Fifteen
Vicar Humbly was forced to call upon every scrap of his Christian charity, not to mention having to bite his tongue more than once.
It was not that the new vicar was in any way a bad man. Indeed, Humbly was quite certain that he was determined to do his very best for the people in the neighborhood.
But while he attempted to reassure himself that the church would be in competent hands, Humbly could not deny a certain sadness as he glanced about the shabby vicarage that had been thoroughly cleaned and refurbished with a stiff formality that said much of the young, rigidly reserved man.
How would he react when the local tenants came tramping through his tidy home with their muddy boots and faithful hounds at their side? Or when the children came racing and tumbling in to search for the bits of candy he always kept ready in the parlor?
He gave an inward sigh.
Thoroughly unaware of Humbly’s dark thoughts, Mr. Roster glanced primly about the library with obvious satisfaction at the barren cleanliness. “As you can see, I have created an entirely new filing system.” He waved a hand toward the desk. “It is far tidier than tossing important documents about in a haphazard manner.”
Humbly cleared his throat, well aware that he was being gently chastised for his lack of organization. “Oh, yes,” he murmured. “Yes, indeed.”
“And I reorganized the books.” The thin, rather sharp-featured man shot Humbly a pointed glance. “Really, I do not know how you managed to find the necessary references.”
Humbly shrugged, not about to admit that he rarely bothered with references when writing his sermons. To his mind speaking from the heart and in a language that could be understood by all was far more important. “I suppose I muddled through.”
Mr. Roster heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I have yet to begin on the church records. I fear they will demand a considerable amount of effort.”
“It appears that you have been very busy.”
“It is my duty.”
Resisting the urge to point out attending to the needs of the parishioners was surely his first duty, Humbly gently cleared his throat. “I do hope you have had the opportunity to acquaint yourself with your neighbors?”
“Certainly. Any number have come to the vicarage for a visit.” His features tightened with a vague disapproval. “Indeed, I have been astonished to discover that you were in the habit of encouraging your congregation to call whenever they pleased.”
“To be honest, I enjoyed visiting with them,” Humbly confessed.
A thin smile curved the thin lips. “Very proper, of course, but hardly the best use of your time. There must be routine established if God’s work is to be done. I have requested that all visits be confined to the hours between two and five. Far more tidy than having people interrupting me all hours of the day.”
“Very tidy,” Humbly forced himself to agree, deeply relieved that Mrs. Stalwart had elected to join him at his tiny cottage. He would not wish to hear what she would have to say about the new vicar’s rigid schedule.
“Would you care to see what I have done with the study?”
Humbly managed to conceal a shudder. His Christian charity was, unfortunately, not boundless.
“Not today, thank you,” he said hastily. “Mrs. Stalwart will be expecting me home soon.”
“How disappointing.” There was a perfunctionary edge to his voice. “I do hope you will call again.”
Humbly simply could not resist. God, he was quite certain, had a lovely sense of humor. “Yes, between the hours of two and five on the next occasion.”
Blithely unaware that he had just been insulted, Mr. Roster gave a nod of his head. “Perhaps that would be for the best.”
“No doubt. Now I bid you good day.” With a polite bow, Humbly gathered his hat and set off on the long walk to his cottage.
“Humbly, you are an old fool.” He chastised himself for his petty dislike, knowing that at least a portion of it came from his own reluctance to acknowledge he was no longer vicar. He would no doubt find fault with anyone, especially a man so vastly different from himself. “Time to make room for the younger generation.”
Still . . . there was no denying that the man was a bit of a twit, a renegade voice whispered in the back of his mind.
Shaking his head at the follies of both Mr. Roster and himself, Humbly trudged down the path.
Perhaps the problem was that he had not yet fully accepted his decision to retire to his tiny cottage, he at last acknowledged. It was not that he did not find the small home just as cozy and peaceful as he had desired, nor that he did not enjoy puttering about in his gardens. It was more a realization he was no longer needed.
He heaved a faint sigh.
There was something very satisfying at the thought he could bring comfort to a sick widow or lend a quiet word of encouragement to a disheartened tenant or even allow the local squire to vent his spleen upon his own head rather than the heads of his poor servants.
Perhaps his small skills would never change the world, but they did make a difference in the lives he cared for. He would miss that feeling of being depended upon.
Feeling oddly blue deviled, Humbly finished the walk to his cottage and entered the tiny foyer without his usual bounce. He removed his hat, not surprised when Mrs. Stalwart hurried to join him.
Since leaving the vicarage, the older housekeeper had been even more inclined to cluck over him like a mother hen. “Well, Mr. Humbly, it is about time you returned.”
His smile returned at her chiding tone. It would not be home without her ceaseless scoldings. “Forgive me, but I decided to stop by the vicarage for a visit.”
Her round countenance tightened with obvious disapproval. “Well then, it is no wonder you look as cross as crabs. That man is enough to put anyone out of sorts.”
Feeling a pang of guilt that he secretly agreed with the housekeeper’s assessment, Humbly gave a shake of his head. “Now, Mrs. Stalwart, he appears to be quite . . . organized.”
“A pompous fool,” she retorted with a snort.
Weary of brooding upon Mr. Roster, Humbly sought to distract the tenacious woman, who no doubt could go on several hours. “I believe I might have a small sherry before luncheon,” he murmured.
With astonishing speed, Mrs. Stalwart lost her dark frown and instead offered him a rather sly smile. “I beg your pardon, Vicar, but you have a guest awaiting you in the garden.”
Humbly lifted his brow in surprise. It was all too rare that he had company now that he had left the vicarage. “A guest? Who is it?”
