True to his word, Mr. Edwards did return. The very next day, in fact, just as Charity was about to set out on a walk with Esther.

Charity was very grateful for Esther’s presence. Although she knew her father had considered her to be a chaperone, she was a great deal more than that. She filled every awkward silence with a lively, well-considered question, and was happy to speak at length at the moments where Charity felt as though she had nothing to say.

She alleviated one such interlude with a question that seemed to warm Mr. Edward’s heart, asking him, “And why did you choose a more rural parish, Mr. Edwards? Are there not more souls to be tended to in London, for example?”

“And more money to be made,” Mr. Edwards agreed with a laugh. “You are quite right, Miss Campbell. In many ways, a London parish is a more obvious aspiration for a young man like me. But, I must admit that the idea never seized me. I feel much more drawn to the life of a country parson, with its pleasant rhythms and warm community.”

“And, of course,” he added, “the Duke of Mornington is known across the clergy as a kind and loyal patron, so a living in his estate would always be a desirable one.”

Seeing the look on Charity’s face, Esther immediately steered the conversation onto more congenial matters.

“And do you feel settled here, now that you are come?”

“To some degree,” Mr. Edwards replied. “Though I believe that there are offices that I must undertake before I consider myself to be truly rooted in this community.”

Charity felt reasonably confident that she knew what he was referring to, but nonetheless, she was glad that it was Esther who took up the line of inquiry.

“What sort of offices?” Esther asked. “Do you look to marrying and settling in these parts? I fancy that some people will never believe that a clergyman is truly settled unless he is married.”

“I do think of marriage,” Mr. Edwards said frankly. “I have the pleasure of joining a great many hands in my work as a clergyman, and I must say that when I utter the words ‘an honorable estate’ I think how much I myself would like to participate in such an honor.”

“But do you not think, Mr. Edwards,” Esther replied, “that one ought not to entertain the idea of entering into marriage for its own sake before one has found a worthy partner? I fear that in venerating the institution of marriage without reference to how one might go about selecting a mate, we run the risk of encouraging people into imprudent matches.”

“I could not agree with you more, Miss Campbell,” Mr. Edwards said warmly. He smiled at both Esther and Charity in turn. “Although I regret that I come here as a bachelor, for I feel that it befits a clergyman to be married.”

“Why should you regret being a bachelor?” Charity asked. “All that indicates is that you have not yet met a woman who you have liked enough to make her your wife, and there is no shame in holding people to high standards, after all.”

At these words, Charity was abruptly reminded of Mr. Harding and how she had feelings for him such as she could not easily imagine holding for anyone else. How she might have found the person who was best suited for her and duly lost him again.

At the thought of Mr. Harding, Charity’s eyes filled with tears. She bent down, as if to retie the lace on her boot, but not before Esther could catch a glimpse of her suffering.

“Would you have the goodness to keep walking?” Charity said, not taking her eyes from the ground so that Mr. Edwards would not be able to see her distress. “I have no wish for your walk to be interrupted on my account.”

Perhaps it was a thin excuse, but both Esther and Mr. Edwards were tactful enough to discern that she was indisposed, and walked a little way off to admire a pretty view of the hillside. Charity took the few precious moments to compose herself.

She despised the sort of young ladies that wept and worried over men, and now she found that she had become one of them. It was not easy to gather her faculties back together or allow her cheeks to cool where the hot tears had warmed them, but she was determined not to show her distress. Not in front of Esther, and certainly not in front of Mr. Edwards, a man whom she did not know in any meaningful way.

Once she had regained control and taken several steadying breaths, she forced her features into an expression of cheer and went to join Esther and Mr. Edwards where they stood, looking at the view.

All at once, a life seemed to open up before her. A life of being married to Mr. Edwards, or at least, to someone like Mr. Edwards. A life of being the wife of the parson, a respectable and entirely dull figure. A mamma to half a dozen children, driven to distraction by the weight of so much duty. A life of polite nods and friendly smiles from a husband with whom she could never find fault, but never truly love.

The life that her father wanted for her. The life that, for a few precious days of thinking of Mr. Harding, had faded into impossibility. A life that she now understood she would likely have to embrace, or else find herself a tired, poor spinster.

She longed to simply walk away, to remove herself from the situation, to return to the vicarage and take to her bed and refuse to move. To allow herself to bathe in all the misery that she felt, to feel everything that her heart demanded that she feel.

But she could not do that to Esther. She could not embarrass — or worse, alarm — her friend by leaving her in the company of a stranger, although he was clearly a well-mannered and honorable young man.

It was much easier to pull herself together for Esther than for her own sake, so she managed to compose herself enough to join them.

“A charming day,” Mr. Edwards said, as he bade goodbye to the two ladies at the gate of the vicarage. “A charming day and charming company.”

Charity managed to summon up a smile. She could see her father watching from the window of his study.

“It was a great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Edwards,” Esther said.

“And you, Miss Campbell,” the young man replied. “I enjoyed our lively conversation immensely.

“And to you, Miss Miller,” he continued, taking his hat off and looking to Charity with eyes of clear, light amber. “I sincerely hope that you enjoyed our little walk.”

“I did,” she had no wish to be unkind, “very much.”

“Then I hope that we may repeat it again soon,” he said. “Good day to you both, ladies.”

He went away with those words, and the two young ladies stood, watching him as he disappeared up the road.

I believe that that young man may become a part of the story of my life, Charity thought to herself, with a sort of tired resignation. But I fear that it is not the story that I want.

As it so often did, the image of Mr. Harding drifted into her mind’s eye. She allowed herself to treasure the thought of his noble brow, his straight nose, his eyes like warm coals, his bright and ready smile.

She knew that she could not be associated with the sort of man that her father had told her Mr. Harding was. Nonetheless, the contrast was stark to her. When she looked at Mr. Edwards, she felt nothing more than a vague sensation of warm friendliness, an appreciation of the upstanding young man that he clearly was.

When she thought of Mr. Harding, however…

Well, that was the thing. She did not so much think about Mr. Harding as feel, and those feelings were so overwhelming that they triumphed over every other argument, every scrap of abstract reasoning. There was nothing reasonable about the love that she felt, and yes, it was love, she knew that now — love for Mr. Harding. And that lack of reason did not prevent her from loving him, not at all.