Free The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter by Lawana Blackwell Page B

Lane. During his twenty-plus years in the ministry, he had witnessed the misery a bad one could cause. He believed strongly that a loving family was the core of a person’s well-being. If there was strife and contention in the home, very little else in life could compensate for it.
    The carriage from the Larkspur had not yet arrived at the vicarage, but he could see Mr. Treves’ gray Welsh cob tethered to a low limb of the chestnut tree outside the garden.
    “There you are, Papa!” He scarcely had climbed down from the trap and Laurel was at his side. “What took you so long? We were beginning to worry.”
    Andrew didn’t answer but touched a spot on his cheek above his blond beard. Feigning a martyred sigh, his daughter dutifully planted a kiss on the spot before repeating her question.
    “I was unavoidably detained during a call,” he told her.
    The girl’s eyes lit up. “What happened? Something exciting?”
    “You know I can’t tell you. Are the children still here?”
    The fourteen-year-old nodded. Like her father and sister, she had straight, wheat-colored hair and dimples in both cheeks. But that was where the resemblance to Andrew stopped, for both daughters had been blessed with their late mother’s brown eyes, slender build, and fair complexion.
    “Luke was wondering whether he should borrow Mr. Sykes’s wagon.”
    “Well, he can use the trap now. I doubt their mother is home yet.”
    The Burrell situation was a sad one. Mr. Burrell, the village drunk and slacker, had left his long-suffering wife and seven children back in October of last year. It was then that Elizabeth had offered to tend the two youngest, Molly and David, while their mother worked at the cheese factory so the older children could attend school. She grew so attached to the children that the offer was extended to the summer months as well. The five older children were hardy, as were many from tragic circumstances—the girls kept house and tended a small garden while the boys kept odd jobs such as stripping bark from downed trees for the local tanner. They could manage their chores much easier without tending to the two youngest, and the arrangement gave Elizabeth something worthwhile to do with her days.
    Just as Andrew and Laurel stepped up on the porch, Elizabeth came out of the door with David in her arms. Mr. Treves followed, holding Molly’s hand. Andrew’s daughter frowned and opened her mouth, but Andrew silenced her with a look.
    “Your sister has already taken it upon herself to reprimand me, Beth.” He shook Mr. Treves’ free hand and patted Molly on the head, then held out both hands to David, who lunged his little body forward into his arms. “So, you’re going to leave us again, are you?” he said to the child, who wove his little fingers through Andrew’s beard and with the other hand pointed to the waiting trap.
    “Tor?” he said.
    Andrew took the boy to mean horse and replied, “Yes. And he’s waiting to take you home.”
    “Luke is on his way around the back,” Elizabeth told him. A little ridge appeared between her eyebrows, and she leaned forward to study the sleeve of his black coat. “You’re shedding, Papa.”
    “Shedding, Papa,” Molly echoed, her light brown curls a halo about her round face. “Papa read book now?”
    “Tomorrow, Molly,” he smiled. As touched as he was to be addressed so endearingly by both tots, it always caused a slight lurch in his heart. What kind of man would walk away and leave such beguiling children to the mercies of happenstance? “I’ll read to you when I come home for lunch.”
    “Two books?”
    “Very well.” Andrew lifted a helpless smile to his daughter’s beau. “I’m surprised she hasn’t conscripted you into service, Mr. Treves.”
    The young man smiled back. He was three years older than Elizabeth and much taller than Andrew. His sandy hair was so light that even his eyelashes were blond, making his blue eyes seem all the more blue.