Chapter 2
The press of parishioners slowed the pair’s pace, requiring Thea and Phoebe to offer a murmured greeting and a polite nod before they could continue on their way.
It was the familiar rhythm of a Sunday in Haverford, with the congregation spilling into the narrow walks as they were reluctant to part company just yet.
Thea adjusted her hold on Phoebe’s arm, guiding her through the shifting clusters of neighbors—until a voice called for them to pause.
“Pray, a moment.” Mrs. Godwin stood beneath the shadow of a yew, a tall gentleman beside her.
She beckoned them nearer with a gloved hand, her expression alight with satisfaction as she pointed to a gentleman with such somber clothes that he must either be an undertaker or a cleric.
“May I introduce my husband’s nephew, Mr. Samuel Godwin.
He is visiting our lovely corner of the country. ”
The gentleman bowed. “And a very lovely corner it is, Aunt. Quite the most delightful I have seen in some time.”
“Come now, your home in Kingsmere is quite breathtaking,” said his aunt.
“Breathtaking, yes,” Mr. Godwin agreed smoothly, “but the beauty of Haverford is heightened when one takes into account the civility and warmth of its people. Your village, madam, possesses both in abundance. It is heaven on earth, and I shall be loath to leave it.”
Phoebe’s smile curled upward, and Thea braced herself for what was to come: Frederick wasn’t the only Voss who enjoyed needling others.
“Such a broad statement, sir,” said Phoebe with a hint of puzzlement pasted over her tone. “You must’ve been here a good many weeks to have made such an assessment.”
Mr. Godwin’s expression didn’t falter in the slightest. “I only arrived yesterday evening, but from the moment I set foot in Haverford, it was clear that this village is one of the greatest jewels in England. As is my own humble home, of course.”
“Sir Anthony Whitcombe is his patron,” added his aunt, her tone steeped with reverence, as though speaking of the Almighty Himself.
“I do have that honor, though we rarely have the pleasure of his presence,” said Mr. Godwin with a solemn shake of his head. “Mrs. Whitcombe manages the estate in his absence, and never has a village been more blessed than Kingsmere. She is the finest of ladies and best of patronesses.”
“That is quite a blessing, indeed,” said Phoebe, infusing her tone with a level of awe befitting her disinterest, though Mr. Godwin sensed none of her subtle laughter.
“Too true, madam,” said the gentleman. “I have been most fortunate, indeed. It is my constant prayer that my conduct reflects the Whitcombes’ virtue, for they embody everything our great country stands for. The finest of conduct and manners. A pattern card for our behavior.”
“My good sir,” said Phoebe with eyes wide with feigned shock. “I dare say it is folly for us to hope that we might achieve such goodness. They are clearly superior in every facet.”
“True, madam,” said Mr. Godwin with a condescending nod of his head.
“I suppose the best we can hope for is to learn from their wisdom. It is the reason I did not hesitate when Lady Agatha insisted it was high time I find myself a wife: a flock cannot thrive beneath a bachelor clergyman, after all.”
“And is that your purpose in visiting Haverford?” asked Phoebe with the faintest of smirks. “I would think Kingsmere has ladies aplenty from which to choose, and you needn’t venture so far from your flock.”
“Yes, but you can well imagine how difficult it is for a gentleman in his position,” interjected Mrs. Godwin, giving her nephew a beaming smile whilst patting him on the arm.
“He is bound to cause a stir when he chooses one lady over another. What with his good living, fine house, prestigious patron, and of course, my husband’s connections to the Archbishop, there isn’t a lady in Kingsmere who wouldn’t be desperate to secure his hand in matrimony. ”
“As they should,” said Phoebe with a solemn nod. “And how fortunate we are that he condescended to bless our little corner of Lincolnshire during his search for the perfect shepherdess to assist with his flock.”
Thea pressed her lips together, torn between horror over Phoebe’s irreverence and astonishment that Mr. Godwin appeared not to notice.
