Chapter 31
Dropping back into the same conversation as though there had been no interruption, Mr. Downey continued expounding in a manner that was clearly meant to give her every assurance that he was well-established and financially comfortable, whilst slanting anxious glances whenever he danced too near any details concerning money itself.
As the distance grew between them and the chatter in the churchyard, the world quieted.
Though not thick enough to obscure the familiar lines of the buildings or the curve of the road, the haze wrapped itself around the village, blanketing it in silence.
With most of the people at the Sabbath services or tucked up beside their hearths, Haverford felt strangely empty at present.
Thea kept her gloved hands clasped before her as Mr. Downey walked beside her, speaking with polite animation, his voice a steady rhythm against the muffled world around them.
His conversation ventured beyond steel and investments, and though it allowed an occasional observation from Thea, he was quite content to wax poetic about the improvements to the turnpike (which promised better trade once spring arrived), the alterations to the village since his last visit (though there were few of those), and his plans for his days at home.
Every step carried her farther from the churchyard, the lingering murmur of voices, and Frederick. Yet the sound of his laughter followed her, shining brightly amidst the dull hum of Mr. Downey’s steady conversation.
For one small moment, Thea considered whether Mama had a hand in the gentleman’s visit home, but that was granting the lady more credit than she deserved.
Mama was not calculating enough to go to those lengths; she was simply seizing the opportunity placed before her.
No doubt, Mama thought it a sign from On High that an eligible bachelor should arrive in town at the precise moment she needed a distraction for her daughter.
And, truth be told, Thea couldn’t help wondering about Mr. Downey’s timing.
Was there something providential in this turn of events?
Another opportunity presented to entice her from the path she’d chosen?
Was it wisdom or folly to cling to her heart’s desire and dismiss the possibility the gentleman presented?
Mr. Downey may not be the most interesting of suitors, but he’d been an earnest lad and had grown into an equally earnest man.
A touch awkward, to be certain, but that was not a moral failing.
Thea studied him as they walked along, noting the way he navigated the slick stones without complaint or fuss, always offering her a steady hand if required but not forcing her to take his arm.
There was kindness in that. And consideration.
Add to that his pleasing features and easy smile, and the fellow had much to recommend himself—far more than that income of which he was and was not boasting.
It was easy to imagine a future with such a gentleman.
A life at his side would be predictable in the best sense of the word.
A tidy household and steady routine. A set place amongst society with clear expectations.
The picture was sensible. Many women would count themselves fortunate to have such a life.
It was the path Phoebe had chosen this afternoon, and Thea would be a fool not to consider it.
Mr. Downey may not be Mr. Frederick Voss, but he was no Mr. Godwin, either.
Comfort and connection were important, and to choose Frederick would mean surrendering both. Those bonds she’d forged with friends and family may well break, and the realization unsettled her more than she liked to admit.
And now, every time Frederick looked at her, it chipped away her confidence. Or rather, how infrequently he glanced in her direction. And how fleeting those moments were. Something that was there and gone in the span of a heartbeat. Something dismissed as quickly as it came.
Thea’s hands tightened around her reticule.
How could she hold onto the hope that all would be right in the end when Frederick surrendered?
Yet how could she let him go? Her feelings weren’t some girlish fancy or idle longing that refused to fade with a bit of reasoning and logic.
What she felt for Frederick was quieter than that—something steadier, deeper.
He was the one person who truly saw her, not as she ought to be or as others expected, but as she was.
With him, she never felt the need to temper her thoughts or smooth her edges.
Her ideas mattered; her opinions carried weight.
He steadied her in ways she could never quite explain.
How could she abandon something so rare and beautiful?
Yet romantic love was not the only standard for happiness in life. And feelings can fade if one chose poorly.
Thea drew a slow breath, the mist damp against her cheeks, as she muddled through this quandary. And that, perhaps, was the cruelest part: she needed counsel and guidance, and her best source was the very person who was avoiding her.
For all his humor and irreverence, Frederick saw her with startling clarity, cutting straight to the heart of things and teasing apart her tangled thoughts until the truth pulled free.
