Page 76 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love

Felicity curtsied as prettily as ever. “It is a pleasure, Mr. Thornton. Thank you for your kindness to strangers.”

He waited for them to reach him, falling into step beside Edward. They walked together, the younger man shortening his stride as Edward had, to accommodate Felicity’s shorter legs.

Felicity asked, her voice clear and certain, “Do you work with your father?”

The young man shook his head. “No, Mrs. Halstead. I help with the parish when I can, naturally, but I am apprenticed to an attorney in London.”

Edward glanced at him sharply.

The young man caught the look and grinned. “It is good work,” he said. “I had thought of the church, of course, and have a great respect for it—but I have a mind for the law, and my father has always believed that one serves best where one’s talents lie.”

Edward’s chest tightened. My father.

Felicity spoke when he could not. “Your father sounds like a wise man.”

James’s expression softened with fondness. “He is.”

Edward forced his voice to remain even. “And what will you do? After your apprenticeship, I mean?”

The young man hesitated, then smiled wryly. “Well, it will take a great deal of time, as I am earning my way—so I suppose, when I finally complete my studies, where I will go will depend on where I am most needed.”

Edward’s throat felt too tight. How did one speak—how did one breathe?

“We have come from London to tour the countryside,” his wife said quietly. “It has been a lovely journey thus far.”

They rounded the next bend, where a modest but well-kept stone cottage came into view. The young man gestured toward the house. “Here we are.”

A man knelt in the garden, pulling weeds near a small rosebush. He was older than Edward by at least a decade, kind-faced, his hands dirt-streaked from tending the soil.

“Father,” James called.

Edward’s chest tightened as the vicar rose to his feet, dusting his hands off on his trousers before looking up. The moment his gaze landed on Edward, something shifted in his expression. At first there was a moment of confusion, and then somehow, recognition. The vicar’s gaze flickered briefly to Felicity, then back to Edward.

“I send you off to fetch the post and instead you deliver me guests. Was there ever so fine a son?” the vicar asked, smiling broadly as he came forward. “I am Roger Thornton, the vicar of this parish.”

“Father, this is Colonel Halstead and his wife, Mrs. Halstead,” James said. “They were admiring the church and have now come to admire its vicar.” His tone had a teasing quality to it, and an affectionate one. “They came all the way from London.”

“Welcome,” the young man’s father said warmly. “You have come a long way to admire churches and vicars.”

Edward saw the caution in the other man’s eyes—and perhaps he did not imagine the sadness there, too. “We are touring the countryside with our niece, who is resting at the inn. London is somewhat crowded and exhausting this time of year.” He looked down at Felicity, then up at the vicar. “My wife and I would like to know more about the village and community. The kind people at the inn suggested we speak with you.”

James chuckled. “Father is a great lover of history. You came to the right place.”

The vicar nodded, giving his son an affectionate smile. “Thank you, James. Now, will you please finish taking those letters to the post? I wish them to go out on the next mail coach.”

The young man nodded, excusing himself with a polite nod to Edward and Felicity before striding down the lane, whistling cheerfully again.

The moment he was out of earshot, the vicar turned to Edward. “Forgive me, sir, but I speak plainly when I meet a gentleman with just the same eyes as…as my son. I do not know what circumstances led to my son coming into my life,” he said, tone growing firm as he met Edward’s gaze without judgment. “Or if you intend to take him out of it now. But I will say that I am grateful, eternally so, for every minute of being that boy’s father.” There were tears in his eyes, and his voice shook as he continued. “He and his sisters have been my greatest joy. They were my late wife’s as well. Nothing in this world will ever change how much I love him.”

Edward’s eyes filled with tears and he reached out to put his hand on the vicar’s shoulder, a touch reserved for only those men held close to his heart through kinship or battle. “Sir, I thank you. Thank you for loving him. I did not even know—his existence a secret, kept from me for so long—but you were there. Thank you.”

It was not a brilliant speech, nor entirely clear, but the vicar stepped forward and embraced Edward as though they were brothers. Edward returned the gesture, and found he did not feel the least ashamed by the tears rolling down his cheeks.

When they parted, he looked first at Felicity to find her wiping her eyes with a handkerchief, then at the vicar, who was trying to find his own linen square. Edward handed over his, not touching the wet trails on his own face.

“Would you like to come inside?” the vicar asked hopefully. “No one else is home at present and you must have things you wish to say.”

“Not say—I have so many things I wish to ask,” Edward corrected, reaching for Felicity’s hand. “But first I must reassure you, sir. I will not take him from you. I cannot see how that would be anything other than a terrible, terrible mistake. I have already made enough of those.”