Page 54 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

Daisy stepped away from her desk, standing behind a chair to keep it between herself and the rather upset woman. “The whole village injured him, Mrs. Gilbert.” She lowered her eyes to the carpet. If Mrs. Gilbert and her sister had the whole story from Harry, did that mean he had spoken of their friendship? Of their shared kiss?

“Right under my very nose, I know.” Mrs. Gilbert’s tone was not at all friendly, but distraught. “I still cannot understand it. Why did no one seek me out? Why did you not come to me and ask about my brother’s doings? It is as though painting someone a villain was far too entertaining, too delicious a scandal, to even try and find the truth of the matter. Was that what it was for you, Miss Ames? A drama too wonderful to disprove?”

Is that what Harry thought? That Daisy had wanted to believe the worst about him? She said nothing. The hypocrisy of her actions stung her anew. She prided herself on never giving heed to gossip, except, apparently, when it involved someone she was afraid to love.

“Miss Ames, please.”

Daisy swallowed and met Mrs. Gilbert’s eyes again, a blush rising to her cheeks. “What do you wish for me to say, madam? I know now that I was wrong, like everyone else. Are you going to each house in the neighborhood to demand explanation?” She snapped her mouth closed, hearing the defensiveness in her voice. They both knew why Mrs. Gilbert sat before her. Perhaps the woman was right, and Daisy was somehow trapped within a theatrical drama of her own making.

Mrs. Gilbert’s chin came up and her eyebrows drew together. “I doubt the whole ire of the town would be enough to chase my brother from Whitewood. It truly only took the duplicity of one person to send him running.”

Daisy turned away, giving her back to her visitor in perhaps the first instant of true rudeness she had ever enacted.

Mrs. Gilbert continued, most forcefully. “Quite possibly the same person who inspired him to stay and try to build a life here.”

“Then it could not be me,” Daisy said, staring at the wall, not seeing the paintings she had arranged and rearranged when the room became hers after her sisters married. “I have done nothing to earn his regard to such an extent.”

The room fell silent, with such a stillness that Daisy could hear the branches creaking in the wind, outside in the garden.

When Mrs. Gilbert spoke again, after several moments of the aching quiet, it was with a different tone entirely. She sounded as if she was pleading. “Love doesn’t earn things, Miss Ames. It makes gifts of regard, trust, and honor.”

The truth in those words sunk deeply into Daisy’s injured heart, burning as alcohol poured upon a wound, cleansing in its pain. “As you are making such bold statements, perhaps I should do the same. Are you saying your brother loves me?” Daisy closed her eyes against the answer.

“I am saying you ought to find out.” A swish of fabric told Daisy Mrs. Gilbert had stood, was planning to leave. But then a hand landed on her shoulder and Daisy turned to look into the other woman’s brown eyes. “My brother will return, Miss Ames. He does not leave things unfinished, and he has committed to improving upon the estate and the legacy left to him.”

Daisy’s heart trembled. “I am afraid I do not know how to make things right again, Mrs. Gilbert.” She straightened her posture, tipped her chin up. “But I will try.”

Mrs. Gilbert gave her arm a pat. “That is all I ask, Miss Ames.”

It would not be enough. Not if Harry had loved her. She had hurt him too deeply to hope he still felt that way about her. Though Daisy had learned, over the course of time since he had left, that she had fallen in love with him. Her heart ached every time she thought of him, longing for him to come back, wishing she could change the past and prove herself worthy of him.

But that chapter had closed, and now she must write another. If only she knew how the story ended.

Chapter Twenty-three

Taking in a slow, deep breath, Harry readied himself to step out of his carriage. It was time to enter Whitewood again, to walk back up the steps, greet the staff, and pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened. This time, he was prepared to face a village that did not trust him. People who would look at him with suspicion as they remembered his father.

It helped that he also knew that he had reinforcements coming. His sisters would soon be at the house where they had all grown up. Perhaps, together, they might make it a home again.

It did not take long to give instructions to the eager-to-please butler, and then take himself to the steward’s office. Ellsworth answered Harry’s knock immediately, calling for him to enter.

“Mr. Devon,” he said, standing from his desk with a wide grin. “Welcome home.”

“Ellsworth.” Harry stood in the doorway, surprised by the man’s enthusiastic expression. “I assume all is well with the estate.” He came further into the room.

“Excessively. I was about to forward this packet of letters to your sister’s home. The time you spent in London seems to have interested a great many people. I have notes from several political officials asking you about your interest in the education of London’s poor.” Ellsworth held up a thick packet tied with string. “And I have a collection of letters from newspapers asking if you intend to run for public office.” He gestured to another stack of paper. “And finally, of course, personal notes from several local tradesmen. I have not opened those, but I can only imagine the contents are both sincere and contrite.” He gathered

up several folded letters and brought them around the desk to Harry.

“Contrition is not something I looked for.” Harry took the papers and stared at them a moment, uncertain as to whether he should read them. Ellsworth could be mistaken, after all. “Thank you.”

Ellsworth’s cheerful expression faded. “Mr. Devon, I feel I ought to add my apology to the others you will likely receive. If I had informed the tenants of your intentions before leaving, a great deal of pain might have been avoided.”

“I have never once resented you for any of this,” Harry said firmly. He looked back down at the letters in his hands, almost wishing one might be from Daisy. But a young, unmarried woman would never write to an unrelated male. “If anything, I ought to be grateful. I understand now how my neighbors perceive me. I can act with greater caution in future.”

“I hope we have all learned a lesson, and your neighbors will only regard you as the gentleman you are.” His steward’s eyebrows raised and his smile inched back into place. “But does this mean you are going to stay? Whitewood will still be your home?”

“Of course.” Harry barely managed a grin. “A man ought to finish a thing he starts, after all.”