Page 21 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

He started to laugh but covered the sound with a cough, raising his fist to his lips. “No. Merely observing that you have grown short, Chrissy.”

“Short? You know that it is you who has grown abominably tall, you terrible boy.” She took his arm. “Come. Several matrons are glaring in our direction. We must do our duty and at least introduce you to their daughters.”

It took a great deal of will to avoid groaning, but Harry managed. He cast one last look over his shoulder to find Miss Ames halfway through the required steps of the dance.

“You may ask her in a moment, Harry, but attend to me in the interim.” Christine’s words were accompanied by a knowing grin.

He tried to protest. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you most certainly were.” Christine lowered her voice as they approached a woman dreadfully surrounded by young ladies. “Miss Ames will be here all evening, Harry.”

Harry fixed his most charming smile in place, bowed to the woman and her four daughters, and tried to remember their names. They were a family newly come to the neighborhood through an inheritance, which made it more difficult to remember them. But he gave it every effort.

While Christine facilitated conversation, Harry kept one ear on the musicians. Somehow, with a few sly questions on the part of the mother, Harry found himself engaged to dance with one of her daughters for the very next dance. Only Christine’s gentle squeeze of his arm kept him from running away.

He went to the floor as the young lady’s escort, and realized soon after that Miss Ames wasn’t dancing. There were more ladies than gentlemen present, but it surprised him someone wouldn’t have asked her. Harry tried to concentrate on his partner, returning her smiles and putting some energy into the steps.

Before long, he was escorting her back to her mother. Christine had disappeared, and he had every intention of doing the same before he could be tricked into another dance.

But somehow, he’d only taken his leave of Mrs. Raleigh and her four daughters when a Mrs. Quinsy appeared with a niece, and as the girl looked rather terrified of her aunt’s attempts to push them onto the floor, Harry asked her to stand up with him.

An hour passed from the time Harry saw Miss Ames first enter the room, and four partners had come and gone with him onto the floor. The room had grown unbearably hot and Harry’s temples thrummed with the beginnings of a headache. He returned his latest partner to her father’s side and hurried away as fast as politeness allowed.

His desire to see Miss Ames, when she absolutely must be upset with him, warred with his pride. Why seek her out? He did hope to obtain some measure of forgiveness. He hadn’t exactly spoken to her as a gentleman. She hadn’t been offensive. Not truly. And certainly not purposefully.

He went to the windows, hoping to find one open enough to snatch a breath of cool night air. But Harry had only made it a few steps that direction when a ripple of periwinkle blue caught his eye.

Changing course, Harry made for Miss Ames’s place near the door.

She cannot be leaving already. He quickened his step. There must still be an hour left to the ball.

The curate stood near her, bent in half to speak almost directly into her ear. Was the man on more familiar terms with her than friendship?

Harry scowled but hurriedly smoothed his expression when Miss Ames turned. She saw him coming and stilled, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts.

“Miss Ames,” he said when he came within an easy distance. “Tell me you are not leaving. We have yet to dance.”

If she was confused by his words, the woman did a fine job of not showing it. “Mr. Devon, good evening.” She curtsied, reminding him of his rudeness. He hastily bowed. “We are not leaving yet.”

We? Did she mean her father and herself, or the curate? Harry turned to look at the fellow, taking in the man’s somber attire and solemn countenance. He certainly wore a more humble appearance than Harry. Did that give him greater favor in Miss Ames’s eyes?

Why did it matter?

“I do not believe we have been introduced,” Harry said, then cleared his throat. He’d sounded less than amiable. Hopefully no one else noticed his tone. Or thought he only spoke firmly to be heard over the sounds over the room. Or—

“Oh, forgive me.” Miss Ames gestured to the man at her side. “Mr. Devon, might I present Mr. Haskett, our curate. He has been assisting my father with his duties for several months now.”

“Six.” Mr. Haskett bowed. “A pleasure to at last make your acquaintance, Mr. Devon. The people of Annesbury village and Kettering speak most highly of your family.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Thank you, Mr. Haskett.” He tried to remember the man’s last sermon, to find something to speak upon, and failed. Oh well. Best get to the point. “I hope you will not think less of the family when I ask to steal Miss Ames away. If she will have me, I would like to secure her hand for the next set.”

Miss Ames blinked once, as though surprised, but then nodded with more enthusiasm than he’d hoped for. “Yes, of course, Mr. Devon. Thank you.”

He barely glanced at Haskett as he reached for her hand. It was the same hand she’d injured that she laid in his. They started threading their way to a starting position for the dance. “How is the injury?” he asked, lowering his voice so as not to be overheard.

Her fingers tightened around his briefly, and her chin dipped low. “Much better, thank you.” She stepped into the line for the dance, several feet across from him. “You have been dancing all evening, Mr. Devon. I hope you are not too tired for this.”

Harry listened to the starting lines of the music. “I am not even certain which dance this is.”