Page 26 of The Heart of Bennet Hollow

Lizbeth stepped into the crisp autumn air of the churchyard as the final hymn faded into memory.

In her hand lay the family Bible, and beneath that, Jane Eyre as a stowaway.

Having read late into the night, she couldn’t resist finishing a few more pages on the wagon ride over here.

The crowd from the morning’s service proved a tight squeeze as she aimed for the crooked fence hemming the yard like wooden stitches.

Chin high, she sought out Hattie but in rounding an old oak tree, it was William Drake who she nearly bumped into.

The woodsy scent of him swept her up even as she turned to avoid bumping into his shoulder.

He stepped aside, their timing off, and they collided regardless.

The Bible tumbled from her grasp, along with the novel.

Before she could catch either, he fumbled for them as well, nabbing only the ancient text before it hit dew-drenched grass.

The novel tumbled downward with a squishy thump.

“Oh! I’m sorry.” Her panicked fingers reclaimed the book, but not before a wet mark marred the cover. Using the hem of her dress, she swiped at it. Her cheeks burned hotter than hearth coals and her best stockings were now exposed to the cold.

Yet she realized it wasn’t an apology he sought as instead, he touched the book, his fingers wrapping gently around her own. If it was to still them, he succeeded.

His earnest gaze showed no concern for the novel, nor any interest in the lace of her petticoats, only for her face and peace of mind.

“It’s nothing. The fault was mine. And you’d feel worse if it were the Bible.” A dash of humor reached his voice.

“I—I—” She couldn’t speak. Not with her hands tucked beneath his—a covering that was warm and steady and shocking her senses.

“ Miiiister Drake!”

They both turned at the nasally summons of Reverend Coburn who waved overhead.

“Mr. Drake! A word!”

Gulping, Lizbeth stepped back as Reverend Coburn formed a third.

She smoothed her skirt and the hem grazed her shoes once more.

With William’s focus still slanted her way, Lizbeth’s mind filled with the memory of mahogany wood and his voice beside her on the Pemberley.

All softened by the way his skin had just touched her own.

She tried to think of a way to excuse herself only to be jolted by Hattie joining her side. Nerves colliding, Lizbeth pressed a hand to her chest.

Still ignoring Reverend Coburn’s appearance, William dipped her a small bow and she wished she could read the story in the lingering look he gave her before she retreated with Hattie.

“What on earth was happenin’ behind that tree?” Hattie teased. “By the look that man just gave you, I’d say you startled him and he didn’t mind one bit.”

Lizbeth’s cheeks only flamed hotter. “I don’t even want to explain.”

Hattie steered her in a new direction. “Tell me instead about yesterday, then.”

Hoping William didn’t overhear, Lizbeth kept her voice low. “Why don’t you come over this afternoon? There’s so much to catch up on and we’ve got cakes to share.” She brushed a hand to the side of her forehead as her heartbeat struggled to find its normal rhythm.

“Why, I’d love to. I wanna hear everythin’!” Hattie thumbed the dampened novel. “Is that where you got this?”

Lizbeth angled the spine toward the light. “I couldn’t help but start the first chapter.”

“Oh, and what a pretty piece of lace.” Hattie fingered the page marker.

“That’s the other thing I need to tell you.” Lizbeth opened the book to the strip of lace that kept her place. “This is from Mr. Westgard. One of the new miners in town.”

Hattie’s jaw dropped. “Mercy! We do have a lot to catch up on.”

“He was there at the depot as we were visiting Mr. Drake’s train car,” Lizbeth whispered. “Mr. Westgard walked right up to the balcony, tied it around my wrist, and strode away.”

Hattie gasped.

“I don’t even know the man.”

“But you cared enough to keep this.”

Did she? While the miner was certainly attractive, Lizbeth felt more wary of him than anything else. “I needed somethin’ to mark the page and it’s too pretty to toss aside.”

Hattie wagged her eyebrows, clearly not convinced. “Come along. Let’s see if we can find Mr. Westgard behind a tree too.”

“Don’t make me regret invitin’ you over.”

“I promise to behave,” Hattie laughed. “I want to hear everythin’ and we’re gonna discuss all these fellas, you can be certain.”

Lizbeth shushed her as they squeezed past the churchyard gate and onto the road where wagons sat parked alongside her pa’s.

“I’m just gonna drop my things at home and tell Ma, then I’ll be along,” Hattie said.

Lizbeth spotted her younger sisters still dispersed and Jayne sharing a bench near the cemetery with Mr. Brydolf. “Perfect. I’ll fetch a jar of cider from the cellar and you and I’ll take a basket out to the meadow.”

