The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter (74 page)

While Mercy’s father had declared himself too busy to watch Jack and Edgar compete in the tournament, at least he had allowed Fernie and Oram to accompany her without too much grumbling. “You might as well get some o’ them meat pies, since you ain’t gonter be here to cook,” he had even told Mercy, handing her some coins as she prepared to leave the cottage. “I don’t fancy any more of thet tinned meat.”

After the tournament was over, Mercy told her brothers to stay within sight of the wagon and hurried over to the bakery. Others had the same idea, for a queue of at least a dozen people from both villages had already formed, stretching until half waited outside the doors. She took her place at the end. The line moved quickly, for obviously Mr. Johnson had anticipated the rush of customers and prepared for them in advance. She was inside the shop and about fifth from the counter when she recognized the back of Mr. Langford’s head as he gave his order. He turned a minute later, a parcel wrapped in brown paper under his arm. He had to pass by her in order to leave the shop. Still, Mercy was a little surprised when he stopped.

“Miss Sanders,” he said with a smile that seemed almost bashful.

“Hello, Mr. Langford,” she replied, returning his smile. “Where is Thomas?”

“He asked to sit in the wagon and watch the people still on the green. Did you enjoy the tournament?”

The woman in front of Mercy, who had been chatting with the woman in front of her, now held her head at a listening angle. This intimidated her, but even more intimidating was the prospect of having to tell Mrs. Kingston that she had failed to follow her advice. “Very much,” Mercy replied before pretending to study the chalked signboard above the counter.

From the corner of her eye she watched him shift the parcel awkwardly to his other hand. After a second he said, “Good day, Miss Sanders.”

She turned to smile at him again, as if she had momentarily forgotten he was standing there. “Good day, Mr. Langford. Please give my regards to Thomas.”

“Yes, I will.”

Did I overdo it?
she wondered as a cold, miserable clamminess spread in her stomach.
Should I have looked away like that?
By the time she exited the bakery with her parcel, she had convinced herself that she had come just a fraction short of slapping the man’s face.

“It was washing the cups so they could be used over and over that kept us busiest,” Mrs. Kingston explained, her gloved hand resting in the crook of Squire Bartley’s arm as they strolled along the west side of the green. “We had already made the crocks of lemonade yesterday.”

Her fiancé’s untamed eyebrows drew together sympathetically. “You poor dear. I could have had my servants helping you.”

“Oh, but they would have missed the tournament. We were happy to do it.”

Several feet away Mrs. Kingston caught sight of Mercy Sanders, handing a parcel to a lad in the back of their wagon. She wore a wool shawl over a brown calico dress, and the expression of someone deep in thought. “I’d like you to meet someone, Thurmond,” she said, waving a beckoning hand. “Mercy, dear?”

The girl looked over at her and waved back. After saying something to the boy in the wagon, she walked over to join them. “Mrs. Kingston,” she said, smiling.

“This is my fiancé, Squire Bartley,” Mrs. Kingston said. “Mercy Sanders. She’s the dear child who has agreed to sing at our wedding.”

The girl blushed charmingly, dipping a timid curtsey to the squire. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”

He touched the brim of his hat. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Sanders. Mrs. Kingston speaks highly of you.”

“Mrs. Kingston is most kind, sir.”

“Truthful, you mean,” Mrs. Kingston corrected. “Tell me, has a certain young man spoken with you since we last met?”

“Ah … yes, ma’am.”

Mercy sent an embarrassed glance toward the squire, who rolled his eyes. “I’ll step over here and have a word with Mr. Sykes.”

When he was out of earshot, the girl went on. “In the bakery just a little while ago. And at church last Sunday.”

“Indeed? And how did you respond?”

She bit her lip. “I’m afraid I was rude.”

“Nonsense.”

“But you didn’t hear how I—”

“I know you, Mercy, and you’re incapable of rudeness. You’re just digging up in doubt what was planted in faith.”

“Am I?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Kingston touched the girl’s cheek. “Now stop tormenting yourself, dear child, and keep your mind on other things. This is a major commitment we’re asking of Mr. Langford. We must give him time to think, mustn’t we?”

The smile Mercy gave her appeared to require some effort, but at least some of the worry had eased from her expression. “I’ll try to have more faith.”

After they embraced, Mrs. Kingston watched the girl return to the wagon. The boy at the reins called to three other boys, who ran from the green to hop into the back.

The two horses were pulling the wagon onto Market Lane when the squire reappeared. His gray eyes followed the course of the wagon. “The Sanderses have had quite a notorious reputation for years. It was good of you to take that young woman under your wing, Octavia, and teach her the proper way to conduct herself.”

She took his proffered arm, and they ambled toward the river. “She knew that long before I ever met her, Thurmond.”

“Yes? I suppose there are nuggets of gold in every field.”

“An appropriate description. I’m just hoping someone else recognizes the gold in her as well.”

“Ah, so you’re offering her advice on courtship?”

