Page 48 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

The footman looked over his shoulder, and she saw the butler of the household standing down the hall.

“I am afraid he’s not here, Miss Ames. He went to his father. Mr. Ellsworth, senior, is in a poorly way. A messenger came this morning calling the steward home, most urgently.”

Daisy’s shoulders fell. “That is terrible. I hadn’t heard—” She took a step back. “I will have to speak with him another time then. Thank you, Mr. Howard. I will keep the Ellsworth family in my prayers.” She took another step, then turned and tried to walk away with some steadiness of step if not steadiness of mind.

She could not run all the way across the countryside to question Mr. Ellsworth. Besides his poor father being sick, it was a great distance, and the autumn sun would set soon.

The Gilbert family. Daisy lifted her head again. Mrs. Gilbert may know—she is his sister, after all. She walked rapidly once more, determined to find answers for Mr. Haskett’s pronouncement about the tenant cottages.

Harry would never tear them down. He must not. He would not. He had a compassion heart, after all.

Though he did seem rather keen on learning the ways of the estate, hoping to make it better than when his father had been in charge. Her steps slowed.

Daisy came to the road, her thoughts convoluted. What if it was true? What would she say if Mrs. Gilbert told her Harry’s plans were to clear the cottages for some other project? Perhaps to bring in more sheep. She had heard of landowners who would do such things. Rid themselves of farmers in order to fill their fields with livestock.

Hadn’t she heard somewhere that he bought a great many sheep at the market fair?

Doubt sunk more deeply into her heart, difficult to dislodge.

Daisy’s steps turned homeward. Her certainty in a misunderstanding dwindled, and she had no wish to stand in Mrs. Gilbert’s parlor while her heart broke.

Chapter Eighteen

The news of Mr. Devon’s plans to tear down his tenant’s cottages spread through the village, as only a plague could, and soon everyone had something to say on the matter of the gentleman’s character. Most of the comments were whispered, but for the first time in her life, Daisy listened carefully to the gossip and rumors.

Mrs. Dempsey, one of the tenant wives, stopped to chat with Daisy on her way to market. She spoke of how Harry had arrived at her cottage one day to declare there would be no further rents paid. At first, though startled, she had been delighted by the news. Now she wondered if it was but a ploy to give him reason to evict all of them.

The seamstress, Mrs. Chandler, spoke when Daisy went to purchase new gloves. “My sweet granddaughter thought him kind for letting her pick blackberries from his bushes. But I wonder if he was not attempting to cover his character flaws with an act of generosity. It cost him nothing to let her pick berries, after all. When has anyone seen any real goodness from him?”

The household staff were somewhat loyal, as Daisy heard one of the newly hired footmen refuse to speak ill of him after church when some of his friends were asking why he worked for such a miser.

Public opinion turned soundly against Harry. Mothers who had tentatively introduced their daughters to him expressed gratitude that he had not “preyed upon” their dear girls. No one could produce true evidence of his wrong-doing, except the

tenants of his cottages. But casting entire families out of their homes on the cusp of winter was, all agreed, evidence enough against his character.

The most frustrating thing of all was that Mr. Ellsworth could answer all of Daisy’s questions, but after spending time with his ailing father the man had disappeared to visit some unknown relation a county over. Nothing could be explained to her satisfaction.

Feeling somewhat responsible for Harry’s sudden interest in his holdings, Daisy stopped worrying for her school and instead helped the tenants on their hunt for new homes. Some of the families had been in those cottages for more than a generation, and leaving the homes they leased pained them.

No one spoke to the Gilberts on the matter, not wishing to offer insult to a family respected by the community. Daisy ached to ask Mrs. Gilbert if she knew anything of Harry’s plans, but the Gilberts seemed happily oblivious to the storm of gossip and rumor surrounding them. Either they did not know what Harry had decided to do, or they knew and did not care. She thought it more likely the former.

Daisy walked slowly home from visiting with one of the cottagers, after helping the woman of the house pack crockery into an old crate. The family of six had decided to move in with a cousin for the time being, which would put strain on both families.

Daisy’s mind was consumed so entirely by the matter that she did not notice a man had stepped into the lane ahead of her. Not until he spoke her name with familiarity.

“Daisy.” His tone was soft and full of an emotion which caused her to wonder. How could he say her name in such a way and have such a cold heart?

Harry Devon grinned at her and approached, one hand outstretched.

She stopped walking and kept her hands tucked deep within her muff. “Mr. Devon,” she said, measuring her words. “You are returned from London at last.”

He lowered his head, almost like a boy expecting punishment, but his crooked smile said he meant to get out of it. “I am sorry I was away longer than I expected. I stopped to visit my sister, Rebecca, to tell her about the improvements at Whitewood. And about you.”

Her heart betrayed her head, tingling as it did when she thought on his hopes for their future. To stop her emotions from getting the better of her, Daisy asked the question that had consumed the whole village.

“Are you tearing down the tenant cottages on your property?”

He released a long-suffering sigh and came closer to her, the outstretched hand lowering a fraction. “You have heard of the improvements? Yes. I hope we can have it all done with before Christmas. If the weather holds.”