Page 34 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

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.”