Just to Have You (Blackwood & Friends #3)

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Oliver's Letter to Amy Dated 28 January 1826 (Three Years Prior)

My Dear Griff

I formally apologise for lambasting you on the lack of sense you have shown with regards to your future desire to purchase Mr Coppinger's bookshop against your better judgement. You must know I so despise the discord between us, even though I am abundantly more well-versed in the profitability of such endeavours having applied my vast knowledge of the legalities to your future business transaction. Since you have snubbed my every effort to make amends over the last week, I have included a list of reasons why purchasing a bookshop in a tiny (largely illiterate) village such as Haventry would be lucrative as a means to show you how sincerely apologetic I am.

1. You should not.

Yours eternally in wisdom and pragmatism,

Ben

"THIS AIN'T NOT THE LUCKY APPLE!"

Amy almost fell off her ledge in fright, and guilt, at the sound of Lucas Townsend's drunken bellow as it ricocheted off the high-beamed ceiling of the parish church.

Her heart, already turning over vehemently due to certain lasciviously heated stares of a particular man who was the heir to an earldom, almost puttered out entirely at the explosion of the wooden doors against the walls and Lucas's blearing voice.

The church was empty, but it was where a few members of the parish who had taken on the role of coordinating the smooth proceedings of the upcoming festival had agreed to meet and delegate certain responsibilities that they would each oversee.

Lucas Townsend, a middle-aged man with a paunch that was currently bulging out the tails of his untucked shirt, swayed unsteadily on the threshold with his hands on his hips, attempting as best he may to drunkenly assess his whereabouts. The sight was made even more ludicrous by the weary and crumpled-looking hat sitting crookedly atop his mussed, scraggly brown hair.

"Oh my," Clarabelle Meyrick gasped in mild affront, her dainty gloved hand fluttering to her chest. She had placed herself firmly beside Oliver for the ordeal transpiring within the church, though Amy could hardly blame her. Oliver's presence had stirred the few parishioners in attendance, even though she knew the only reason why he was lingering was probably anything but noble, and had profoundly ensured that with his involvement in the cider festival it was sure to be a success. Amy was partly curious as to why Clarabelle had not lingered closely to their new vicar Mr Huntley, who was quite remarkably handsome and young with light brown hair and warm dark eyes and quite a charming cleft in his chin, and she made a note to ask her friend why later.

"Mr Townsend!" Miss Anna Smithies stood up abruptly from her pew on the other side of Oliver and glowered at the inebriated man. Anna was just shy of twenty years and one of the six Haventry misses that were of a marriageable age and actively making inroads to acquire marital bliss. She was also unconventionally confident in her manner, outspoken and forward, and hardly shied away from confrontation and making her opinions known, no matter how knowledgeable she was on a topic- but that did not mean she was not willing to learn. With instruction, and guidance to empathise with differing viewpoints, Miss Anna Smithies seemed intent to become a willing pupil, though a verbally obstructive one at times. "Desist at once! This is a house of God!"

Whenever something dramatic or ludicrous occurred in Haventry, and whenever it occurred and Oliver was within her vicinity, their eyes would be drawn to each other in a shared look of amusement. It was the same now, as with all old habits, Amy found his gaze again even though but moments before he had been trying to undress her with his eyes. Her cheeks ached with the smile pressing into her skin and her hands tightened around the edges of the wooden pulpit where she had been standing beside Mr Huntley, doing what she did best- delegating. Or trying to.