Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark (The Gresham Chronicles Book #3)

Lawana Blackwell

Description

When spring arrives in full, the town of Gresham reawakens to life. Soon more than one unlikely romance blooms among her villagers and readers will be delighted as even a bruised and timid heart is made to feel young and renewed. Devoted fans' love for the town of Gresham and its charming inhabitants has helped this series become a deeply cherished bestseller!

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 01 janvier 2008
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781441203045
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark
Books by
Lawana Blackwell

The Jewel of Gresham Green
T HE G RESHAM C HRONICLES
The Widow of Larkspur Inn
The Courtship of the Vicar s Daughter
The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark
www.lawanablackwell.com

The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark Copyright 1999 Lawana Blackwell
Cover design by Jennifer Parker
The Story of Little Sarah and Her Johnny-Cake and the poem Hot Apple Pie are from Pictures and Stories From Forgotten Children s Books, by Arnold Arnold (Copyright 1969) and granted permission by Dover Publications, Inc., New York.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise-without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers 11400 Hampshire Avenue South Bloomington, Minnesota 55438 www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Ebook edition created 2011
ISBN 978-1-4412-0304-5
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
This book is lovingly dedicated to my sister, Lynn Wolverton, who is a delightful mixture of warmth, beauty and wit.
LAWANA BLACKWELL has twelve published novels to her credit including the bestselling Gresham Chronicles series. She and her husband have three grown sons and live in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 1
April 8, 1872
Mealtimes in the dining room of the vicarage behind Saint Jude s were often noisy events, but Julia Phelps could not bring herself to scold the children for it. Not when her husband of sixteen months was one of the chief contributors to the chatter that accompanied clinks of silver against china and muffled thumps of glassware against the linen-draped tabletop.
It was obvious that Vicar Andrew Phelps, having spent his childhood in boarding schools or under the supervision of nannies, now relished having a brood about him. And as he had told Julia many times, he and Laurel would have been terribly lonely these past eight months since his older daughter Elizabeth s wedding were it not for his new wife and three stepchildren.
But no knowledge is ever wasted, he was saying over breakfast to fourteen-year-old Aleda, who had expressed dismay that Miss Clark was planning to introduce algebra to the seventh standard students at the Octavia Bartley School for Advanced Learning . And she ll explain it one step at a time.
Yes, Philip agreed between bites of toast. At sixteen years of age, he and stepsister Laurel had only one more year of secondary school remaining. It s just an introduction, you know. She won t have you factoring polynomials with summer break only two months away.
Grace, who turned nine a little over a fortnight ago, screwed up her heart-shaped face. What does that mean?
Polynomials? Laurel replied. They re-
Not that. What does it mean that no knowledge is ever wasted?
Andrew paused from cutting his bacon. Why, because learning makes our minds grow.
Bigger?
I shouldn t think so, Gracie. Or else our skulls would have to expand as well. He winked at her. And that would be a sight now, wouldn t it?
Miss Clark would have to stoop to come through the schoolroom door, Laurel said, touching her own blond head for emphasis. She practically has all of the textbooks memorized.
Jonathan is bright too, Grace asserted. She was the only child in the household who still attended the village grammar school, where Elizabeth s husband was schoolmaster. And while she referred to him as Jonathan in the family setting, he became Mr. Raleigh as soon as she set foot on school property. He can spell words backward.
Children? Julia was forced to give a reminder from her place at the foot of the table. You don t want to be tardy, do you? This directed their attention back to the task at hand-breakfast. She met Andrew s apologetic smile with an indulgent one of her own. Another reason she did not scold was that she herself enjoyed the chatter. For the sake of her lodgers at the Larkspur , she had had to insist that her children speak only occasionally at the long dining table, and then only after asking for her permission. She was acutely aware, with Elizabeth now married, and Philip and Laurel leaving for the university in little over a year, that there would be future days when she would sorely miss young voices around the table.
