Chapter Four
Kitty sat at a writing desk in her borrowed bedchamber, overlooking the back gardens of Arbor Hill.
For an estate that was rarely occupied by its master and mistress, it was very well maintained.
Lord Sampson clearly employed capable staff, from the housekeeper down to the undergardener.
The dinner she’d attended the previous evening had been unconventional in its own way, but the food and service would have been perfectly acceptable to even the most discerning society hostess.
The only real drawback to the evening had been one Mr. Oliver Linfield.
His aloof behavior had brought out her own.
Neither had been truly rude to each other, but they had managed to play the most formal game of whist Kitty had ever seen.
They both laid down cards with skill, but no real interest or humor.
Even after Mr. Timothy did his best to add levity to the game.
When the tiresome card game finally came to an end, Mrs. Arabella Linfield went to the pianoforte and entertained the party for the rest of the evening.
After the guests finally left, Kitty wondered if Lady Sampson would question her behavior. But instead, the baroness had simply informed her that she had accepted an invitation to tea at the vicarage for the following day and then retired for the night.
When the time finally came to leave for the vicarage, Kitty abandoned her half-written letter and went in search of the baroness.
She found her in the library. After a brief greeting, Lady Sampson looked down at Kitty’s feet.
“I would change into more sensible shoes. The walk into Whickfield can be rather muddy.”
“We are walking?” Kitty asked in both surprise and delight. She enjoyed a good walk, something she rarely got to do in London since her mother preferred the carriage.
“One advantage of being in the country is that I can do what I wish, and I enjoy the walk into Whickfield,” Lady Sampson responded with a kind smile. “Besides, we will be there in the same amount of time it would take the grooms to harness the horses.”
A quarter hour later, after a change of shoes, Kitty followed Lady Sampson across the back fields of Arbor Hill and through a wooded path that led directly to the churchyard and the vicarage beyond.
The baroness might have been exaggerating about the walk being faster than harnessing the carriage, but not by much.
As they approached the reddish-brown stone building, Kitty asked, “Do you often take tea at the vicarage when you are in the neighborhood?”
Lady Sampson slowed a few yards from the front door.
“I don’t know that I ever have. Mr. Middleton, the previous vicar, had been a widower since long before I married Lord Sampson.
” She continued to walk as she explained, “But I have taken tea with our dear Arabella many times. Either at Arbor Hill or Bailey House. Even at Blackthorne Park.”
Within moments of sounding the knocker, the door opened to reveal a lad of about thirteen years old. “Mrs. Linfield is expecting you.” He then stepped out of the way to reveal Arabella Linfield standing in front of a blue sofa, a tea tray already waiting on a low table in front of her.
“Welcome, please come in.” The vicar’s wife greeted them with a warm smile.
Mrs. Linfield invited Kitty to call her Arabella, and soon the three women were laughing as they told stories. Most of Arabella’s tales involved the Linfield twins, with whom she’d been friends her entire life.
“I’ve heard tell that it was you who put the frog in Tim’s boots.” Lady Sampson raised a brow at their hostess before taking a bite of tea cake.
Arabella lifted her cup halfway to her lips before replying, “That is a rather unfortunate rumor I cannot seem to avoid.” She then took a sip.
“Because you are guilty,” Lady Sampson replied before taking a sip of her own.
Instead of answering, Arabella turned to Kitty. “More tea?”
“Yes, please.” Kitty set her mostly empty cup on the table so that Arabella could pour. While her hostess refilled her cup, she asked, “How old were you?”
“About ten,” Arabella admitted as she handed Kitty back her cup.
After a moment for the confession to sink in, all three women burst into laughter.
When the merriment subsided a touch, Lady Sampson told several stories about her own sons and stepsons. Between the four of them, they caused plenty of mischief. But they didn’t quite measure up to the Linfield brothers, at least as Arabella told the stories.
“It would appear that your husband was the troublemaker, and his brother often saved his skin,” Kitty addressed her new friend. The tea and cakes had long since been finished or forgotten, but no one appeared interested in ending their visit.
“There is truth to that,” Arabella admitted, “but Oliver is not wholly innocent. More than once, Oliver was the culprit, but Tim took the blame.”