“I’ll be along soon!” Turning for home, Hattie paused. “Oh, it looks like you’ve got company.”

Lizbeth turned as Reverend Coburn hurried toward them. Whatever was this day coming to?

“Morning, ladies!”

“Heaven help me.” Lizbeth froze, her hand still on the churchyard gate. All morning, he’d been at her side. At breakfast, on the drive over, and even during the service. Was she never to dodge the man? No wonder her nerves were off-kilter.

Hattie’s thick brows knit in question. “He’s a rather nice fella. I’ve enjoyed listening to him read aloud each evening when he returns from your farm. He’s often in good spirits.”

“Fair, but there’s more to his reason of bein’ here, and I’ve been fearin’ that—” Lizbeth clipped off the last of her words as Reverend Coburn caught up to them, panting.

Sweat beaded along his clerical collar. “I had hoped to catch you on the walk home.” He nudged past the gate, trying but failing to avoid a rosebush that snagged the edge of his black coat.

Reverend Coburn fumbled with the rogue branch, plucking it free. “Er—Your ma suggested I walk you home, Miss Lizbeth, as she said they’d be awhile. Perhaps we can discuss this morning’s sermon. If you’d do me the honor.”

Lizbeth glanced to the safety of her pa’s wagon then back. Even as she tried to conjure an excuse, Hattie hurried off, promising to be along soon.

“Miss Bennet?” Reverend Coburn angled his elbow out for her.

After a steadying breath, she faced him again. “I suppose a walk would do well. It looks like Pa’s still busy so we can start for home. I’m sure my sisters might even catch up.” How she hoped so.

The minister took off his hat before sliding it back over his oily hair. “My apologies for rushing after you in such haste. I got caught in conversation with Mr. Drake. Fascinating fellow. It turns out I’ve met his aunt—a Mrs. Catherine de Bourgh.” He paused as though the name might impress her.

Lizbeth shook her head.

Reverend Coburn pressed on. “Old blood from New England and a generous patroness of the church. Remarkable woman. I’ve been told she once dined with Queen Victoria on her travels through Europe.

” Reverend Coburn picked at the rose thorn still wedged in his wool coat.

He flicked it to the roadside before examining his fingertip overly long.

“When I explained that you and I were family, Mr. Drake asked after you. He inquired as to your age and a few other odds and ends.”

Had he?

“I told him that you were the fairest of my cousin’s daughters and how you and I have been meaning to find the time to walk together.”

“And—and Mr. Drake?” Lizbeth stammered.

“He took his leave without so much as a word. Right as I was explaining how much I’ve been enjoying your company these afternoons of late.

How much meaningful time and conversations we’ve shared.

” Reverend Coburn surveyed the spot where William had been standing only a minute ago.

“His retreat was rather abrupt, but men don’t always agree on matters of beauty, I’m sorry to say.

Especially men of the upper class. Their standards are remarkably high, as you might imagine. Please don’t take that to heart.”

Unnerved, Lizbeth clutched her hands in front of her. She turned and started on. If only the walk home wasn’t so far. She longed for her quiet meadow, Hattie’s company, and a chance to make sense of life, especially after the events of yesterday.

Lizbeth fiddled with the strip of lace poking out of William’s novel.

By sheer will, she fell in rhythm with Reverend Coburn’s steps on the lane. As the grade rose, so did his breathing. His chest heaved and he clamped his lips together, all but smothering his gasps for air. His shoes squished through a patch of mud and he shook his foot.

The panting intensified.

“We can slow,” Lizbeth offered.

“No need. The fresh air is good for a body.” Flick, step-squish, flick.

“Back home in Stroudsburg, I have the use of my neighbor’s spare carriage whenever needed.

” Gasp. Wheeze. Sniffle. “It makes the journey to worship and back a pleasant one. As well as enabling me to complete my rounds each week in a timely”—he sucked in air—“manner.”

“Ah.”

Overhead, birds danced in the branches of the trees that lined the lane. A squirrel scampered up a narrow-trunked oak, peering at them with an acorn in its mouth.

“Would such a thing interest you?” he asked.

“The carriage?”

“Well—er—I mean, taking a ride in it.”

“Is it not... far away?” She skirted around a puddle.

“That it is.” He chuckled nervously as the road rose again. “Which leads me to something I wish to speak with you about.” He clasped his hands together, then dropped them at his sides, swinging each arm with all the force he needed to reach the top of the hill.

The same hill another man had walked in ease alongside her with conversation that had stirred her senses and quickened her awareness of something puzzling and new.

Clasping her skirt in one hand, Lizbeth longed for sight of home.