Chapter Five
Blackthorne Park must have been a sprawling estate, because they traveled for almost half an hour before making their first stop.
There were several groups of men scattered around doing everything from mending paths to painting cottage shutters.
A few faces looked vaguely familiar, likely from church, but she did not recall the name of a single soul.
Still, they were all friendly and appreciative of the cool drink.
At the fourth stop, she found Arabella helping several women plant flowers in front of a tenant cottage.
The vicar’s wife appeared perfectly content to don an apron and old work dress and get her hands dirty.
In truth, Kitty found herself envious. It had been ages since she’d done anything similar.
There were few opportunities in London to be outside, and even walking in Hyde Park was more about being seen than enjoying nature.
“Thank you.” Arabella handed back a tin cup after draining the liquid. “If you have any lemonade left, you’ll find some familiar faces repairing a wall just past that last cottage.” She pointed towards a small whitewashed building that sat perhaps a five-minute walk away.
Kitty peered into her more than half-empty pitcher. “I believe we have enough for a few more cups.”
Instead of climbing back into the cart, Kitty determined to simply walk to the next work crew. It was not far, and her legs and back needed to stretch.
As she approached the cottage, the sounds of laughter guided her around the back.
When she rounded the corner, she found that Arabella had been correct.
Instead of tenants or servants, Kitty faced three very familiar faces.
Mr. Towne, Mr. Warner, and Mr. Timothy Linfield.
She looked around once more, but the vicar’s twin appeared to be nowhere in sight.
She felt both relief and annoyance at his absence.
“Good morning gentlemen. Lady Diana has sent me with lemonade.” Kitty held up the pitcher.
Mr. Towne dropped a rock onto the wall they’d been repairing. “And it is very much appreciated, Miss Childs.” The other two men followed close behind.
Kitty poured three tin cups of lemonade, while Polly distributed biscuits to the men. Mr. Towne and Mr. Warner drank the lemonade and then returned their cups with thanks before immediately returning to their work. The vicar, however, asked for seconds.
The very last of the lemonade only filled the small cup about three-quarters full, but he took it with a grateful smile. “It was very kind of you to help this morning, Miss Childs,” Mr. Timothy spoke before tipping back the cup and draining it in one gulp.
“My part is easy compared to the work going on,” Kitty admitted.
“But no less appreciated.” The vicar’s face held a soft smile as he held out the now empty cup. Kitty reached for it, ready for him to bid her farewell.
But instead of following his brothers-in-law back to their project, Mr. Timothy remained in place.
Kitty wanted to ask why his brother was not there, but it was really none of her business.
Looking for a different topic of conversation, Kitty nodded towards the stack of stones the men had been working with. “Was the wall damaged by the rain?”
“The excessive water softened the ground beneath, causing a few spots to collapse,” Mr. Timothy explained.
“That makes sense; I’d never considered it,” Kitty replied as the groom pulled the cart to a stop behind her. “I should leave you to your work.”
“Thank you again, Miss Childs.” Mr. Timothy tipped his cap to her and then returned to the work project.
Kitty climbed back into the cart, her maid close behind, and settled down for the journey back to the house.
With plenty of time to think, she pondered the events of the morning.
It should not have bothered her that Oliver Linfield was not helping with the repairs.
In truth, it was rather strange that Mr. Towne and Mr. Warner were doing manual labor.
Many gentlemen did not sully themselves with such things.
But if they were willing, where was their brother-in-law? And on his own land?
After almost two hours riding around Blackthorne Park, and no sightings of its master, Kitty returned to the makeshift canopy. After retrieving a biscuit and a cup of lemonade for herself, Lady Sampson approached. “I believe I’m spent. Why don’t we return to Arbor Hill?”
Kitty agreed wholeheartedly.
The official work project the previous day had gone very well, but there were a few odds and ends left uncompleted.
So for the second day in a row, Oliver donned his oldest clothes and went to work repairing rock walls.
It was backbreaking work, but a welcome change from ledgers and social activities.
Some gentlemen might disapprove of getting their hands dirty, but Oliver enjoyed the physical exertion.
When Henderson, the longtime steward of Blackthorne Park, declared them done shortly after midday, Oliver set off for the village.