“Not exactly. You see, the reputation of her family has prevented her from being courted in the usual manner. So we’ve embarked upon a rather radical plan. Your willingness to hire her as a parlormaid was part of it, by the way.”

“I didn’t realize I was a co-conspirator.”

“Oh, but you were, Thurmond—a very important part of the plan.”

He chuckled. “Well, I hope it works. But I must say, I’m glad you and I have always enjoyed a straightforward courtship. I suppose maturity is the main factor. There has never been a need for intrigue between us.”

Patting his arm, Mrs. Kingston coyly agreed. “It’s the maturity, Thurmond.”

“I can’t believe my father suggested we walk together,” Elizabeth told Jonathan as they strolled along the willows lining the Bryce. She kept her wool wrap drawn tightly about her so that she would be unable to take his arm. That would have been enough for the dozens of people still visiting on the green to link them together romantically. And after much thought, she had taken Julia’s advice to heart about not making a reconciliation
too
easy. Her father had done his part. Now it was her turn.

“He practically insisted upon it,” Jonathan said, wonder lighting his aristocratic face. “And he even addressed me as
Jonathan
!”

“No!”

“But he did. And I was afraid that after losing the tournament, he would despise me even more so.”

They paused to exchange pleasantries with Mrs. Kingston and the squire, coming from the opposite direction. As they then moved on, Elizabeth told him, “My father didn’t
despise
you, Jonathan.”

“Never?” Her gave her a skeptical look.

“Well … perhaps for a little while.”

“And what about his oldest daughter?”

She was unable to resist. “Perhaps for a little while longer.”

“I deserved that,” he winced.

They stopped walking at the bridge before turning back toward the vicarage. Even though Elizabeth was determined to allow their relationship to strengthen in small stages, she would draw the line at being unreasonable and cruel. “At one time, perhaps,” she replied. “But no longer. You’ve asked my forgiveness, and you have it.”

Jonathan’s gray-green eyes acquired a sheen. “I have?”

“Yes, Jonathan. I’ll not mention the past again.”

“Dear Elizabeth! If only you could know how much I’ve prayed for this to happen!” For fear he would embrace her—and that she would allow it—she instinctively took a step backward and without her arms free to balance herself, lost her footing on the decline of the bank. Jonathan reached out both arms to steady her. He held her arms for only a second before dropping his hands back to his sides.

“Thank you, Jonathan,” she said, more for the letting go than for his helping her regain her balance. They resumed their walk in the direction of the vicarage.

Still looking straight ahead, he cleared this throat. “You know, I came here assuming that because I had become a Christian, you would realize that I had changed and forgive me right away. Perhaps even come away with me to Cambridge.” Now he looked at her. “After marrying me, of course.”

It was the first time he had ever mentioned marriage to her. Aware of a blush stealing in her cheeks, Elizabeth did not trust herself to speak. Thankfully, he did not seem to resent her silence and went on after a spell.

“I was naïve and had no concept of restoration. I never thought I would feel this way, Elizabeth, but there were lessons here that I needed to learn.”

“Lessons?”

He nodded. “Everything has been easy for me my whole life. School marks, sports—even joining my uncle’s firm. He would have hired me had I been at the bottom of my class. By coming here and facing an uphill struggle with you—and with your father and with the school—I’ve grown to realize the joy that comes from little victories is preferable to the fun that comes from ease and the pursuit of pleasure.”

“And what victories have you had, Jonathan?”

“Perhaps that’s not the best word.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I can’t seem to think of a more appropriate one. But I’m referring to things I would not have known how to appreciate just a year ago. The children finally respecting me at school. Your father addressing me as Jonathan. Your walking with me like this.” Turning to smile at her, he added, “And above all, your forgiveness.”

She smiled back, thinking about the things she had learned as well. To distance herself from the emotions of her situation enough to see where a decision would affect her some ten, twenty years from now. Waiting could sometimes be a good thing, for had she thrown herself into Jonathan’s arms the first time he appeared on the vicarage doorstep, she would not have allowed him to learn the lessons that were now obviously so important to him. She would share these things with him one day, she told herself. But for now, it seemed her heart was telling her that the waiting needed to go on just a little longer.

Chapter 42

The following day, Mrs. Jones had just begun the introductory notes of the closing hymn, “O Thou, in Whose Presence,” when from his back row pew Seth heard the church door slam open. He twisted in his seat just in time to stare into the bloodshot eyes of one of the older Sanders boys. Swaying a little, the young man walked up the aisle. Reverend Seaton stopped singing to stare from his pulpit in disbelief, causing the voices of the few people up front who had not noticed the sound of the door to taper off. Mrs. Jones continued to play the piano, squinting with concentration at the hymnal propped open in front of her.

“Who is that, Father?” Thomas whispered from his side.

“Miss Sanders’ brother,” Seth whispered back. He considered getting up and escorting the young man outside but knew he could not do so without incurring some sort of scene. One look at Miss Sanders’ face—white as whey as she rose to her feet from the front row—told him that it would be easier on her if she just left with her brother.