The Vicar's Frozen Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

handsome face and form. Nothing she craved. She nodded briskly. “Yes, I cannot stay here. It is patently obvious.”
    His brow arched again at her chilly tone, but she did not care. “Very well, help yourself to tea and porridge in the kitchen. I will return directly.” He clasped his cane and then hobbled out the door, closing it behind him.
    Eliza rushed to the window. It was then she saw the church to the right of the residence. The structure was a fair size and possibly a hundred years old or more, judging from the weathered granite stone walls. It had a tall wood spire and a large bronze bell within. Stiffly, Mr. Colson climbed aboard a small gig. Considering his damaged leg she doubted he could ride a horse. With a snap of the reins, he departed and she watched until his broad-shouldered form disappeared from view.
    How surprising that he left her alone in his residence. If she wished, she could rob him blind, though there did not appear to be much of value there. After inspecting each room, she stepped into the one he had washed in last night and was amazed to find a tub and wash basin attached to pipes in the wall. Strange for a village vicarage. She opened a small door at the back of the room and smiled with pleasure. An earthenware water closet. She used it and then cleaned out the chamber pot before exploring further.
    The two rooms at the end of the hall consisted of a guest room, where she assumed the vicar slept the past two nights, and a small study where he no doubt wrote his uncompromising sermons. As tempted as she was to explore his desk to find out more about the man, she backed out of the room and gently closed the door. Invading his private space seemed wrong. Bad enough she had done so last night. The place was clean and neat, sparse in its furnishings, personal touches non-existent. As if he were a guest in his own residence.
    When she stepped into the kitchen she gasped in astonishment at the bright, huge space. Two large windows in the far right corner of the room gave the area a blast of sun, providing ample light and heat. A large cast iron cooker stood against the opposite wall, with various sizes of copper pans hanging above it. But what truly surprised her was the oak icebox. The Bowater Manor owned one, as did most upper-class homes, but a vicar? Did he have money or did he live under the auspices of a wealthy patron of the church? An odd thing to find in a small village. Grasping the heavy kettle, she turned on the tap and filled it halfway. Again, water in from pipes.
    After lighting the stove, she placed the kettle on the burner. The room was spotless and well-stocked with dishes and pans. She inspected the pantry and found the shelves full of all the staples required for preparing meals, and when she located a biscuit jar, she greedily snatched a few. Cold porridge sat in a bowl on the counter and she curled her lip. Couldn’t stand it. As a governess, she could not claim many cooking skills. A few nursery dishes, a cup of tea, not much else. In her previous position she became used to being waited on, as trays were brought to the nursery.
    Exhaling a wistful sigh, she knew those days of privilege--such as they were--were now at an end. Perhaps a good thing in retrospect, since she ate alone and maintained little interaction with the staff and as a result, never made any friends at the Bowater Manor. The loneliness became unbearable. Trapped between two worlds--the servants and the served. Probably another reason she jumped at William’s invitation. Deep in the dark recesses of her soul, she knew the assignation was wrong and a terrible risk, considering her position. How reckless. How unlike her.
    A loud hiss of steam from the kettle pulled her thoughts from the past. Dashing a lone tear from her cheek, she made a vow to stop reflecting on her mistakes. Time to move forward and take what comes with courage and determination. Reaching for a cup and saucer from the shelf, she nodded.