not God’s, for keeping peace and is society’s attempt at soothing the hollow ache of those left behind.”
Could the same philosophy be applied to Catherine? Was her effort to track down Jeffrey’s killer and bring the man to justice nothing more than an attempt to relieve the never-ending void of loneliness in her heart? Something she had lived with long before his death?
“Forgive me, Mrs. Ashcroft.” His kind eyes roamed over her features. “This is not the place to discuss such a dreary topic. Today is about celebrating life and laughter.”
She smiled, thankful to be quit of the subject, even though a shadow lingered in her thoughts. “Indeed, Mr. Foster.” For what seemed like the hundredth time, her gaze sought out her daughter’s location and found her playing quoits with Teddy. “How is your courtship going?”
The vicar’s face reddened, then beamed with delight. “Miss Walker has consented to a drive and picnic tomorrow after services.”
Catherine placed her hand on his sleeve. “That is good news, Mr. Foster.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your kind counsel on the matter.”
“Good morning, Vicar. Mrs. Ashcroft,” a newcomer interrupted. “How do you fare today?”
Catherine started. Sebastian’s voice sounded inches from her ear. Lifting her gaze, she found him staring at her hand resting on Mr. Foster’s arm. She eased her fingers away and clasped her hands together.
“I’m doing very well, my lord,” the vicar said. “How goes the search for a new steward?”
“Slow, I’m afraid.” He scanned the gathering. “If you know of a dependable gentleman with legitimate references and experience, please send him my way.”
“As it happens, I heard from an old university chum yesterday,” the vicar said. “His employer passed on and the heir is a bit of a scoundrel, or so my friend tells me. Timms is now considering his options. You’ll never meet a more honorable man. Such a shame, what’s happening, but fortuitous, don’t you think?”
“Sounds just the thing, Mr. Foster,” Sebastian said. “Please have him come see me.”
“Thank you, my lord,” the vicar said. “He’ll be delighted—”
“My dear Vicar.” Catherine’s mother sailed into their midst. “I see you have cleared a spot on your plate. Come with me and I’ll introduce you to Cook’s famous lemon cheesecake.”
He hesitated, clearly not interested in giving up his tête-à-tête with the earl.
“I promise you, sir,” her mother coaxed. “You shall not be disappointed.”
Pasting a vicar-like smile on his face, he said, “Pardon, Mrs. Ashcroft. My lord. I will return in a moment.”
“Please do.” Catherine followed the duo until her mother began an animated conversation on—she squinted to make out the object of their attention—she knew not what.
Sebastian guided her away from her guests milling about. “You and the vicar were rather cozy.”
She sent him a sidelong glance. “I’ve told you before, he’s a dear friend.”
“Dear enough to marry?” He must have regretted his query the moment it emerged, for he followed it with a rough command. “Forget it.”
“That’s not possible.” Her daughter’s laughter caught her attention. She watched Sophie’s next throw and smiled when the shoe hit the iron hob. “Where is this line of questioning coming from, Sebastian?”
A full minute ticked by before he answered. “The vicar mentioned he was contemplating marriage during our ride the other day,” he said. “I thought perhaps you were his chosen bride.”
His jealousy should have irritated her, but instead, his gruff explanation charmed her. “No, Sebastian. The good vicar has his sights set on Miss Walker, and she on him. But neither have had the gumption to approach the other.”
“I suppose you have been encouraging him to declare himself during your long drives?” he asked.
Fingers of heat spread into her cheeks. “Life’s too short to spend it alone and unhappy.”
She felt his searing gaze on her, but did not dare meet it. “How is that particular endeavor coming along?”
“They’re going on a picnic tomorrow afternoon.”
“What of you, Catherine?”
His low, intimate tone pierced her heart. “I don’t understand your question.”
“What will you do once your mourning has ended? Will you seek a father for your daughter?”
“Eventually,” she said. “I am wise enough to realize not all men are like my father and husband. Next time, I will choose more carefully.”
“Indeed—” Something caught his eye over her shoulder. “Where is Sophie?”
“She’s right over there.” Catherine swung around to where her daughter and Teddy were throwing quoits. Her eyes widened when she found nothing but two iron hobs sticking out of the ground and their discarded quoits. “Sebastian,” she whispered. “I saw them playing not but a minute ago.”