Page 8 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

She leaned her slim form away from him, providing just enough leverage for him to come easily to his feet and stand taller than she, looking down into her eyes. He admired the pert tilt of her nose and the slight pink in her cheeks, and the fingers resting against his gloved palm.

“Mr. Devon,” she said, blonde eyebrows drawing together. “Are you sure you are all right?”

Realizing he ought to have released her hand some moments before, Harry reluctantly did so now and reached up to adjust his hat—only to find it missing. “My hat.”

Miss Ames tucked her freed hand behind her back and her eyes swept the ground around them. Harry watched her search for a moment before realizing he ought to look too.

Perhaps the fall had addled him somewhat.

“Here it is,” she sang out. He saw it near the gnarled roots of the tree poking above the ground. Harry stepped toward it, bending at the same moment as Miss Ames, and promptly knocked into her head.

“Oh,” she gasped, leaning away and raising her hand to the spot. Harry hissed a pained breath from between his teeth and reflexively reached out. His hand covered hers at her temple.

“Miss Ames, I’m dreadfully sorry.” She sank back on her heels and lowered herself to the grass, then leaned back against the tree. He kept his hand on hers, following her every movement. It occurred to him he was hindering rather than helping and he dropped his hand away and curled the offending fingers into his palm.

She closed the eye nearest where their heads had collided and peered at him with the one that remained open. “Mr. Devon, I am not certain how the two of us have bungled this cat rescue so terribly, but I think we ought to cease engaging in such endeavors for the foreseeable future.” Though she delivered her pronouncement with a serious tone, something about the dimple appearing in her right cheek lightened her words considerably.

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Daisy watched Mr. Devon sit back, his position on the ground less than elegant.

“That was something of an adventure,” he said, then groaned as he rose to his feet. He offered her his hand, taking his turn in assisting her to her feet. Daisy accepted the help, gripping her shawl tightly in one hand with the other in his.

“I feel quite terrible about this,” she said. He looked about after releasing her, then reached down for his coat.

A splatter of mud covered its back, as it had landed in a damp patch of earth. And when he turned the garment around to inspect it further, she saw the lining on the inside bore several haphazard tears from the cat’s claws.

“Oh. Oh, I’m terribly sorry.” She reached for the coat while her cheeks warmed with still more embarrassment.

He pulled it away from her and folded the clothing, draping it over one arm. “Do not trouble yourself, Miss Ames. I’m certain it is repairable.”

Daisy bit her lip, mortified at the damage her reprehensible pet had done him, and all the difficulties it had led to.

Mr. Devon reached down again, finally retrieving the troublesome hat. He conducted a quick inspection, then put it on his head at a slightly rakish angle. “There we are. All is restored to order.”

She glanced about them, seeing nothing else out of place. “I suppose it is.”

“Miss Ames, I must thank you for making my return to the neighborhood interesting.” He put one hand to his back and bent to one side, wincing.

“Your return?” she asked, that wording piquing her interest. “Are you here for a visit, Mr. Devon, or do you intend to take up residence at Whitewood Manor?” The local gossips hadn’t breathed a word about the return of one of the neighborhood’s most eligible bachelors.

“I am not yet certain,” he said with an easy shrug. “For now, it’s only a visit to my sister.”

“Oh.” She took in his appearance again, noting the expensive cut of his clothing, the fine linen of his shirt, and boots that looked of higher quality than any she’d ever seen. Rumors of the Devon fortune had long circulated in the neighborhood, but as the late Mr. Devon had rarely mingled with the neighborhood, much less opened his house to visitors, none could say with certainty just how wealthy the man had been.

Given that his son stood before her dressed as well as the earl, and had been known to have taken a tour of Europe, she guessed the rumors were true.

“Will you be at your home, or hers?” she asked, then hurried to add, “I will need to let my father know. I am certain he will wish to see you during your stay.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her with one raised eyebrow and a smile as charming as it was good humored. “Will he? And will you be joining him?”

“Me?” she asked, perplexed. “I suppose I could, though he prefers to make perish visits alone most of the time.” When his lips curled into an expression of amusement, she frowned at him. Then the realization came. He is flirting with me. She wasn’t certain if she ought to be flattered or not.

“I will be at my sister’s home.” He cast a glance in the direction of the vicarage, though a slight rise in the ground hid it from view. “How is Mr. Ames? The last time I saw him was years ago.”

“He is well enough.” Daisy wrapped her arms around her waist, looking up to see clouds moving across the sky. “It looks as though it is to rain, Mr. Devon.”

He spared a glance to the sky, frowning. “May I escort you home, Miss Ames?” he asked, then gave her another charming grin.