you.” She sipped at the drink, the warmth of the liquid slipping down her throat a welcome comfort. She tasted cinnamon and nutmeg on her tongue. With a sigh of delight, she threaded her arm through his again. “This is delightful.”
“Indeed.” He spoke with a thick voice and when she glanced at him, curiously, he hastily put the mug to his lips and drank. When at last he lowered the cup, apparently empty, he said, “Yes. Delightful.”
“Did you truly have something to discuss, or were you only being heroic when you took me away from Mr. Haskett?” She sipped at her mug while he led them to a bench beneath one of the trees on the village square.
Harry allowed her to sit, then he crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the tree. He stared down at her, forehead wrinkled. “Did you need rescuing from the curate? He does not appear all that dangerous to me.”
Daisy turned the mug around in her hands, wishing some of its warmth would seep into her fingers. The days were growing colder, and her thin summer gloves were no longer good for much besides looking pretty.
Courting the Vicar's Daughter: A Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 6) Page 12