If anything, he seemed gratified, mistaking her dry tone for admiration; his posture grew more upright, his expression fixed in solemn dignity whilst his aunt looked on in delight, plainly convinced that her nephew was making a most favorable impression.
Passing parishioners cast curious glances, drawn by the sound of his voice (the sort that did a clergyman proud whilst standing at the pulpit), but Phoebe stood serenely, her hand light upon Thea’s arm, her eyes gleaming with suppressed amusement.
It was as though she played a game whose rules were known only to her, and the unsuspecting rector was losing badly.
Thea managed a small smile, her gaze flicking to where Frederick waited by the gate.
It was at moments like these that Thea couldn’t decide if she liked the Vosses’ boldness or despaired over it.
Of course, seeing Frederick wield it when his victims needed to be brought down a peg was always entertaining, but as her heart tended toward beating against her ribs as though she were standing on a stage with all eyes on her, it could be equally embarrassing as well.
The gentleman’s lips pulled up into that self-assured smile, which had all the confidence of a man who knew he was the object of attention and reveled in the spell he cast over her—whilst ignoring that he was just as ensnared by her as she was by him.
After all, one couldn’t notice another noticing if one wasn’t noticing the other in the first place.
That grin was what most people noticed first about Frederick Voss.
It filled the whole of him, shining with joy, impishness, and amusement.
His hair was the color of unripe wheat, and though he secretly despaired that his field was thinning, Thea thought it naught but the worry of a man who (like far too many) believed only women were victims of vanity.
But truth or not, it made no difference: Frederick Voss was the handsomest of men.
And when those light blue eyes met hers for the third time, Thea’s own smile broadened. His gaze was as lovely as a clear afternoon day when the sun shone bright, making the blue all the richer and deeper.
Her Frederick.
*
“Heaven save us from cow-eyed fools,” said Gordon, giving Frederick a “good-natured” jostle that rattled his teeth.
“Leave him be,” said Lambert, straightening his cuffs. “A man ought to stare longingly at the lady he loves and thank his lucky stars that she finds him amusing.”
Frederick pasted on his usual smile whilst righting his jacket.
Though he certainly had been doing the former and did the latter on many occasions, they didn’t need to know that this time his thoughts were otherwise occupied.
A gentleman didn’t admit that he was thinking of his father whilst looking at his sweetheart.
Not that Thea reminded him of his father.
They were nothing alike. But the gentleman was never far from Frederick’s thoughts.
With a careful touch, he adjusted the mourning band that rested on his forearm. A father’s passing left a mark on a son, even if he was a grown man of three and twenty.
“There is more strength in you than you know. You’ll manage in ways I never could. You’ll do just fine, Frederick. Better than I have.”
Truth be told, Frederick wasn’t certain that those were the precise words his father had spoken to him mere hours before the fellow had collapsed in the library, never to rise again.
Yet those sentences refused to leave him.
Or rather, the tone with which he spoke.
There had been something so final in it.
Was it possible to sense one’s end coming? No doubt Thea would have some grand insight into this quandary, accompanied by a few words to buoy his spirits. In a trice, she would decipher the words and dispel the unease they inspired.
But today was not the day for such morbid conversations. Some day soon, certainly. Not now.
“Jealous that I’ve secured the heart of the most beautiful creature in all of Lincolnshire?” replied Frederick, sloughing off the fellow’s arm. “You needn’t worry. I am certain some girl will take pity on you. Eventually. Assuming the man she wants isn’t available.”
That earned him the usual guffaws, and Frederick added with a grin, “Besides, Miss Keats’ face is far nicer to look at than yours. Who wouldn’t prefer staring at her whilst you ramble on and on?”
And that she was. Frederick couldn’t help but take another look at her.
Though Thea would despair over him calling her anything more than perfectly average, no other word but “gorgeous” or “lovely” could describe the beauty that shone from every inch of her.
The dark gold of her hair deepened toward brunette at times, but in the sunlight it gleamed as though each strand had been warmed by fire.
And that smile—hesitant at first, as though she doubted her right to offer it—seemed to belong to him alone.
