The days went by quickly—too quickly for Lancelot. He’d been at the parsonage five days already, days spent in the bosom of a family such as he’d never known, a family filled with love and warmth for each other and for anyone under their roof. They had received him as one of themselves.
All except Miss Barry.
He still didn’t know her true feelings. He glanced sidelong at her now as they trudged along one of the turf paths in the countryside. She took him on one of her long walks each day, except the one day when it had rained, which they had spent in the greenhouse helping Mr. Barry transplant some seedlings of a species he was propagating.
Miss Barry was unfailingly friendly and sympathetic, showing interest in whatever topic he spoke of. She was everything a good friend could be, but was there hope for more?
Anytime he broached anything approaching his own feelings, she changed the subject in such a polite, gentle way that he could not take offense, yet still he felt rebuffed.
He had not pressed the point because he, too, wanted to make sure of his heart. Taking his sister’s advice, he used the days to ascertain whether what had drawn him to Miss Barry in the first place had in any way diminished.
It had not. Each day brought new delight in her company and a greater certainty that this was the woman God had for him.
But he could not deny the reluctance in her.
Was he yet so distasteful to her? Was her resolve never to be a vicar’s wife unchanged? But he would not always be a vicar, she must realize that now.
He drew out a breath, knowing whatever her sentiments, he could wait no longer to express his own. His parents needed him home. And he needed to make a decision on his own immediate future.
He felt the letter that lay folded in his pocket, the one he’d received that morning.
The bishop needed an answer.
“May we sit awhile?” He pointed to a grassy area under a large oak tree in the nearby meadow.
“Yes, that would be nice.”
Once they were settled under its shade, he knew of no way but to go directly to the point. “Do you know why I came to visit you, Miss Barry?”
She looked away from him and made a vague motion with her hand. “I supposed you wished to see my father’s collection.”
“Your father’s . . . ?” He let out an abrupt laugh, which he cut short as soon as he saw her look of alarm. “No, that was not the reason—though I have enjoyed discussing botany with him and seeing his achievements.”
He drew in another breath, hoping his next words wouldn’t repel her. “I wished to see if you . . . you returned my feelings.”
This time she didn’t look away but repeated faintly, “Your feelings?”
He nodded. He edged closer to her and took one of her hands in his. He loved the feel of her smaller hands the few times he’d been able to hold one of them. They were so soft . . . and felt so right in his. “I wished to ask you to be my wife.”
Her lips parted, and her green eyes scanned his. “I didn’t think you’d—” She shook her head and pulled her hand away, leaving him with a sense of dread. She half turned from him, giving him her back. “You can’t want me for a wife, not after how I behaved with Mr. St. Leger. You will be Sir Marfleet some day. Your parents would never accept me.” She waved back toward the way they’d come. “You see how humbly my parents live.”
He reclaimed her hand and held it firmly. “But what do you wish, Miss Barry?”
She shook her head. “It’s too late for what I wish,” she said in a choked voice.
His heart sank. Did she still have feelings for Mr. St. Leger? “What is it?”
She bowed her head. “It’s too late for me to wish for things.”
“Because of what happened that night?”
She nodded, not looking up.
“I’ve told you—you did nothing wrong. And if you showed poor judgment in encouraging Mr. St. Leger in any way . . .” He struggled for a way to express what he wanted to say. “It is perfectly understandable. You were a young lady enjoying her first season. Perhaps you flirted a bit with St. Leger. It’s not wrong to be flattered by a young man’s attention.” It was coming out sounding all wrong.
But as he spoke, she slowly turned to face him again, and he tightened his hold on her hand, feeling encouraged. His heart hitched at the sheen of tears he detected in her eyes.
“My father wouldn’t have condoned flirting with Mr. St. Leger.” She sniffed. “I allowed my vanity to believe he found me attractive—pretty enough to compete with the other young ladies of the ton.” She brought a fist up to her mouth. “I was so hurt by . . . by . . .” She struggled once more and he waited, his breath held. Drawing in a shuddering breath, she continued. “When Rees—Mr. Phillips—fell in love with Céline and left me for her.”
