Page 2 of The Derbyshire Dance (Kendall House #3)

“I do not yet have that privilege.” Mr. Townsend displayed no embarrassment about the subject.

“The curacy I came from in London was quite impecunious, without a residence or stipend large enough to support a wife. And the women of London were godless, all vanity and pomp, with more care to be seen than to be sanctified.”

“But now you are a vicar,” said Aunt Lucy, stemming his more dire reflections, “with a vicarage large enough to house a family.” She cast Bel a sly look. “Let us hope that there are more opportunities for matrimony in Derbyshire than there were in London—”

“What do you think of the countryside in our part of Derbyshire?” interrupted Bel. Mr. Townsend’s matrimonial prospects were no concern of theirs, and Aunt Lucy could not be allowed to continue mining that vein of conversation.

“Very reminiscent of the twenty-third Psalm,” said Mr. Townsend approvingly, “especially this valley in which we are situated. Although perhaps the greenness is due to the incessant rainfall of late. I believe it has rained every single day since I arrived last week.”

“I believe you are right.” Bel kept a close catalogue of the weather since it impacted her own activities so profoundly. “But that is hardly unusual. One expects rain in every county of England at this time of year.”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Townsend, his head bobbing up and down with affirmation. “You are most perceptive, Miss Belinda.” He looked between the two ladies. “Since I am new to this parish, you ladies must enlighten me as to your relationship. Can it be that you are…sisters?”

“Oh, dear me, no,” said Aunt Lucy, with a gasp. “Belinda is my niece. Her parents passed away five years ago, and due to her youth, I came up from London to Derbyshire to be her companion. It would not do for such a young lady to be alone on this large estate.”

Bel’s fingers curled into Magpie’s fur with more force than was necessary.

What game was her aunt playing, trying to pretend that Bel was a spring lamb?

It was true enough that she had needed a chaperone—her brother had already departed for India by the time her parents passed away, and she had been obliged to invite her aunt to live with her for propriety’s sake.

But Bel was handily and happily aware that she could no longer be considered young.

“It does seem like a good deal of property,” said Mr. Townsend. He hesitated and then plunged ahead. “Five hundred acres?”

“Six hundred.” Bel was surprised that he had estimated it so closely.

But then, perhaps Mr. Brownlee had told him how she was situated.

The thought that her holdings were being discussed with a stranger was an uncomfortable one.

Although, they were not exactly her holdings, but land she managed in trust for another… .

“And a diversity of sheep and grain, I believe.”

Again, he seemed singularly well informed. Either he was as interested in agriculture as she was, or he was interested in the profits that agriculture had the potential to bring. “Yes, wheat and barley and a flock of nearly three hundred.”

Mr. Townsend put a hand close to his face and took a deep breath through his nose as if he were about to sneeze, but then, after a moment, the sensation seemed to subside without any explosive effects.

“Gritstone sheep?” he asked. “You are so close to the Peak District that hill sheep would be most practical…or, at least, so I’ve heard. ”

“Some are Gritstone,” said Bel, “but we also have a finer-woolled variety, so we are able to deal in both meat and wool.”

Aunt Lucy gave Bel a warning yawn as she adjusted her cap. No doubt she meant to imply that although Mr. Townsend might ask about her estate, it would not improve his opinion of Bel were she to continue speaking on the subject.

“What a large holding for a woman to manage on her own.” Mr. Townsend’s lips pursed as he drank his dark tea. “I daresay you apply to Mr. Brownlee for advice when you find yourself at a loss.”

Bel bit her lip. It was true. She had asked her late father’s friend, Mr. Brownlee, for advice multiple times, especially when the estate had first fallen to her control.

But that was hardly due to her feminine nature.

All novices in any endeavour needed advice, whether members of the stronger or the weaker sex.

In the past years, those visits to Mullhill Manor had become fewer and farther between.

Bel considered herself quite competent at management of the estate, and she disliked the insinuation that management of an agricultural holding was beyond her, simply because she was a woman.

Mr. Townsend was too oblivious to notice the dark cloud on her brow.

