Charity’s walks with Esther seemed to provide the only form of distraction that was available to her within the confines of her narrow life. Or at least, that was how she felt today.

She had not wept through the night, as perhaps one might have expected. Instead, she simply lay awake, thinking a great deal about the way her perspective of the world had shifted in the space of a few short hours.

All her life, she had taken people to be kind and honorable, so long as they appeared to be that way. It was new territory entirely — a new world altogether — that she had to navigate. A world in which things were not as they appeared, a world in which people held all sorts of terrible secrets and were far less upstanding and open than they appeared to be.

She looked at her face in the glass. The lack of sleep had left her quite pale and pinched-looking.

If I had some unkind and sharp-tongued mamma or governess, she thought, I expect she would tell me that I ought to get more sleep, as the lack of it is ruining my complexion, and how will I ever get a husband if I spoil my looks?

She felt grimly satisfied by the fact that, despite every other reason she had to feel distressed, that particular matter did not afflict her.

Once Charity had told Esther of what her father had told her the previous night, Esther fell very silent, sober in thought. She looked a great deal troubled by what Charity had told her and asked her several times if she really believed it to be true.

“How could I disbelieve it, when my own father told it to me?” Charity replied miserably. “I know that he is not the kindest or the most generous of fathers, but I have no doubt as to his honesty. And why should he lie?”

“I do not know,” Esther replied, her face grown philosophical. “But the fact that I do not know why your father might lie is not in itself evidence that he did not.”

Charity made no reply. She knew that she could fall into dissecting the matter with Esther, trying to establish some possibility by which everyone involved could be telling the truth, and be a kind and honest person to boot.

But the idea of doing so felt too much like dangling false hope before Charity’s eyes. The story her father had told her was an entirely plausible one, and she knew if she were to accept it, then that would be the wisest way of insulating herself against future hurt.

She would have liked to believe that Mr. Harding was innocent. Of course, she would. But she simply did not dare. The fear that her generosity would be thrown back in her face was too great.

The two young ladies walked through the country lanes, arm in arm and saying very little. Charity took some comfort from the reassuring presence of her friend, but they both knew there was nothing to be said that would improve the present situation, and to try would merely trivialize it.

Nonetheless, few states of mind cannot be improved, at least somewhat, by a vigorous walk. Therefore Charity returned to the vicarage feeling, if not exactly better, at least a good deal more settled than she had previously. The roses were blooming in her cheeks once again, albeit tentatively.

She was surprised to be greeted by her father in the hallway before she had a chance to remove her bonnet.

“Charity, my dear, would you come in here?”

Her father’s voice hailed her from his study as soon as she entered the house. It was not the voice that he usually used to address her — it was far warmer and gentler. She feared perhaps his manner of address might indicate he had more bad news to give her and wished to convey it as gently as possible.

But instead, she entered her father’s study to find a young man sitting there with him, a young man that she had never seen before.

“My dear daughter, please allow me to present Mr. Edwards,” the Reverend Miller said, with a great deal of geniality. “Mr. Edwards has just taken to living in one of the neighboring parishes, and we were just conferring on some matters of the church, as colleagues often do.

“However,” he continued, smiling broadly, "Since Mr. Edwards is far closer to your age than he is to mine, I thought that it might enliven his visit a little if you were to take tea with us. I am sure that he must be tiring of my ecclesiastical talk.”

Charity smiled briefly, to let her father know that she had understood the self-deprecating nature of his little joke. Then she turned her eyes to Mr. Edwards.

She had been expecting a slight, sallow, earnest-looking youth, as her father’s protégés so often were. But Mr. Edwards had a lively and pleasant-looking countenance and rose to greet her with an open and friendly smile.

“It is a great pleasure to meet you, Miss Miller,” he said. “I would assure your learned father that I was not tiring of his company in the least, but nonetheless, it is always a pleasure to make the acquaintance of a pretty and virtuous young lady.” He blushed. “If you will not mind my describing you so, of course.”

Charity was surprised to find herself slightly disarmed by the blush. So prepared had she been to loathe Mr. Edwards on sight, that his simple, gracious manners had caught her off guard. She curtseyed in response to his bow, and on her father’s prompting, rang the bell to call for tea.

“How long have you been in the neighborhood, Mr. Edwards?” she asked presently.

“Not at all long,” he replied. “Since I completed my education, I have spent a little time in London, but I was very eager to take orders as soon as possible. I have taken a small, modest house for myself and look forward to doing some good in my parish as soon as may be.”

Charity smiled in response. The way he said the words ‘do some good’ betrayed an obvious sincerity of purpose and would have been difficult to frown upon.

She engaged him in polite, friendly conversation for a little longer and found that despite her misgivings she really did enjoy speaking to the young gentleman. It would have been churlish to pretend not to be amused by his witticisms, or look displeased at his descriptions of his plans for his new parish, just because she knew that her father had an agenda in inviting her to speak with Mr. Edwards.

She presently excused herself, saying that she would allow the two gentlemen to return to their business.

“Perhaps I could call again soon, and you could introduce me to the surrounding countryside a little” Mr. Edwards suggested. “Your father tells me that you are fond of walking, and I would be very grateful if you would consider taking a turn about the neighborhood with me.”

Charity did not look at her father’s face, because she did not want to see his smug smile when she replied, “I would be very happy to.”

And the thing is, I would indeed be very happy to spend an hour or two walking about the village with Mr. Edwards. She left the room. However, what I am not happy about is the fact that my father clearly believes that he can distract me from Mr. Harding by simply depositing a young clergyman in front of me.

It was the presumption that she resented. The presumption that, with Mr. Harding removed from her path, her father would seamlessly reassert his control over every aspect of her life. All he needed to do was point her in the direction of a young man whom he considered to be suitable, and she would obey, without question.

Well, she decided, it is a pity that he does not know me well enough to know that I question everything.