For a moment, he felt confusion. Then he remembered meeting Mr. Rees Phillips. The revelation was like a clanging bell in his chest. So, he had been right—she did love Mr. Phillips!
The next second, his hopes plummeted. If he could scarce compete against a rogue like St. Leger, how could he ever think to banish a ghost like Rees Phillips from her heart?
“Do you still love him?” he asked with great difficulty, every fiber in him tensed in preparation for her answer.
The tears overflowed her eyelids, and she gave an angry shake of her head. “No—no! But I felt unloved and unlovable for so long. When Mr. St. Leger began paying me special attention, it helped me forget how . . . how Rees had spurned me.”
She began to cry quietly, biting her lower lip to restrain herself but unable to stop the flow of tears.
Thinking only to comfort her, he brought his hand up to her face and brushed away the tears with his thumb. Her skin felt as soft as he’d imagined.
“I—I’m sorry—”
“Shh,” he murmured, continuing to stroke her cheek.
She didn’t pull away from his touch. Emboldened, he wrapped his arm about her shoulders, drawing her toward him.
She continued to cry and he sat quietly, stroking her back until the shudders ceased.
He prayed quietly for her peace and comfort, setting aside his own feelings. When she sat still within the circle of his arms, he was reluctant to move. He shifted only enough to extract his handkerchief and bring it up to her face. She took it from him and wiped her cheeks. But she didn’t move away from him, and he took heart from that.
Unless she viewed him only as a brotherly shoulder to cry on. The thought disheartened him, but still he didn’t move.
Should he or shouldn’t he carry on with what he came for? He prayed for courage.
“I’m sorry for being such a watering pot around you. I usually am not so,” she said in a more matter-of-fact tone, drawing away from him enough to meet his gaze. He loosened his own hold but kept his arm around her.
She was so close he could detect the soft rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes and nose were red, her cheeks flushed, but she looked so beautiful it took all his control not to close the gap between them. But he wouldn’t scare her the way he had that day at Kew.
Dear Lord, help me!
But then it seemed it was she who tilted her face upward. Scarcely daring to trust what he saw, he inched downward. The next instant, whether it was he or she or both of them who moved, his lips touched hers and he heard her small sigh.
Encouraged, he deepened the kiss, all rational thought fleeing in the sheer sensation of touching and tasting her once again.
When she didn’t push away, he ventured to put his other arm around her and draw her closer once again. His eyes were closed, so he didn’t see when her arms came up. With a start, which quickly transformed to pleasure, he felt her fingers entwining in his hair.
“Jessamine,” he breathed against her lips before pressing them once again.
His passion intensified as it found an outlet at last. He’d dreamed of this moment with her for so long. Realizing she was doing nothing to halt him, he at last broke apart, panting.
His eyes scanned hers, his arms still around her, seeking any fear or disgust in her green eyes. But he saw only wonder and acceptance.
“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife,” he said in an unsteady voice.
The wonder gradually died as the meaning of his words penetrated. Her arms came down and she drew away from him. A sharp stab of disappointment pierced him, and he kept his thoughts in check, refusing to believe she would deny her feelings for him.
“I don’t know what to say . . .” she said, bringing her fingers to her lips as if still trying to understand what he had done.
He quirked his lips upward. “Say yes.”
Her gaze flew to his. “You can’t want to marry me.”
“I’ve wanted to marry you for quite some time.”
“But that was before.”
“Before what?” He tried to keep his tone light but was having a hard time keeping his hope alive.
“Before my . . . shameful behavior.”
He caught her hand in his. “I thought we’d already discussed that and put it aside.”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And before your brother’s passing.” Her eyes gazed earnestly into his. “You were only a simple vicar, not a future baronet.”
“I am still only a simple vicar.” He patted the letter in his pocket. “In fact, I have been offered a living in Reading, and I must inform the bishop forthwith of my reply.”
Her eyes widened, and for a moment they glowed. He was heartened that she seemed pleased by his appointment. Her words confirmed this. “That’s wonderful. Will you be able to accept—I mean, with your new situation in life?”
