The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter (2 page)

He reached across the tray, picked up her hand, and brought it to his bearded cheek. “It’s rather nice, you know, having you fuss over me.”

“Do you plan to indulge in rash behavior all during our marriage so you can be fussed over?”

“Now, there’s a thought.”

She could no longer resist the coaxing in his warm eyes and squeezed the hand that held hers. “Just be careful, Andrew.”

“Of course,” he promised, giving the back of her hand a quick kiss before releasing it. “I’ll turn and start sprinting if Sanders so much as
looks
at a rock. And I’ll warn the others to do the same.”

“Why do they want you along anyway? The man has already proven he has no respect for the clergy.”

“I suppose they’re hoping Mr. Sanders will feel contrite enough about his last show of temper toward Mr. Clay and me to grant us audience. I couldn’t refuse them.”

The “they” and “them” of whom Andrew and Julia spoke consisted of Messrs. Sykes, Sway, and Casper, Gresham’s newly elected school board. Because of Parliament’s passage of the Elementary Education Act this year, local school boards were now responsible for seeing that English and Welsh schools met certain universal standards of education. Pressure was also brought upon these boards to increase school enrollment.

There was no easy way to accomplish this latter goal, however, because without a compulsory education law, the choice still lay in the hands of the parents. But the three men of Gresham’s school board had made it their mission to enroll every child of school age in the village for the coming academic year.

Their enthusiasm was contagious, and the whole town had become infected with it. The ladies of the Women’s Charity Society applied themselves to knitting caps, stockings, and gloves for the children of the less fortunate in anticipation of the winter months when they would be walking to and from school. Worshipers at Saint Jude’s, as well as the Baptist and Wesleyan chapels, dropped pennies in vestibule boxes for the purchase of boots for these same children. Even Squire Bartley had made a surprise donation of three dozen slates and a carton of chalk to the school.

But the most exciting development was the offer made by Mr. Durwin, one of the
Larkspur
’s lodgers. His oldest son, an engineer building a bridge in India, had sent him the design for a merry-goround he had constructed for some of the colonists’ children. Mr. Durwin pledged to have one built in the school yard if one hundred percent enrollment was reached by the beginning of the school year. It was the talk of the town, especially among the children.

So far, seven of the nine unschooled children had been registered. Even the Keegan family from Ireland had been persuaded that their three school-aged children should receive an education. That only left the two youngest Sanders boys, and it was no accident that the school board had saved that particular family for last.

“Even if Mr. Sanders agrees to send them, how do we know they’ll behave?” Julia asked Andrew. “What if the new teacher isn’t as good a disciplinarian as Captain Powell?” Captain Powell had given his resignation in June and was now to assume a position as one of Her Majesty’s Inspectors. His new responsibility would be to travel throughout the county of Shropshire, seeing that schools met at least the minimum standards of education.

“We have to give them a chance,” Andrew reminded her. “And as to their, or any other child’s, failure to behave, the board has decided that expulsion would be swift. It’s been difficult enough trying to find a new teacher. We can’t have him or her resigning out of frustration.”

“Him or her? I take it that the board hasn’t heard from Miss Clark yet?”

“Not yet. Perhaps tomorrow.” He smiled and replaced his empty cup on the tray. “It will work out, Julia. Things usually do.”

“When you say that, I believe it,” Julia replied, returning his smile. “Would you care for more tea?”

“I could stay here with you all day, drinking Mrs. Herrick’s fine tea and staring at the most beautiful woman in England. But duty calls.” After setting his bowler hat atop his blond head, he sent a glance in all directions, then put an arm around her shoulders and leaned over the tray for a covert kiss. It lasted longer than it should have, and when their lips finally came apart, Julia darted a glance at the
Larkspur
’s windows to make sure their little indiscretion hadn’t been witnessed.

“ ‘They do not love that do not show their love,’ ” said a voice with a faint Cornish accent and a liberal dose of humor.

Julia and Andrew turned their heads to gape at Ambrose and Fiona Clay, smiling as they walked hand in hand from the side of the house facing the carriage drive. Their fortnight’s stay in the apartment above the stables was halfway over now, for in another week Mr. Clay would be returning to London’s Prince of Wales Theatre to take the lead role in a comedy titled
The Barrister
.

While warmth stole through Julia’s cheeks, Andrew got to his feet, obviously not the least bit embarrassed at being caught. “Shakespeare?” he ventured as he and the actor shook hands.

“But of course.
The Two Gentlemen of Verona
.”

Rising to embrace Fiona, Julia said, “You’re up early. Have you plans for today?” The Clays were late risers out of necessity, for life revolving around the London theatre required long evenings.

“We thought we would enjoy watching the excavation before the sun gets too overbearing,” Fiona explained. Mr. Ellis and Mr. Pitney, new
Larkspur
residents, were conducting an excavation on the Roman ruins atop the Anwyl. It had become a pleasant outing for villagers to hike up the steep hill to the west of Gresham and watch from distances that did not interfere with the archeologists’ work.