It was infuriating, sometimes, how easily he could turn her arguments inside out and uncover that which she wished to hide.
Thea’s gaze drifted over the familiar shopfronts as they walked.
They stood dark and still with shutters drawn, the painted signs swaying faintly in the wind.
Even the draper’s window, bright with ribbons the day before, was veiled in a length of plain muslin to protect the inventory, though the sun had chosen not to make an appearance that day.
If she were to speak to Frederick, he would tell her to accept their situation and choose someone better than him. Just as Phoebe begged her to surrender. Yet that was what neither seemed to comprehend: there was no one better for her than him.
Logic or love? What a question.
The truth was that no one could live solely on one or the other.
Balance was the key to happiness, and Frederick and Father’s objections to the match weren’t without merit.
What did Thea know of running a household?
All her experience and training were based on the belief that she would employ maids to see to the household.
As they walked, the high street petered out, the road shifting from busy thoroughfare to meandering country lane, curving gently through the open fields.
The familiar outline of Rensford Park’s gates was barely visible through the gray haze, and beside them, half-hidden behind a hedge of wild roses and ivy, stood The End House, which marked the boundary between the village and Thea’s home.
The mists gathered low over the hedgerows, and she felt the faintest stirring of relief: conversation, no matter how polite, felt easier when there was space enough to breathe.
Thea drew in a lungful, the first in some time.
The air here was cooler. Cleaner. And it carried the scent of damp earth and the faint sweetness of the hedgerows.
And with that breath came clarity. The epiphany struck so suddenly that her step faltered as the thought bloomed, whole and vivid, in her mind.
How had she not seen it before? All this time brooding and fretting, and the answer had been tucked neatly between the village and Rensford Park, waiting for her to see it. A spark of astonishment flared in her chest, chased quickly by disbelief at her own blindness.
“I do beg your pardon, Mr. Downey,” said Thea, tossing out the words before her courage failed her. “I entirely forgot that I promised to pay a call on Mrs. Brinn.”
Mr. Downey glanced toward the cottage. “I said I would escort you home.”
“And you have,” she said, stepping away from him with a comforting grin. “Our front gate is just there, and I can certainly manage the distance without any trouble. I may be at The End House for some time, and I would hate to force you to sit there simply to walk me a few feet.”
Opening his mouth as though to insist, Thea held up a staying hand. “Please. She will not be at ease with a stranger at my side. She is hardly comfortable with me underfoot, and I have known her for some time.”
Mr. Downey gave that a considering nod, glancing at the cottage and then the gates that led to Rensford Park as though that great and mighty distance was akin to crossing the county.
“I make the journey quite often to bring her charity baskets,” added Thea. “My mother will think nothing of it.”
“Of course.” But Mr. Downey did not move from his spot. Shifting in place, he drummed his fingers along his thigh. “I do hope… perhaps I might be so bold… If you wouldn’t mind, that is… Would you join me on a drive tomorrow?”
A refusal came quickly to her lips as it would spare them both from an outing that was bound to go nowhere. Yet the words held fast to her tongue, cautioning her against a hasty response. If her plan was to work, she could not do it halfway.
Thea’s fingers tightened around her reticule as her thoughts churned, but she forced out the word, “Yes.”
Delight broke over his features so quickly, so unguarded, that guilt wrapped its sharp fingers around Thea’s heart.
She did not wish to raise his expectations, but then, that was the nature of courting, wasn’t it?
Whether or not she believed her feelings would alter, one could not know if one did not give it the opportunity.
It was time to let reason guide her steps.
With a few quick words, the plans were set, and he tipped his hat, his expression alight with satisfaction, as he started down the lane. The mist caught at the edge of his coat as he went, swallowing him little by little until only the echo of his cheerful footsteps remained.
Thea’s heart gave a muted protest, but she forced it down and turned toward The End House, arriving at the door and knocking before she knew what to say. Yet when Mrs. Brinn appeared in the doorway with baby Jennie on her hip, Thea didn’t bother mincing words.
“Would you teach me to lay a fire?”