“I think so. My father is healthy. I don’t expect him to expire anytime soon,” he quipped, though his tone immediately sobered. “It’s true I didn’t expect Harold to succumb so quickly, but he had lived a rather dissipated life for quite some time, so despite his looks, I think his body was weakened.”
“I’m sorry.”
He took in a breath. “But as for my father, I have no reason to suppose he shall not be lord of his manor for many years. I do not believe he will object to my accepting this living in the meantime. It’s a large church—that can only help train me to manage a large property someday.”
“You don’t feel reluctant to be a landlord one day?” she asked slowly.
“It is not what I would have wished.” He clasped his hands loosely between his knees, trying to formulate an honest reply. “I have spent many hours in prayer and in the Scriptures since my brother’s death—to try and understand why this change in my family’s circumstances. I felt called into ministry and now it is as if that has been pulled out from under me.
“I find it hard to accept that the Lord would take me from that, first by ending my career in India, and now by making it clear that my ministry here in England will not be a permanent call. But, I have come to an acceptance of whatever the Lord has for me to do. I can be a minister of the gospel in whatever role—be it vicar, landowner, member of the House of Commons, as long as I am true to my convictions.”
When he risked looking at her, she nodded slowly as if processing what he was saying.
To his surprise, she reached out a hand and covered his clasped ones. He sat still, afraid to frighten her away.
She took a deep breath. “I am honored by your proposal.”
He held his breath, anticipating a refusal.
“I should be happy to accept—”
His heart soared until he heard her next words.
“But for two things.”
“Which are?” He felt he was waiting on the edge of a cliff ready for someone to push him off into the abyss.
She moistened her lips, and he remembered the taste of them. “First—and most importantly—I wish you were not to be your father’s heir. I hate the thought that you might think I am disposed to marry you now because of what you may inherit and not because of who you are.”
Her words brought a burst of feeling in his chest. “I wish there was something I could do to reassure you, but I cannot change my circumstances.”
“I know,” she whispered with a sad smile.
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t believe you are marrying me for my future position.”
“Thank you. But what makes you so sure?”
He faltered, finding it hard to put into words. It would sound presumptuous of him to claim he knew what was in her heart. “The person I have gotten to know in London is not a person who would marry because of a man’s position in society. You are the product of the two fine people who have raised you. You are a sweet, dear woman with strong principles of right and wrong.”
Her sad smile returned. “Are you sure you are describing me? It would seem my actions were not those of someone with strong principles.”
“We all fall at times. I have not been free of all sin since surrendering my life to my Lord.”
She seemed content with his words.
“And your second reason?”
She took a deep breath and looked away from him. “I fear to cause a breach between you and your parents. I cannot believe they will accept me as your choice for bride. You can have anyone you wish.”
“And I wish you.” He took her hand in his. “They will be so happy that I am finally marrying that they will be very pleased to accept my choice. They have already met you and approved of you.”
She didn’t return his smile. “What if they don’t like me upon further acquaintance? I doubt they will think me good enough for their only son.”
A wave of sadness at the description of “only son” passed over him. “They used to be very high in the instep.” He smiled ruefully. “When Harold entered society, they examined the pedigree and portion of every young lady on the marriage mart that season. Only a handful of young ladies qualified.”
“You prove my point.”
“I said used to.” His smile deepened, his thumb tracing a pattern against the back of her hand. “Since Harold married Rosamunde, a young lady of impeccable pedigree and sizable portion, and who proved barren after a decade of marriage, they have altered their views.”
He glanced at her figure. “Forgive my indelicacy, but now they will only be concerned about your capabilities for breeding.”
“Oh!” Color flooded her cheeks. “I see. But . . . how can they tell?”
He pursed his lips, continuing to eye her. “I haven’t a clue.”
She shifted away from him as if trying to hide from his scrutiny.
“I beg your pardon,” he hastened, realizing how indelicate he was being and averting his gaze. “I didn’t mean to stare.”
“What if I don’t . . . measure up . . . in their estimation?”
