“That’s all good and well on a Sunday, but come Monday and the butcher, the baker, and the candle maker all demand their justanddue.”
Mother sat straight upright, placing her hands righteously inherlap.
Father burst into the dining room. “Oh, my. Have I been a bad little boy again?” he asked, plopping down at his place at the head of the table. “I get so carried away in my studies and I lose all track of time. I hope the kippers haven’tgoneoff.”
Mother humphed, and rose from the table, training her glare at Vicar Fernside. “I have finishedmybreakfast so you must breakfast alone. Someone must run this household,” she said and swept out oftheroom.
Lydia reached over and put her hand on her father’s. “I am still eating breakfast, Papa. I was late too. So we can have anicechat.”
Father looked over at Lydia and smiled. “Good morning, darling daughters,” he said, also turning toMargaret.
“Father,” she acknowledged, but, having finished her breakfast, stood to leave. “Lydia, how is ten o’clock for us to have ourstroll?”
Lydia nodded. “That willbefine.”
As Margaret left the dining room Lydia studied her father. The Vicar of Piddlehinton, Dorset was short of stature with a rosy round face, framed with small round glasses and a brush of white, wiry hair that surrounded his bald pate. Not what one would call attractive, she thought, but when he smiled, his eyes lit up and he radiated a loving warmth that surely others must observe besidesherself.
But she also noticed that his skin had a pale pallor and he lookedtired.
“Papa, are you getting enough rest? You were still up when I went to bed last evening, and I heard you in your study when I firstawoke.”
He smiled wanly and waved her concerns away with a wave ofhishand.
But he sighed, and said; “My darling Lydia, there is always so much that needs attending to. Old Miss Caruthers is doing poorly and, with no family of her own, she so looks forward to my daily visits. The bellows are giving out on the foot organ; there’s a persistent leak in the vestry roof; the pigeons continue to congregate in the steeple; and I find it increasingly difficult to come up with a fresh and lively sermon each week. I have needed to poach the occasional work from years gone by. But I am not sure anyone reallynotices.”
“Your sermons are much beloved, and if a parishioner were to notice, I am sure it would be with fondremembrance.”
Her father looked at her. “What a loving daughter you are, my dear. You are my little treasure. Not like your self-serving sisters who seem to care for nothing but their fine dresses, ribbons, and towngossip.”
“Father, that is not fair. Emily is married and expecting. She will have much more to care about with a child arriving soon—and she has a fine, sound husband. And Margaret is to be married in but a month. Neither are what I would call self-serving.”
The Vicar picked at his kipper but didn’t seem that interestedinit.
“You are quite right, as usual. But how about you? Has your young man still not declaredhimself?”
Now it was Lydia’s turn to sigh. “No, Papa. And I have to say, I am not particularly anxious to hear such a declarationeither.”
Her father seemed surprised. “Lydia, my pet, how can this be? He has been attentive to you for over a year, and I thought you welcomed hisintentions.”
Lydia twisted her napkin. “Yes, he is a decent man, with a good living. That I can vouchsafe. But is thatenough?”
“You do not have feelingsforhim?”
“There is a certain warmth between us, but hardly aflame.”
“Oh, my dear… Believe me, you must have a firm foundation for your marriage. Your mother and I, despite our occasional differences, care a great deal for each other. You must have a sound basis of love to sustain a marriage over the many years. Without that, you might find yourself living a life ofmisery.”
Lydia studied her father. She was so used to him as a parent she had never considered him as a man—a lover—a husband—a person withpassions.
“I shall give your thoughts consideration. But as of now, Henry has still not declaredhimself.”
“But if you are not content with him as a husband, you must tell him so. It is not fair to him to let him think that you care when youdonot.”
Feeling chastened, she lowered her eyes and folded her napkin. “Thank you, father, for your wise counsel. I shall certainly give it my fullconsideration.”
* * *
The Vicar’s Anglican Churchand rectory were at the western edge of the small, charming village of Piddlehinton—comprised mostly of whitewashed cottages with thatched roofs, and half-timbered shops. The countryside opened up along the road that passed the church. Hedgerows bordered the narrow road that eventually led to the river and crossed over to the estate of Lord Piddlehinton—after whom the village was named. His vast estate comprised a large wooded area by the river, where Lydia and her sister loved to walk; vast grazing fields for sheep and cattle; and the great house of Hollyoaks—a rambling seventeenth century manor that was in somewhatdisrepair.