It was only after Grace had obediently finished her coddled eggs and bacon that she ventured forth on the previous subject. But what if someone decided to memorize the name of every person in Spain? she inquired meticulously. Wouldn t that be wasted knowledge?
Her stepfather cocked his head at a thoughtful angle and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. Does this particular person ever intend to visit Spain, Gracie?
No, sir.
Or perhaps author a book on Spanish genealogy?
No book.
Then indeed that would be wasted knowledge. So you ve proven the old adage to be false.
Grace nodded solemnly, signifying that she did not take lightly the responsibility of being an adage-disprover. But her composure was disrupted when Aleda sent her a wry smile and asked, And what about the ability to spell words backward? Isn t that wasted knowledge?
After a second of tight-lipped concentration, Grace replied, That s not the same thing.
Then how is it useful? Philip asked, not to be left out of the teasing.
It just is. Clearly outnumbered, Grace called for reinforcement from the head of the table. Isn t it, Papa?
A smile warmed Andrew s expression. She had started addressing him as Papa instead of the more formal Father only weeks ago, and knowing how much it pleased him, Julia reckoned he would defend her position if she maintained that cows had green spots.
Does it make you smile when Jonathan spells words backward, Gracie? he asked.
Yes, sir. Everyone in the whole schoolroom.
Then I would consider that extremely useful knowledge.
After the children had left for school, Julia and Andrew took their second cups of tea in the parlor so that Dora s cousin Wanetta, the housemaid hired shortly after their honeymoon, could clear the table. Andrew, dressed in his black suit for making calls, looked dignified, as befitting his station. Only the crinkles at the corners of both hazel eyes and the dimples faintly visible beneath his blond beard would suggest to a stranger that he was capable of playfulness as well as piety.
And Julia looked the part of a minister s wife in a green-and-white striped silk, its overskirt draped in back to form a modest train. Only her auburn hair, falling to her waist behind her shoulders, still needed arranging into a chignon upon which to anchor a pert straw hat trimmed with ribbons and flowers. She enjoyed making calls with Andrew and would have joined him today were it not for the meeting of the Women s Charity Society held on the first Monday of every month.
Mrs. Paget asked me to remind you to stop by the kitchen, Julia told her husband as they sat on the sofa with teacups and saucers. One of Andrew s usual Monday errands, after conducting chapel at the grammar school, was to call upon seamstress Mrs. Ramsey and her mother, Mrs. Cobbe, for prayer and a condensed version of the sermon that Mrs. Cobbe s frail health had prevented them from hearing at Saint Jude s the previous day. As Mrs. Paget usually began her baking for the week on Monday mornings, she often had a treat to send along for the two to enjoy.
And please don t let anything happen to whatever she sends with you, Julia felt compelled to add, for Andrew had a habit of misplacing things whenever he was in deep thought.
He nodded sheepishly. I ll have to remember not to leave it in the schoolroom.
Pray do, or Jonathan will assume it s for him. Their son-in-law s sweet tooth was notorious, especially for baked items from Mrs. Paget s kitchen. But why can t you just leave it in the trap?
Lowering the teacup from his lips, he replied, Because I m not taking the trap, dear. Don t you remember-your meeting?
Oh, but Mrs. Bartley is hosting it today. The manor house isn t that far.
Neither are any of my calls.
Sighing, because she was aware that any argument she could present would not pierce his stubborn chivalry, Julia nonetheless made an attempt. Andrew, how do you think I managed my way around Gresham before we married?
He simply gave her a maddening grin. You walked, of course. And a handsome sight you were. I used to go out of my way down Market Lane in the hopes you would be on your way to Trumbles or somewhere. Remember the time we both slid and almost collided on the ice?
It was unfair that he could coax a smile out of her even when she was exasperated with him. Yes, I remember.
You had on those outlandishly huge boots, he said with a chuckle.
And your hat flipped right into my hands. She forced herself out of the pleasant reverie. Your calls are much farther away than my meeting, Andrew.
He set his empty cup and saucer on the tea table, then took hers from her hands and did the same. I ll not ride when my wife is walking, Julia Phelps. And I must leave soon, so we re wasting valuable time arguing