Vows

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Authors: Lavyrle Spencer
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fully aware of her flattering rose frock and how it endowed each of her estimable assets.
      "And you, I believe, were wearing a shirt without sleeves."
      He laughed with a flash of straight, white teeth. "I find it's cooler that way."
      In the silence that followed, while they allowed their eyes to tarry and tally, Jeffcoat recognized her for exactly what she was: a flirt looking for a husband. Well, he was willing to oblige with the flirting. But when it came to matrimony, he was admittedly aisle-shy, and with good reason.
      "I hear you're a liveryman, Mr. Jeffcoat," Tarsy ventured.
      "Yes, I am." His gaze drifted to Walcott, still at Tarsy's elbow, and on to Emily. He caught her watching, but immediately she snapped her attention away.
      "And a blacksmith," Edwin added.
      "My goodness, a blacksmith, too. How enterprising of you. But you must promise not to interfere with Mr. Walcott's business." Tarsy took Edwin's arm and smiled up at him, wrinkling her nose attractively. "After all, he was here first." Again she shifted her smile to the younger man. "My father is the local barber, so I'm sure you'll meet him soon. Until you do, I thought it only neighborly to extend a welcome on behalf of our family, and let you know that if there's anything we can do to help you get settled, we'd be delighted."
      "That's most gracious of you."
      "You must stop by the barbershop and introduce yourself. Papa knows everything about this town. Anything you need to know, just ask him."
      "I'll do that."
      "Well, I'm sure we'll meet again soon." She extended her gloved hand.
      "I hope so," he said charmingly, accepting it with another lingering squeeze.
      She sent him a parting smile warm enough to sprout daisies in the dead of winter and he responded with a flirtatious grin while speaking to Edwin.
      "Thank you for stopping me, Edwin. You've definitely made it a memorable morning."
      As they parted, Jeffcoat again found Emily Walcott watching. Perversely, he gave her a nod and tipped his hat. She offered not so much as a blink, but stared at him as if he were made of window glass. She was wearing a dress this morning, but nothing so pretty or colorful as Tarsy Fields's; a hat, too—a flat little specimen nearly as unattractive as the boy's wool cap had been. She had hair as black as his own, but it was hitched up into some sort of utilitarian twist that said very clearly she hadn't time for female fussing. She was long-waisted, slim, and, as always, sour-faced.
      To Jeffcoat's surprise, she suddenly smiled. Not at him but at Charles Bliss, who stepped out of Coffeen Hall and took her hand—not her elbow, her hand—winning a full-fledged smile that Jeffcoat would have sworn her incapable of giving. Even a stranger could see it was unpracticed and unaffected. No batting lashes, no syrupy posturing such as Tarsy Fields put on. Jeffcoat observed the interchange with interest.
      "We can go now," he heard Bliss say, turning Emily in his direction. "I'm sorry it took so long."
      "I didn't mind waiting, and anyway, Papa was busy visiting. Oh, I'm so glad it's sunny, Charles, aren't you?"
      "I ordered it for you," he said, and they laughed as they headed for the street.
      "Good morning, Tom," Charles greeted, in passing.
      "Hello, Charles. Miss Walcott."
      She nodded silently and her eyes turned glacial. They moved past and Charles called back, raising a hand, "See you tomorrow morning, bright and early."
      "Yessir, bright and early," replied Jeffcoat. He overheard Charles ask Emily, "What time should I pick you up?"
      And her reply, "Give me an hour and a half so I can…"
      Their voices faded and Jeffcoat heard no more. Looking after them as they moved away with their heads close together, he thought wryly, well, well, so the tomboy has a beau.
    * * *
    The tomboy had more than a beau. Charles Bliss was a devoted servant who would have done anything for her. He had first fallen in love with her when

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