Chapter Five #2
“And what of the vicarage?” Miss Childs asked. “Does it have an adequate library, or do you often borrow books from your brother?”
Oliver opened his mouth and then closed it again.
She thought he was Tim. His stomach clenched at the thought.
She had been friendly not because she’d warmed to him, but because she thought she was speaking with his brother.
If she thought he was Tim now, she had likely made the same mistake while serving lemonade the day before.
After all, Oliver wore the very same work clothes.
Oliver knew he should correct her. But he also feared he would embarrass her, or even anger her.
But neither was it kind to intentionally deceive her now he realized the error.
There was also the fact that he liked this version of Miss Childs, the one who smiled and discussed books.
He had no desire to bring back the icy debutante who could not stand the sight of him.
As Oliver took in her smiling face, he chose the cowardly way out. “The vicarage has a small library, but Mr. Middleton took most of his personal books with him when he retired last year.”
“It appears the rain has lightened up, Mr. Linfield,” a deep voice spoke from behind him. He turned to find Mr. Johnson, the proprietor of the circulating library and apothecary.
Oliver glanced out the front window. The sun was not shining, but the rain appeared to have stopped.
But then he looked down and for the first time realized he’d left a large puddle on the wooden floor.
“My apologies for the mess. If you have a rag of some sort, I can wipe up after myself before I go.”
“No need, sir,” Mr. Johnson replied, but it was clear he wanted Oliver out of the shop so he could clean up.
Oliver turned to the dark-haired young woman and tipped his hat. “Good afternoon, Miss Childs. I should be going.”
“Then I bid you farewell, Mr. Linfield.”
Oliver bid the proprietor farewell and then ducked through the door and back outside.
Kitty pulled her feet up underneath her as she sat on the sofa in the library at Arbor Hill. Her mother would never approve of her undignified position, but her mother was in London. And she wished to be comfortable as she read The Lay of the Last Minstrel.
When she’d asked Mr. Johnson about the poem after Mr. Linfield left, the shopkeeper had taken her right to the correct spot on the shelf. Apparently not a soul had borrowed the book since Mr. Middleton had moved away. What a shame, it was proving to be very engaging.
An hour later, Kitty’s literary sojourn along the Scottish border was interrupted when Lady Sampson stepped into the room, followed by Mr. Timothy Linfield. He appeared to have recovered from his soaking the day before. At the very least, he was appropriately attired for a social visit.
“Ah, Kitty. I was wondering where you’d disappeared to.” Lady Sampson spoke in her usual warm and welcoming tone as she took a seat on the sofa facing Kitty. “Timothy and I were discussing parish business, and now we are going to have tea. Would you care to join us?”
“Thank you, I would,” Kitty replied while attempting to return her legs to a more ladylike position without attracting undue notice.
“What is it that you are reading?” Mr. Timothy asked, after taking a seat of his own to the side of Lady Sampson.
She opened the cover and held up the title page, “The Lay of the Last Minstrel.”
“Ah, yes.” Mr. Timothy broke into a grin. “A favorite of my mentor, Mr. Middleton. Oliver liked it so much he bought a copy of his own.”
Kitty froze in place as the words settled into her mind. Hoping that she had heard wrong, she asked, “It is a favorite of your brother’s, but not yours?”
“I enjoyed it well enough,” Mr. Timothy replied, “but Oliver adores it.” Lady Sampson said something about the tea and the vicar turned his attention to their hostess.
Could it be? No, it was not possible. Her pleasant conversation in the circulating library had been with Mr. Oliver Linfield? But he’d looked exactly like Mr. Timothy from the day before. He’d even worn the same working clothes. Her stomach sank when the second realization struck.
Needing to know for sure, she waited for a polite moment to interrupt. “Did you finish your business with the blacksmith?”
Mr. Timothy’s brows drew together in confusion. “Blacksmith?”
“I…” Kitty weighed her words. “I thought I saw you in the village yesterday afternoon. Going to the blacksmith.”
Mr. Timothy accepted a cup of tea from Lady Sampson before replying. “That must have been Oliver. I have been in Winchester on parish business and just returned late last night.”
“I was mistaken, then,” Kitty replied as she accepted a cup of her own.
She took a sip as she half-listened to Lady Sampson and Mr. Timothy discuss his trip. But her own thoughts were otherwise occupied. Mr. Timothy had been in Winchester. Meaning that her pleasant encounter at the circulating library had been with Mr. Oliver Linfield. And likely the workday as well.
How had she made such a mistake? The men looked nearly identical, but their manners were completely different.
Timothy was friendly and personable, while Oliver was cold and distant.
Except that he hadn’t been. At least over the past few days.
He had been pleasant and interesting to talk with.
She could not deny that she had thoroughly enjoyed their conversation about books.
Kitty’s confusion transformed into anger as she considered the discussion.
He had to have known she thought he was Tim.
Perhaps not when delivering the lemonade.
Their conversation that day had been brief and unremarkable.
But while he hid from the storm, she had mentioned both his being a clergyman as well as the vicarage.
He knew, and he had not corrected her. Did he think it amusing that she could not tell him and his brother apart?
The tea continued with Kitty taking part as little as possible. She answered direct questions, but otherwise let the conversation flow without her. When Mr. Timothy finally stood and offered his farewells, Kitty went through the polite motions before dropping back onto the sofa.
“You are very quiet this afternoon,” Lady Sampson noted. “Are you quite well?”
Kitty forced herself to smile at the kind woman who had given her refuge; however temporary.
“Yes, I just have a lot on my mind.” Lady Sampson studied her for a moment, as if deciding whether to press.
As the baroness stood, Kitty blurted, “Can you always tell them apart?” She winced at her half-formed question.
The words had left her mouth almost before they entered her mind.
Lady Sampson settled back into her seat. “Oliver and Timothy?”
“Yes,” Kitty replied, hoping she did not have to fully explain her question. It would be far too embarrassing.
“As adults, I’ve never had a problem,” the baroness replied frankly, before her face relaxed into a smile that spoke of fond memories. “But as lads, they would switch places and confuse everyone but their closest family and Arabella.”
“Did they often play tricks on people?” And did they still? Though Kitty did not voice the second half of her question.
“Oh, yes,” the baroness confirmed. “They were once sent down from school for their antics. I never heard of them getting into trouble at Cambridge, but it may very well be that they never got caught.” The baroness’s expression sobered.
“I miss those days. Oliver has been much too serious since his father died.”
Kitty’s lungs felt heavy. She knew what it was to lose a beloved father. And yet, it would appear that her hostess was not entirely correct. Oliver Linfield had not completely abandoned his habit of impersonating his brother.