Mr. Clay smiled. “Marriage agrees with me. I never had the energy to take on the Anwyl when I lived here before. Even Mrs. Kingston couldn’t bully me into it.”

“It sounds like a grand adventure,” Andrew told them, then motioned to the nearest bench. “Have you a minute or two for a visit?”

“That’s why we came out here first,” the actor replied, guiding his wife to the bench. “Mrs. Herrick is packing some fruit and biscuits for us to share with Mr. Ellis and Mr. Pitney. Why don’t you two join us?”

As Julia resumed her seat, with Andrew again settling on the other side of the tea tray, she made the silent observation that marriage certainly did agree with the couple. Mr. Clay seemed not to be in one of his despondent moods, for his gray eyes were bright and his posture erect. Fiona’s face still wore the glow of a wife who is adored by her husband and, judging by her wardrobe, pampered as well. This morning she wore a striped silk gown of rich strawberry and gunmetal gray that flattered her fair complexion with a straw hat trimmed in matching ribbons.

“I still find myself reaching back to untie imaginary apron strings when I change clothes,”
she’d confessed yesterday when Julia complimented her wardrobe. Which was all the more reason Julia was happy to see her with nice things. Having spent most of her twenty-seven years in servitude, Fiona deserved no less.

Andrew’s voice broke into her reverie. “Speaking for myself, I’ve a full plate today,” he was saying, then turned to her. “But why don’t you go, Julia?”

“Yes, Julia, do come with us,” Fiona urged. After an awkward first day or two, she finally seemed to be at ease addressing Julia by her given name. The men still used formal titles out of habit, even though they had great affection for each other.

“Thank you, but I’m afraid I’ve several things to do as well,” Julia replied with a regretful smile, though truly, she could have put some off until tomorrow. No matter how sincere the invitation, she couldn’t help but feel that the newlyweds would enjoy ambling up the Anwyl’s footpaths without a third person along. Changing the subject before a second invitation could be issued, she said, “I was just trying to talk Andrew out of accompanying the school board to call on the Sanderses.”

“Yes?” Mr. Clay raised an eyebrow. The scar upon his forehead was still noticeable, but it added a rugged quality to his aristocratic face that was not unattractive. “And will you be needing someone to escort you to Doctor Rhodes’ afterward?”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” Andrew replied with a chuckle, then got to his feet again. “But I must run along now. Supper at the vicarage tomorrow night?”

“It sounds lovely,” Mr. Clay replied after exchanging a meaningful glance with his wife. They were already becoming proficient in the silent language of married couples.

“Excellent!” To Julia, Andrew said, “Please bring the children along, too.”

“Are you sure Mrs. Paget won’t mind? She’s not used to cooking for so many.”

“My dear, I’ve already spoken to her about it and she’s delighted. Besides, she’ll need the practice for later.”

After Andrew bade them farewell, Julia watched him walk up the garden path and through the gate. He wore the broad shoulders of a man who should be taller than his five-foot-eight frame, and his bearded face was plain, according to his own description. But Julia had come to realize months ago, even before she had begun to love him, that Vicar Phelps had the most beautiful soul of any man she had ever met. And that meant far more to her than any aesthetic features.

Andrew took his horse and trap only when his calls were not within walking distance of the vicarage. On those occasions he left Rusty, his blue roan, hitched outside the
Larkspur
’s front gate during his morning visits with Julia. Propriety, the same taskmaster that dictated the tea tray should rest between them, was why he did not pull into the carriage drive around back and sit with her in the courtyard, out of the sight of most villagers.
Avoid even the appearance of evil
, the Scriptures said. It wasn’t exactly fair that most people held ministers up to a higher code of conduct than they did themselves, but it was an unchangeable fact of life.

It wasn’t that the inhabitants of Gresham were malicious. On the contrary, most were warmhearted and had embraced his family in the year they’d lived here. But because of the remoteness of their village and the long hours spent hard at work, they had little else but gossip to keep themselves entertained. Even something as mundane as Mrs. Shelton’s purchase of a new lamp or the Moores’ overnight visit to cousins in Lilleshall was chewed over, discussed, and often embellished on its way to the next set of eager ears.

Climbing up into the seat of the trap, Andrew unwound his reins from the whip socket and turned for a last look at Julia. She never wore hats during their morning visits, and he wondered if it was because she was aware that he loved the way the morning sunlight turned her auburn hair to burnished copper and lit sparks to the emeralds that were her eyes.
I’m truly a blessed man
, he thought, as he did most mornings.

When Andrew’s trap was finally out of sight up Market Lane, Julia realized the Clays were both staring at her with the sentimental expressions usually reserved for small children who have done something particularly winsome.

She gave them an embarrassed smile. “I feel I should recite something for you now.”

“Oh, do forgive us, Julia,” Fiona said. “It was just so … sweet, the way you were watching the vicar just now.”

Mr. Clay nodded, his smile positively simpering. “I could tell you were meant for each other the first time I saw you in the same room.”

“Yes? Well then, you should have told me and saved us some trouble.”

“Do you suppose you would have listened to me?”