Kitty found that surprising, but she had no reason to distrust Arabella’s word. And the two men could easily be confused. Especially at a distance. “They do look very similar,” Kitty commented. “I’m not sure how anyone tells them apart.”
“It is simple enough,” the vicar’s wife responded with a twinkle in her eye. “My husband is the handsome one.”
“I am, it is true,” a deep voice replied.
Kitty spun towards the sound and discovered both the vicar and his brother standing in an archway that led to other parts of the vicarage. How long had they been standing there?
Arabella and her husband both laughed at his jest, while Mr. Oliver Linfield stood stoic at his brother’s side. Kitty took in his look of disapproval and straightened her shoulders before lifting her cup and taking a sip of her now cold tea.
“Welcome, Oliver,” Arabella greeted her brother-in-law. “What brings you here this afternoon?”
“I needed to consult with Tim on an issue with one of the Blackthorne Park tenants,” Oliver Linfield replied in a flat tone.
As Kitty watched Arabella converse with her husband and brother-in-law, she mentally amended her previous statement. The two men were so different in dress and manner that she imagined that few people who knew both could actually confuse them.
The sun had made a rare appearance as Oliver rode to church on Sunday morning.
When he reached the outskirts of the churchyard, he pulled his mount to a stop, swung his leg over the saddle, and slid to the ground.
When his mother had claimed a headache and opted to stay home, Oliver had chosen the simplicity of his horse rather than having the carriage readied.
But as he watched the crowds gathering outside the church doors, he regretted not crying off altogether.
Miss Childs stood near the door with Lady Sampson, and both of Oliver’s sisters.
She smiled and laughed, just as she had in the vicarage parlor the day before.
At least she had until she’d seen him. The moment she noticed his presence, she transformed back into the cold debutante.
What was it about him that brought out that reaction in her?
He wasn’t expecting her to fall all over him. But would it hurt to give him a smile?
After the women stepped through the doors, he considered his options.
Nobody seemed to have taken notice of him yet.
But that might change if he followed his temptation to climb back into the saddle and kick his horse into a run in the opposite direction.
Instead of fleeing, he led his mount around the back of the church and into the vicarage stables.
It wasn’t a large building, but it had room for one more.
And unless Jerry, Tim’s boy of all work, came in, nobody would notice.
Once he was confident the way was clear, Oliver sneaked out of the stables, rounded the church, and slipped in through the vestry door.
The small room off the side of the chapel served as a parish office, as well as a place for Tim to change in and out of his vestments for services.
It also provided a place to listen to the sermon without having to join the congregation.
Sure enough, the services started, and Oliver could hear his brother’s voice clearly through the closed doors that led into the sanctuary.
Confident it would not be a long sermon, Oliver settled himself back into a convenient chair.
The parishioners loved Tim for his energetic service, but also for his brevity from the pulpit.
Oliver almost slipped out as he heard the services draw to a close after half an hour, but he was afraid he’d be spotted. Instead, he stayed right where he was. He would much rather face his twin than all of Whickfield.
More than a quarter hour after the services ended, the door from the chapel opened and Tim stepped inside. He studied Oliver for a moment before pulling his white surplice over his head and hanging it on a hook. He then removed his cassock and did the same, leaving him in shirtsleeves and trousers.
Once he had removed his clerical vestments, Tim pulled up a chair and sat directly across from Oliver. “Is there a particular reason you are hiding in my vestry instead of sitting in the pews?”
Not sure how much he wished to admit, Oliver simply replied, “You of all people know how little I enjoy crowds.”
Tim tapped his chin as though considering. “Who are you avoiding?” He then paused and snapped his fingers. “Miss Childs. She was here with Lady Sampson.”
“I am not avoiding Miss Childs,” Oliver stated firmly. Tim just sat silently, waiting for him to admit the truth. After a staring contest that would have made their ten-year-old selves proud, he cracked. “I am avoiding Miss Childs.”
“I know.” Tim crossed his arms and leaned back in the wooden chair. “But what I want to know is why.”
Oliver was not sure he could explain why, even to himself. Instead, he asked a question of his own. “What do you think of Miss Childs?”