your attentions. In a place as small as Longwillow, such marked attention to a young vicar could be easily misconstrued.”
The nerve! “How dare you give me advice on how to conduct myself in my own neighborhood? You, an unwanted interloper.”
He leaned back against his seat, one black eyebrow arching upward mockingly. “Unwanted? Why, I must say, my very first encounter in the neighborhood, with a hazel-eyed damsel on the banks of a stream, led me to believe I would be very welcome here indeed.”
She was momentarily speechless. “You are insufferable! I would never have been friendly to you if I had known who you were.”
His eyelids lowered lazily over his dark brown eyes. “But you were very friendly,” he said.
“And never shall be again.”
“Never is a long time, Miss Wilcox.”
But she refused to say another word to him. Instead, she looked away and thought harder on how to get him to give up Tethering.
Five
Fulton stood in the drawing room early the next morning and sighed as he pondered what to address next in this godforsaken manor. He was fairly dismayed about his master’s plans to have a house party so soon after moving into what Fulton privately called “the old heap.” And this with practically no staff in place yet, save for the footman and stable boys Lady Josephine had lent them. The idea that anyone from London was going to shortly be in residence in rooms whose windows were currently festooned with bird droppings made him want to swoon.
Jarvis, the footman, was coming along the hallway carrying a small end table, and he paused in the doorway on his way past.
“You wanted this fer the chamber where t’ master’s aunt is to stay, sir?”
“Yes, that’s right, Jarvis. At the moment there’s not even a shelf to set a candle on in there, and I think we can all agree it would be best to have a candle handy in Miss Claremont’s room.”
Jarvis cast a furtive glance down the hallway. “’Tis true, then, sir, what I heard?”
Fulton gave him a sober look. “Jarvis, as I have made clear to you, I do not condone gossiping about our master or his circle.” He paused. “However, I would prefer that, should any of the new staff hear rumors, they understand that Miss Claremont was unwell at the time, grieving the death of her sister.”
Jarvis was enthralled. “It’s just, sir, that she seems a practical lady, like, and not one who might carry on.”
Fulton sniffed. “Miss Claremont is a practical, eminently respectable lady, as I can assure you. And Mr. Collington takes the best care of her. She’s like a mother to him. It was a heartrending scene that night—I can still see her quivering on the bed and Master sitting beside her, comforting her.”
***
Felicity was just passing by the side of the manor, having sneaked into the orchard to watch the sun rise as she had every day since the Wilcoxes had received the letter about losing the estate. It was the place in the world where she felt most at peace, and she needed that peace now more than ever. Today, though, she hadn’t found as much solace as she craved.
As she came within hearing distance of the window, she caught some words of a conversation being carried on inside.
“Master was up all night,” she heard a man say, obviously from his speech one of Mr. Collington’s servants. “I never would have believed that someone so practical and confident could be brought to such a state.”
She was instantly intrigued. What had the confident, practical Mr. Collington done?
“A state, sir?” said another, even less cultured male voice. “What sort a state?”
A pause. “It was dreadful. The rocking, the tears, and all the time wailing about ghosts.”
“Ghosts!”
Ghosts? She blinked. Mr. Collington was afraid of ghosts? This was very interesting news indeed!
“Yes. You cannot believe the trouble we had that night trying to restore peace. Calls for extra candles to light the room up as bright as a summer’s
The nerve! “How dare you give me advice on how to conduct myself in my own neighborhood? You, an unwanted interloper.”
He leaned back against his seat, one black eyebrow arching upward mockingly. “Unwanted? Why, I must say, my very first encounter in the neighborhood, with a hazel-eyed damsel on the banks of a stream, led me to believe I would be very welcome here indeed.”
She was momentarily speechless. “You are insufferable! I would never have been friendly to you if I had known who you were.”
His eyelids lowered lazily over his dark brown eyes. “But you were very friendly,” he said.
“And never shall be again.”
“Never is a long time, Miss Wilcox.”
But she refused to say another word to him. Instead, she looked away and thought harder on how to get him to give up Tethering.
Five
Fulton stood in the drawing room early the next morning and sighed as he pondered what to address next in this godforsaken manor. He was fairly dismayed about his master’s plans to have a house party so soon after moving into what Fulton privately called “the old heap.” And this with practically no staff in place yet, save for the footman and stable boys Lady Josephine had lent them. The idea that anyone from London was going to shortly be in residence in rooms whose windows were currently festooned with bird droppings made him want to swoon.
Jarvis, the footman, was coming along the hallway carrying a small end table, and he paused in the doorway on his way past.
“You wanted this fer the chamber where t’ master’s aunt is to stay, sir?”
“Yes, that’s right, Jarvis. At the moment there’s not even a shelf to set a candle on in there, and I think we can all agree it would be best to have a candle handy in Miss Claremont’s room.”
Jarvis cast a furtive glance down the hallway. “’Tis true, then, sir, what I heard?”
Fulton gave him a sober look. “Jarvis, as I have made clear to you, I do not condone gossiping about our master or his circle.” He paused. “However, I would prefer that, should any of the new staff hear rumors, they understand that Miss Claremont was unwell at the time, grieving the death of her sister.”
Jarvis was enthralled. “It’s just, sir, that she seems a practical lady, like, and not one who might carry on.”
Fulton sniffed. “Miss Claremont is a practical, eminently respectable lady, as I can assure you. And Mr. Collington takes the best care of her. She’s like a mother to him. It was a heartrending scene that night—I can still see her quivering on the bed and Master sitting beside her, comforting her.”
***
Felicity was just passing by the side of the manor, having sneaked into the orchard to watch the sun rise as she had every day since the Wilcoxes had received the letter about losing the estate. It was the place in the world where she felt most at peace, and she needed that peace now more than ever. Today, though, she hadn’t found as much solace as she craved.
As she came within hearing distance of the window, she caught some words of a conversation being carried on inside.
“Master was up all night,” she heard a man say, obviously from his speech one of Mr. Collington’s servants. “I never would have believed that someone so practical and confident could be brought to such a state.”
She was instantly intrigued. What had the confident, practical Mr. Collington done?
“A state, sir?” said another, even less cultured male voice. “What sort a state?”
A pause. “It was dreadful. The rocking, the tears, and all the time wailing about ghosts.”
“Ghosts!”
Ghosts? She blinked. Mr. Collington was afraid of ghosts? This was very interesting news indeed!
“Yes. You cannot believe the trouble we had that night trying to restore peace. Calls for extra candles to light the room up as bright as a summer’s
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