He accepted a piece of cake from the elder Miss Morrison and took several bites while Aunt Lucy opined on the kindness of the Brownlees to a poor orphan like Belinda.

“It is very hard for poor Bel not to have a father or brother to advise her. But Mr. Brownlee has been a guardian angel. Can you believe that he offered his own steward’s services to help bring Belinda’s flock to market last year? ”

“In exchange for a sizable share of the profits,” objected Bel. “I refused him. I hope that I am not so poor-spirited that I cannot sell my own livestock.”

“I daresay no one could accuse you of being poor-spirited, Miss Morrison,” said Mr. Townsend, “but to bear up under such a responsibility for five years is remarkable. I wonder that you have not considered matrimony to relieve yourself of such a burden.” Once again, he inhaled convulsively and put a hand up to his nose, but the sneeze never came.

Bel shifted in her seat, waking the gently dozing Magpie. The cat began to stretch and flex her claws. “Matrimony?” Bel echoed.

Aunt Lucy’s eyes shone with excitement. For the vicar to introduce the topic on his first visit was a coup beyond anything she had ever dreamed. Aunt Lucy’s pink lips parted, doubtless about to make another sly remark.

Bel, however, spoke first, determined to approach the matter directly and put an end to any possible presumption. “Dear me, Mr. Townsend.” She set down her teacup and arched her left eyebrow. “Are you proposing to me so soon?”

“Well, you mishandled that monstrously,” said Aunt Lucy with a longsuffering sigh, peering out from the lace curtain at the retreating form of the vicar.

“Why on earth would you think that Mr. Townsend was proposing to you? The poor man was mortified. He almost had an apoplexy from choking on his tea. And he couldn’t put his teacup down soon enough to escape from the house.

His hat was still dripping wet, and he never even had time to finish his plum cake. ”

“I simply took my lead from you,” said Bel innocently. “You were hinting so openly at my eligibility, and my property was under such close scrutiny that I assumed Mr. Townsend had gathered his courage and made me an offer.”

Aunt Lucy squeaked in irritation and went back to her chair.

“Hinting is all that should be done on the first encounter! You were not supposed to be forthright enough to force him into a declaration. You were supposed to blush and say something complimentary to the male sex that he could have interpreted as a compliment to him!”

“Is that a rule?” Bel walked over to the window and noted that the rain had finally stopped. “I’m sorry, but I’m not familiar with how this game is played.”

“Oh, I think you are more cunning than you let on,” said Aunt Lucy, shaking a finger at her niece. “Admit it. You scared Mr. Townsend away on purpose.”

“I admit nothing,” said Bel with a smirk. She looked around the parlour, searching for something more important than Mr. Townsend’s good opinion.

“I don’t know why you dislike him. He had an air about him—as if he were an authority in the room. He reminded me of—”

“—of Mr. Brownlee,” said Bel. “He has that same dictatorial good nature, a man who commands the conversation so benevolently that he cannot understand why anyone would disagree with him or have their own opinion on a matter.”

“Well, I for one saw nothing disagreeable in what he had to say.”

Bel frowned, her mind already elsewhere. “Where has Magpie got to? She must have slipped out the door when Jenny released our guest. ”

“Never mind your confounded cat. This is serious. It’s not every day that an unmarried vicar comes to Derbyshire.”

“Oh, Aunt Lucy, leave me be! Can you imagine me tethered to an insufferably enthusiastic clergyman who wants to tell me how to run my estate and wants to lift all my burdens by doing it himself?” He had apparently sounded out the extent of her holdings and flocks, but if he thought that marriage to her would bring him six hundred acres, he would be in for a rude awakening when Charlie came home.

“Belinda dear,” said Aunt Lucy, with a sigh of sadness. “It’s true that Mr. Townsend might not be your ideal, but what other eligible suitor is likely to arrive in this remote part of Derbyshire?”

“No one,” said Bel cheerfully. “Which is why I intend to put on some trousers and make sure Jer and Tam have safely put the sheep into the pen for the night.” She deposited a kiss on her aunt’s cheek. “Don’t wait dinner for me. It may be late before I get back.”