“He is doing it again,” muttered Gordon with the sigh of one whose patience was being tested beyond its endurance.
“Give it a few weeks, and they’ll announce their engagement, then we will never see him again,” said Lambert. “Enjoy his company while we can.”
The pair continued to tease and twit Frederick, but his attention drifted when his eyes fell to Mr. Stout. Though entirely inappropriately named, the fellow’s grim expression and arms crossed tightly across his lithe chest made the grocer imposing enough.
Frederick felt the weight of that gaze as though it bore down on his shoulders.
He shifted his stance, feigning a careless posture, but the air around him thickened all the same.
Every few moments, he glanced elsewhere, only to find that the man’s stare had not wavered.
A prickle ran up his neck, that uneasy awareness of being measured and found wanting.
“Please excuse me,” he tossed at his friends before weaving through the parishioners; Frederick didn’t know precisely what he was going to say to the fellow, but his conscience wouldn’t allow things to fester as they were. Mr. Stout deserved an apology.
The fellow turned to face Frederick as he drew near, and thankfully, Mr. Stout stepped apart from the other parishioners to allow the pair a touch more privacy as Frederick reached out to give the man a shake of the hand. There was no reason this misstep couldn’t be easily sorted out and forgotten.
“Do forgive us the tardy payment. Had I realized our bill was outstanding, I would’ve sent the funds before your clerk arrived on our doorstep,” said Frederick whilst thanking the heavens the family hadn’t been present when the dunning letter arrived; the moment had been embarrassing enough without any added hysterics or judgment.
“So Mr. Johns said,” replied Mr. Stout, his posture, tone, and expression remaining stony.
Trotting out the grin that worked best with menfolk, Frederick added a faint grimace to it.
“Please do not let it reflect badly on my family. I assure you that it was entirely accidental. With our loss being so recent and unexpected, some bills were overlooked, and I am trying my best to sort it out.”
Matters weren’t helped that Mr. Howlett had yet to respond to Frederick’s letters, but as appealing as it was to lay the blame entirely on their man of business, a gentleman took responsibility when duties were mishandled.
Mr. Stout nodded. “I am sorry for your loss. Please do not think me heartless for pestering a grieving family or ignorant of the difficulties you face at this time, but my children need to be fed, and your family’s debts are significant.”
Frederick’s brows rose, and he lowered his voice. “Do we owe more? I sent the full amount, as was indicated in the dunning letter—”
“That was only the most outstanding debt, sir. There is a proper order to such things, and the rest haven’t arrived at the point where such steps are necessary. Again, I do not wish to trouble a grieving family.”
Frederick straightened. “And I am grateful for it. I am still sorting out my father’s records, and I fear it’s a bit of a tangle.
I appreciate your patience, and if you will send me a bill itemizing all that is still owed, I will ensure that the whole of it is paid immediately.
The entire amount. We will not short you. ”
But for all those reassurances, Mr. Stout’s expression remained impassive. “Your father gave similar promises.”
“And I have no doubt he would’ve delivered on them had he not passed so suddenly.”
“Some have been outstanding for nigh on a year,” said Mr. Stout. “And I am not the only tradesman in town awaiting payment.”
Fighting the frown that threatened to make itself known at that revelation, Frederick gave his warmest and most earnest of smiles. It helped that it wasn’t an affectation but a genuine show of concern; he didn’t know how the finances had gotten so tangled, but he would sort it out. Immediately.
“I do apologize for any pains we have caused you, Mr. Stout, but I promise that every last farthing will be paid as soon as I know what is owed.”
Holding out his hand, Frederick hoped his words were enough to appease the fellow, and though it took a moment, the grocer accepted the handshake.
Likely Father would think it strange to put so much stock in the acceptance of a tradesman, but Frederick didn’t want anyone (even those amongst the middle class) to think a Voss’s word meant nothing.
“I will sort this out,” he promised once more, infusing every word with all the honesty of his heart. One way or another, Frederick would make this right.