He needed to speak to the blacksmith about a delayed delivery and a two-mile walk sounded like the perfect way to stretch his sore muscles.
He’d not thought much of the overcast sky all morning.
After all, the sun had been a rare pleasure for months.
But as he came within sight of the village, he noted the darkening clouds and questioned his own wisdom in not returning home to change and call for the carriage.
His concern proved warranted when more than twenty yards from the closest buildings, the heavens opened.
Oliver scrambled down the road and through the first door he found.
It was not until he closed the door behind him and looked around that he even knew where he was—the circulating library.
The small shop was really part of the apothecary, but had its own door from the outside.
Whickfield was a small enough village that most of the establishments served more than one purpose.
Oliver knew the circulating library existed; both of his sisters maintained subscriptions. But he’d rarely had a reason to step inside, given that Blackthorne Park was home to his father’s extensive library.
“Mr. Linfield?”
Oliver turned to find a lovely young woman with a surprised expression in her chocolate-brown eyes. Lady Sampson’s guest appeared to be everywhere of late.
“Good afternoon, Miss Childs.” Oliver bowed politely. “I apologize for startling you.”
“It would appear that the sudden change in the weather startled you.” Her face relaxed into a soft smile and there was now just a hint of a twinkle in her eyes.
Miss Childs’ friendliness the day before had been a pleasant surprise.
To have it repeated was downright shocking.
Though curious about her sudden change towards him, Oliver was not about to ruin it by bringing it up.
Perhaps he could finally meet the woman Arabella and Lady Sampson adored.
“That it did,” he agreed. “I should likely apologize for my appearance as well.” His mother would be horrified if she knew he’d visited Whickfield in his dirtied work clothes.
But he’d only intended to visit the forge, not one of the more refined establishments.
“I was just helping the tenants at Blackthorne Park and did not take the time to make myself presentable before attempting to visit the blacksmith.”
“It is good of you to help them,” Miss Childs replied. “I’m sure they appreciate it.”
“I hope so,” Oliver commented. After a long silence, he asked, “What brings you here today?”
“I am exploring the village while Lady Sampson meets with Mrs. Burton about a new gown, and I’m afraid I have a fondness for books.” Miss Childs looked almost guilty.
It did not surprise Oliver that Lady Sampson would buy something from their local seamstress, despite her access to all the shops in London. But it was Miss Childs’ confession of her love of books that truly caught his attention.
“I have a fondness for books myself,” Oliver admitted.
“Is there anything in particular you love to read?” Miss Childs asked as the rain continued to pound on the windowpane behind him.
“All kinds. History, Shakespeare, science, poetry. I even enjoy a novel from time to time.” Like his late father, Oliver loved the written word. And he would much rather spend an evening in a library than with most of society. His family being the exception.
“Have you read Sir Walter Scott?” Miss Childs’ question did not surprise Oliver one bit. The Scottish novelist and poet had become very popular of late.
“I’ve read Waverly and its sequel. Though my favorite of his works is actually his epic poem, The Lay of the Last Minstrel.”
“I have heard of it, but I’ve never read it,” Miss Childs admitted.
“I believe they have a copy here,” Oliver gestured towards the bookshelves, “if it is not already on loan. Mr. Middleton, our former vicar, borrowed it so often they threatened to make him purchase a copy of his own.” Oliver could not help but smile at the memory.
“Not all clergymen are so in favor of reading fiction, Mr. Linfield.”
“More’s the pity,” Oliver retorted, earning a true smile from Miss Childs. “What do you enjoy reading, Miss Childs?”
Oliver felt completely captivated as the young woman launched into an explanation of several of her favorite reads, ranging from Shakespeare’s comedies to the novels that had been published anonymously by “a lady.” Everyone had read them, including Oliver, but nobody seemed to know the identity of the mysterious author.
“Do you frequent the circulating library, Mr. Linfield?” Miss Childs asked after they had finished discussing their thoughts on Sense & Sensibility.
“My father was a collector, and there is an extensive library at Blackthorne Park.” Oliver shook his head as he admitted, “If there is something I wish to read, it is likely that I already have it available to me.”