Page 9 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

Daisy took a step back, looking over her shoulder toward home. “Not just now, I should think. Father isn’t home, and it is a short walk. You should return to the Gilberts’ before those clouds burst. It was good to see you again, Mr. Devon.” She curtsied, ready to take her leave of him. Perhaps he’d taken her friendliness as an invitation to flirt, and it certainly was not that. She hardly knew the man, after all.

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Miss Ames.” He didn’t sound disappointed, though she caught the puzzled look on his face. Perhaps he wasn’t used to young ladies turning down his company. “I hope to see you again soon, Miss Ames.” He turned a teasing smile on her.

Daisy answered in a neighborly way. “Thank you, Mr. Devon.” She curtsied again. “Good day, sir.” Then she turned and walked toward home, at a brisk pace. Before she crested the hill, she glanced over her shoulder.

He stood there still, coat in his hands, watching her retreat.

Chapter Four

Harry sat in the pew with the Gilberts, staring across the church at a dark blue bonnet. The vicar sat next to his daughter. A younger man—a curate, his sister had informed him—read the sermon. Several days had passed since Harry’s encounter with Miss Ames, yet he kept thinking on it and the way she’d nearly fled from him.

Most young ladies of his acquaintance enjoyed his company, and she’d certainly seemed amiable enough given her teasing about her identity.

“Mama will question you after the service,” little Charles whispered next to him. Harry looked down in some surprise, but the boy was staring at him with wide eyes. “To make sure you pay attention,” he added helpfully.

As Charles was already eight years old, he accompanied the adults to church while his younger siblings remained behind with their nursemaid.

Harry winked at the boy. “Then we’d best stop daydreaming.”

Charles grinned at him before facing forward again, his expression changing to one of intense concentration. “It’d be easier if Mr. Haskett didn’t talk so much.”

Harry masked his chuckle as a cough, covering his mouth with his fist. Christine, seated on the other side of him, leaned closer.

“You aren’t being a poor example to my son, are you?” she asked in a soft whisper.

“Of course not.” Harry looked down at her, pleased to see her teasing smile. “The lad is keeping me in check.”

He tried to concentrate on the sermon, but the next distraction came when a young woman in the next row glanced back at him, fluttering her eyelashes in a pretty manner. Harry hadn’t the slightest idea who she was, so he hardly dared offer more than a polite nod before pointedly turning his eyes away.

Perhaps attending church wasn’t the best idea.Every match-making mother in the county will soon know I’m here. While he generally didn’t mind attention from ladies, with his present concerns, he wasn’t certain he wanted the distraction. He had a life to plan, after all.

The meeting ended and his nephew rushed from the pew without a backward glance, escaping outside with several other small boys. Christine watched him go with a rueful smile, her arm through Thomas’s as they joined the other parishioners in the aisle.

Harry’s attention went back to the front of the room in time to catch Miss Ames turning around. He waited, watching her eyes sweep the room, until she saw him. Then he deliberately grinned in her direction and nodded. The woman raised her eyebrows and immediately engaged in conversation with someone standing at her side, showing him her back again.

Perhaps Harry had done something to upset her, though he could not think what. Or maybe she is only embarrassed by the absurdity of the cat’s rescue. If her sensibilities were delicate enough, he could understand how that entire interlude could be viewed as awkward. If the opportunity arose, he determined to find out how to rectify the situation.

“Mr. Devon?” a feminine voice said.

The young lady who had stolen glances at him all through services stepped into his pew, her expression one of charm and welcome. He noted the woman standing near her, likely her mother, did not appear nearly so happy to see him.

He bowed. “Good morning, Miss…?”

She colored and raised a gloved hand to her cheek. “Oh, you do not remember me? I suppose that is natural. I was only a girl the last time we met.”

She didn’t look as though she was much more than a girl at present, either. She couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen, at the most.

She curtsied. “I am Miss Amelia Robin.”

“Ah. Miss Robin. Of course.” He vaguely recalled that their family had taken a lease on another house in the neighborhood the same year his father passed away. “Did you enjoy the sermon today?” From the corner of his vision, he could see the dark blue bonnet Miss Ames wore making its way down the aisle, slowly.

“Most assuredly.” She cast her eyes downward. “I wonder, Mr. Devon, how long you might be in the neighborhood? There is to be a public ball soon, you see, and I wanted to make certain you knew of it.”

The matron behind her frowned more deeply. He ought to say something to her, greet her properly, but Miss Ames’s approach took up more of his attention than the conversation at hand.

“A ball, you say?” Harry asked, distracted. “I have no plans to quit the neighborhood at present. I will be certain to attend, should circumstances permit.”

“Oh, that is wonderful. It will be a perfect opportunity to reacquaint yourself with the neighborhood.” She stepped out into the aisle, nearly in front of Miss Ames, her frowning mother nudging her along. “I do hope I see you again soon, Mr. Devon.”