Page 43 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

He stared at her, his face rather pale. His voice sounded as empty as the knave when he spoke. “Is there someone else who has claimed your interest?”

Harry’s charming grin came to mind, but Daisy brushed that away. “Whether there is or is not, I am afraid it is not your concern.” She was less gentle and more firm. “I am afraid you must excuse me. I have another appointment. Good day, Mr. Haskett.”

He did not return the farewell, and Daisy did not wait for him to rise from his seat. She turned and left the church at a fast clip, determined to put as much distance between her and the curate as swiftly as possible. When she broke from the building into the biting autumn wind, she inhaled deeply.

Cold air filled her lungs and brought vigor back to her body. She shuddered and pulled her jacket tighter about her. Her cloak would have to be brought out if she was to be walking about in such weather.

Distressed and chilled, Daisy checked the watch she kept in her reticule. There wasn’t enough time for her to return home for warmer clothing, if she meant to be punctual when she met Harry beneath the tree. With his handkerchief tucked securely in the same purse as the watch, she set off to see him at least long enough to return the square of fabric.

After the curate’s attention, she hardly felt fit for much else. Why had he felt the need to address her today, of all days? Had he spoken to her father first? That made the whole situation that much more humiliating for him and uncomfortable for her. Especially given that her father had seemed less disapproving of Harry at dinner the night before.

Dinner with the Gilberts had been a comfortable, quiet affair. Her father and Thomas Gilbert had done most of the talking, though she caught Christine Gilbert smiling into her napkin a time or two. Harry, seated directly next to her, hadn’t said much to anyone, but certainly sent quite a few knowing looks her way.

And he did speak of his improvements to the management of his estate, his desire to be an active part of the community. Daisy’s father had nodded in his ponderous way, approving of the younger man’s efforts. It had felt rather like a triumph to end the evening without having to be a buffer between her father and anyone else. She had missed the easy conversation between herself and Harry, as had become their habit. She looked forward all the more to seeing him in a more private manner.

Daisy tried to put Mr. Haskett’s unwelcome request from her mind and walked faster toward the old tree.

Toward Harry.

Chapter Sixteen

Harry waited beneath the tree, staring up into its bare branches. Weeks had passed since he saved the ungrateful cat, yet he could recall that day with perfect clarity. Meeting Daisy again, seeing her for the first time as a woman instead of the girl always following her elder sisters about, had become a memory he relived again and again. Somehow, most of their meetings seemed to have ended in misadventure, whether it was affront, a fall from a tree, or rain. Would they ever have one pleasant interaction not immediately followed by a minor catastrophe?

He leaned against the tree, the bark rough against his overcoat. The weather had teased at autumn that day, now here he stood in thick gloves and scarf hoping winter would wait a while longer to make its appearance. Not for his own sake, but to ensure his tenants were well prepared. His eyes swept from the bushes concealing the road to the hill concealing the vicar’s house. He couldn’t be certain from which direction Daisy would come. He had arrived early, intent upon seeing her again. Being near her, though it often reminded him of all his failings and faults, also inspired him. Daisy expected more of him than anyone had before, pointing out his duties and stating what must be done. She had such a straightforward way of speaking, though she had never been unkind.

A bonnet with a wide blue ribbon above its brim appeared at the corner of his eye. Harry turned, took two steps forward in his excitement, then waited as Daisy drew near. She had come from the opposite direction of the vicarage, not quite where he had been looking. She wore a Spencer to match the ribbon, both

a jewel-toned blue. Wisps of hair that may have once been curls brushed against her cheeks, rosy from the cold wind. As she neared, he saw her eyebrows were pulled together and her lips formed a straight line.

The excitement building in his breast stuttered, wavering like a candle left near a window.

Had he done something wrong? Could she be upset with him? But she had proposed this meeting, hadn’t she? His mind flew through the possible causes of her less than cheerful expression, each one more unlikely than the last.

Then she raised her eyes from the grassy path she followed and met his stare. Everything in her expression changed, just as sunlight bursting through clouds transformed a dreary landscape into a gleaming vista full of adventure and possibility. She hastened her step and put a hand to her bonnet while the other lifted her skirts.

“Am I late?” she called out as she ran.

Harry wouldn’t have minded waiting hours more for her appearance, had he known it would make him feel as giddy as it did. His heart tripped along inside his chest like it was stumbling down a hill, falling ever faster in love with her.

Love? He had never felt romantic love for anyone before.

“You’re not—” Harry stopped and cleared his throat, his voice having come out slightly hoarse. “You are not late. I came early. No gentleman ought to ever keep a lady waiting.”

“How very mannerly of you.” Her steps slowed, her eyes took him in. “I have your handkerchief, as promised.” She made no move to produce the article, but stopped walking when she stood a pace from him.

“That is wonderful news, since that is the entire reason we are meeting.” He tried to tease, tried to keep his words light, but her gray eyes held him still and kept his words soft.

Love. The word crept into every corner of his heart and continued to spread into the rest of his being. He’d always found her attractive, but he had found any number of young ladies pretty. This was different. Everything about being near Daisy made him long to be more, to be worthy of her friendship and esteem.

Something of his thoughts must have leaked through to his expression. Daisy’s smile faded, she leaned toward him and put her hand on his arm. The sensations that simple touch caused, through layers of fabric, sent his tumbling heart careening down the side of a cliff.

“Is something wrong, Harry? You look—well, I am not certain how you look. But it is somewhat unsettling to be stared at like that.”

Say something. Something witty. Harry tried to grin, tried to laugh, but the sound he emitted—anxious and strangled—made her appear more concerned. “Forgive me,” he said at last. “It has been a trying day.” It hadn’t. Not until that moment, when all rational thought abandoned him, skipping gleefully away before he could grasp even a word that might save him.

She pressed her lips together, turning to look out over the fields behind him. “I can certainly understand such a thing. I am afraid my day took a turn I was not entirely expecting.” She brushed her hair back behind her ear. “I do hope your day will get better, Harry.”

It was marvelously better, yet torturous. Somehow, his faint interest in Daisy had grown into an admiration and respect, then a deep regard, and now—now he did not quite know what to do.