Miss Goodrich!” John Barton stepped forward eagerly enough to greet her when she reached the dining room where her aunt and uncle had been stowed. He even smiled a little.
Had he always been that handsome? All tall, fair and burly, with eyes as gray and familiar as a misty day? Bernie swallowed back her surprise long enough to dip a little curtsy. “Vicar Barton.”
She thought she might have gained a clue as to why the new vicar had been openly embraced by the citizens of Haven!
He held out his hand to her and she gave him hers out of sheer stunned confusion. She’d left her gloves upstairs. His hand was so large and warm it was as if she’d pressed her palm to a fire-warmed hearth stone. She looked down and away, feeling a little strange.
His gaze never left her. “You have grown into a woman. When I saw you last, you put me in mind of a colt, you were so skittish and awkward. Just look at you now!”
There was no need to wonder what he was thinking. The admiration in his eyes was undeniable. Bernie found herself ridiculously flattered. His open regard was a balm to her frayed nerves and self-inflicted humiliation over her hoydenish jaunt through the village.
She stammered out a thank-you, then wrinkled her nose at herself. “I am still a little awkward, I think,” she said with a rueful smile. “But your words were far too kind. It is you who have grown into a person of accomplishment and stature.” Really, she could only be formal for so long. She squinted up at him. “You’re rather like a tree, I think, sir.”
Simon giggled from behind her skirts, where he’d hidden when struck by a sudden bout of bashfulness.
John Barton took a knee, right there in the dining room, and peered around Bernie. “Who is that? Did you bring me a pixie to cause me mischief, Vicar Goodrich?”
He frowned, but the mock seriousness did nothing to dim the twinkle in his eyes. “No, I believe it is a giggledom. Or possibly a conflugated narfsplat.”
Bernie felt Simon jiggling with glee behind her.
“Narfsplat! Hee-hee!”
Tall, eye-catching and good with shy little boys. He was too good to be true—except that he was true. She knew him. She knew all about him. This outstanding fellow was no stranger to her at all.
He glanced up at her, the smile still tugging at his lips. “I know they are a timid species, those narfsplats, but do you suppose you could introduce me? I’ve always wanted to meet one.”
Bernie introduced Simon, tugging him out from behind her with the strength born of years of practice. Simon, perverse little monster that he was, was immediately distracted by the heaping tray of tea cakes and spiced biscuits.
“Oh, that’s all right,” John told her when she apologized for her brother's defection. “Eating is important work at that age.”
Bernie barely heard him, wondering, much like Aunt Sarah had. He seemed like the perfect man.
There must be a catch.
They sat down to a splendid cream tea, very nearly a luncheon. Bernie buttered a roll for her brother and tried to keep her mind on the visit and not on the shadowed gaze of a certain mysterious lord.
Simon wolfed down a manly portion of confections and tea, then gazed longingly at the bright day with his face pressed to yet another window. Bernie shook her head, thinking of all the nose prints he was leaving behind him.
“I want to go out again, Bernie. Please-please-please?”
Bernie glanced at her aunt and uncle. Aunt Sarah was gazing listlessly at the fire and Uncle Isaiah was frankly dozing in his chair. She ought to make sure they made it to their room before they collapsed.
Once again, John Barton came to her rescue. A discreet tug at a bell rope brought back the innkeeper’s wife. The woman clapped her hands, conjuring maids who cleared the table in a wink and coaxed Aunt Sarah to her feet.
Roused, Uncle Isaiah waved the younger folks out. “Go on, Bernie dear. Let John show you his fine vicarage.”
Bernie squinted at her uncle. She’d met John again, just as she'd promised. There was no reason to push the point! She'd rather go to her room and read through Lord Matthias's letters again, this time knowing his voice and his handsome face. But Simon jiggled in enthusiasm so Bernie stifled a sigh and made polite noises about John's graciousness, etc. and went back upstairs to fetch their coats.
The vicarage was not so much under repairs as it was enduring improvements. Fresh paint and a new carpet were apparently not enough for the generous lord of the manor.
John gazed about his new home with wry consternation. “I did tell his lordship this wasn’t necessary, you know. I would have been happy with a full coal bin and the odd visit from a housekeeper.”
Bernie was peering at the fine marble fireplace in the dining room. This house had a dining room, a breakfast room, a formal drawing room and a snug family parlor. The enlarged kitchens—plural!—had been equipped with multiple stoves, sinks, pumps and larders.
“It does seem rather expansive for a bachelor,” she said absently.
John cleared his throat. “Well, I think the intention is that I take a bride at some point.”
Bernie went still. She hadn’t meant to point the conversation in that direction. Luckily, Bernie was saved from complete stammering gracelessness by Simon’s call through the open door.
“Berniiiee! Come see! There’s a stable! With a horse in it!”
“Very nice! Really! Must go catch up with Simon!” She practically ran from the house.
What are you running from?
She couldn’t explain it, even to herself, but the fact was that she could only breathe naturally when she stood out in the snow with the sky like a blue bowl over her head.
When John followed her out, she turned to him with a determined smile. “It’s far too fine a day to dawdle indoors!”
He kept his pleasant expression, but it took on a faint puzzlement. “It is cold enough to freeze butter outdoors.”
She waved a hand in dismissal of the temperature. “Simon and I are entirely used to the cold. Our landlord doesn’t believe in full coal bins.” That was true enough, so she didn’t understand the stricken look in his eyes.
“I fear I have much to do this afternoon,” John said reluctantly. “But if you want to see a bit of the valley, you should take the lane toward Havensbeck.” He pointed. “I should like to catch up to you and Simon when I’m able.”
Bernie looked away. “Yes. Of course. I look forward to it.”
She turned away from John and set out to chase her brother down. “Come along, Simon! Don’t you want to look around the village a bit more?”
He whirled, skidding in his oversized boots. “I want to see Havensbeck!” Then he took off again. Bernie was close behind, happy to run off the discomfort caused by her oddly intimate moment with John Barton. A tromp in the snow was just the thing.
It wasn’t at all that she wanted to see the manor on the hill.
Or the man who dwelled within it.
The winter sun, commonly weak and neglectful, today glinted brilliantly off the fresh snowfall on the Havensbeck fields. Although the light did nothing to melt the snow, and his breath still puffed white as pipe-smoke, the air was still. Even Matthias's great black horse seemed to feel it, slowing his walk until he trudged down the lane toward Havensbeck like a plow horse, eyes lazily half-closed against the bright day.
Matthias allowed it, and even found himself gazing at the clear blue of the sky in some astonishment. Had he ever seen such a vivid day in December? Since he usually spent this month knowing little but the sullen crackle of his study fire and the fierce bite of whisky in his throat, he could honestly say that he had not spent a day like this in many years.
The silence was broken only the fall of Perseus's great round hooves and even those were muffled by the packed snow on the lane. Deep gouges had been cut by cartwheels into the knee-high powder, pressed down again and again by the many deliveries to the manor. The rest of the world lay covered, smoothed and rounded and silenced by the sparkling blanket of white.
Until a flying ball of snow struck Perseus smack in the nose. Icy granules spattered Mathias’s face and he blinked in surprise. Perseus squealed and tightened his haunches. Then the world turned upside down.