Her smile only became more sly. “I believe that you should see for yourself.”
Humbly cast his housekeeper a startled gaze. It was entirely unlike Mrs. Stalwart to be coy. Indeed, she was without a doubt the most bluntly spoken woman he had ever encountered. “Goodness, you are being rather mysterious.”
“Why do you not go along? I shall bring a nice tray of tea.”
Wondering who on earth could have caused that distinct twinkle in the older woman’s eyes, Humbly gave a slow nod of his head. “Very well.”
More than a little intrigued, Humbly made his way toward the back of the house. He did hope whoever it was intended to remain for a few hours. It would be good to have a nice chat with an old acquaintance. Perhaps he could even convince them to stay for dinner and a game of chess over a nice glass of port.
Reaching the narrow door that led to the garden, Humbly pushed it open and stepped into the warm sunlight. For a moment he was too blinded by the sudden light to notice more than a number of large shadows about the garden. Then, as his eyes slowly adjusted, his jaw dropped in shock.
“Oh,” he muttered. “Oh.”
The three couples quietly talking beside his prize rosebushes abruptly turned at his incoherent exclamation.
Addy was there with her husband Adam, Beatrice with her devoted Gabriel, and, of course, Victoria with Claredon.
As if on cue, the three women linked arms and moved forward to greet him with wide smiles. Not quite able to believe his eyes, Humbly regarded the vibrant, lovely women he had come to love as his own daughters—Addy with her irrepressible spirit, Beatrice with her quiet intelligence, and Victoria with her glorious beauty. All three so different, and yet so much alike with their kind hearts and generous natures.
“Mr. Humbly,” Addy greeted as they came to a halt directly in front of his shocked form.
“Addy, what on earth is going on?”
She gave him a saucy grin. “We wished to welcome you to your new home.”
“And to thank you for all you have done for us,” Beatrice added, a deep sense of contentment about her that greatly relieved Humbly’s spirit.
“But . . .” Flustered by this unexpected treat, he found himself blushing like the veriest schoolboy. “You need not have traveled all this way to see me.”
Addy gave a click of her tongue. “We would have traveled to the colonies, if necessary. Besides, we wished to see your lovely cottage.”
For once in his sixty years, Humbly found himself without words. Just the knowledge that these dear women would come all this way to visit him made his heart glow with pleasure. “Oh, well, it is not much,” he warned.
“Nonsense. It is just as comfortable as you said it was.”
Turning toward the titian-haired maiden, he offered a small smile. “Victoria, my dearest. How are you?”
“Very well,” she replied, with a glow that was almost tangible.
“Really, you should not have gone to such trouble to come all this way,” he chastised, well aware that she and Claredon were no doubt anxious for some time alone.
She reached out to pat his arm. “I assure you that it was no trouble. We wished to be here with you.”
“Do you suppose we could have a tour of your new home?” Beatrice demanded.
“Certainly, though there is little to tour,” he warned.
Addy gave him a mysterious smile. “Oh, you might be surprised.”
Not certain what she meant by the odd words, Humbly turned to lead them back into the house, rather surprised when the three maidens followed him on their own. Coming to a halt, he regarded the gentlemen still standing in the garden with a raised brow. “Surely you do not intend to leave your husbands behind?”
“I believe they will be able to entertain themselves,” Beatrice assured him.
Victoria gave a soft chuckle. “Indeed, they appear to be enjoying each other’s company.”
“No doubt they are busily discussing the wondrous qualities of their wives,” Addy said with a smile.
“Or perhaps they are debating who is the most stubborn,” Beatrice suggested.
“Indeed.” Addy gave a shrug, then linked her arm with Humbly’s. “We will leave them to their fun. Come along, Mr. Humbly.”
With a firm purpose, Addy led Humbly back through the cottage, surprisingly steering him straight toward the tiny library set off the parlor. Opening the door, she stepped aside and waited for him to enter first.
Sensing that the three maidens were up to something, Humbly cautiously entered the room and came to a startled stop.
Wide-eyed, he glanced about the bookshelves that had been suddenly filled with leather-bound books. Just that morning, they had appeared nearly barren beyond the few volumes he had taken from the vicarage. It was like a miracle.
“Oh, my.”
Victoria chuckled as she stepped up beside him. “We each chose our favorite books to buy. I chose a number of the classics and philosophers, Beatrice found a large number of travel journals, and Addy bought every gothic novel and book of poetry she could lay her hands upon.”
“My dears.” His voice broke as he battled tears of joy. “This is too much.”
“It is just a small way of telling you thank you for all that you have done. Not only for us, but the neighborhood as well,” Addy told him in firm tones.
“And to ensure you are never bored in your retirement,” Beatrice added.
Just the fact that they would go to such an effort made Humbly feel as if he were the most fortunate gentleman in all of England. “I do not know what to say,” he at last muttered.
“There is nothing to be said,” Beatrice informed him with a tender smile. “Just be happy.”
“Nothing could make me happier than having you three here.”
Addy gave a sudden laugh. “Well, I do hope you mean that, since we intend to visit quite regularly.”
“Yes, indeed,” Beatrice chimed in. “We have no intention of neglecting our own private Cupid.”
Humbly smiled widely, suddenly far more pleased with his tiny cottage and simple life. “You will always be welcome here.”
“Well, just to make sure, we have one more surprise,” Victoria told him, moving across the room to pull a large basket from behind the desk. “We have all discovered the way to your heart.”
Clasping his hands together, Humbly breathed in the scent that suddenly filled the air, his eyes closing with delight. “Lemon tarts . . .”