He shrugged, offering a reassuring smile. “It doesn’t matter. Any future heirs are completely in God’s hands. What matters is my love for you.” He paused, his heart in his throat, gauging her reaction to his declaration. “And yours for me.”
Instead of giving him the words he longed to hear, she returned to the issue of children. “But what if we . . . were to—ahem—marry and . . . a few years later, I were to prove like your sister-in-law?”
“I shouldn’t worry too much. The Bible says that children are a blessing of God, and I trust His goodness and grace toward us in that area. But children or not, it won’t change my love for you.”
Her eyelashes swept down over her eyes. A few seconds later, she looked straight ahead of her, off into the meadow, and said quietly, “Thank you. It does reassure me.”
Any disappointment he felt that she didn’t acknowledge or return his declaration of love, he didn’t let show. Instead, he rose and held out his hand to her. “I’m glad. Come, I should get you back.”
As he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and walked back along the path homeward, he said, “I hope you will think about my proposal and be able to give me a reply before I leave.”
She glanced at him. “You are leaving?”
He nodded. “I must. My father and mother need me there for the time being. I must give the bishop a reply and make arrangements to take up my post in Reading.”
She turned and focused on the path before them. “Would you mind very much if I waited until you have gotten your parents’ permission to marry me?” She turned to him, as if a new thought were occurring to her. “Have you spoken to my father?”
He nodded. “Yes, I spoke to him the day I arrived.”
Her eyes widened. “He hasn’t said a word to me!”
“He didn’t seem at all surprised by my request. I wish you were as accepting as he and your mother.”
She smiled. “Perhaps I am trying to save you from yourself.”
“I can assure you, my dear, that I know my own heart and mind and think you would make me an excellent wife.”
Her lips turned downward. “I wish I had all your confidence.”
He sobered. “Ask the Lord to show you.”
“I will,” she whispered.
Jessamine was torn. Not because she didn’t wish to marry Lancelot—it still sent a shiver to say his name to herself—but because she felt unworthy of him. Despite his reassurances to the contrary, she doubted his parents would approve of her, and she didn’t wish to cause a rift between him and his parents, not now when they had lost their oldest son.
Mr. Marfleet announced at dinner that he was leaving in three days’ time.
Two days later, to her surprise and joy, Megan appeared at the vicarage.
“Megan!” Jessamine ran to her friend, her arms outstretched, when she saw her walking up the path to the front door.
The two girls hugged tightly.
“When did you arrive?”
“Late yesterday,” Megan said with a wide smile. “Rees returned from Brussels. We were so overjoyed, we decided to come home immediately so that Mother could see him as well and be assured that he came to no harm.”
At the mention of Rees, Jessamine’s heart gave a small lurch. “Thank God he is safe.”
“Yes, we praise and thank the good Lord. He said he was never in any danger—except perhaps to be run over by the carts and coaches filled with panicked British leaving the city the night before battle.” She sobered. “But he said the battle was ghastly from all he has seen and heard in the aftermath. So many soldiers were slain and left on the battlefield, their things looted.”
Jessamine clutched her hands together. “Dear me,” she murmured. “Is it truly over now?”
“Yes, he believes so. The French army was in disarray once the Prussian army and our own army under Wellington, as well as the Dutch under the Prince of Orange, managed to divide the French.”
“Thank God for that at least.” Jessamine drew in a breath. “So, Rees and Céline are at your house now?”
“Yes, I expect they will be over soon to say hello.” Megan’s cheek dimpled. “I heard from Mama that you have a young gentleman visiting you at the parsonage.”
Jessamine’s own cheeks warmed. “Yes. Mr. Marfleet stopped by unexpectedly a few days ago.”
Megan’s smile deepened. “My, my, what a surprise.” She didn’t sound surprised at all.
“I was quite surprised, you can well believe.”
“Were you indeed?” She lifted a brow.
“Indeed I was,” she maintained, her face growing warmer.
“I must say hello to him. Is he still here?”
“Yes, though he is leaving tomorrow.”
“What a pity.” Megan tilted her head, observing her. “You sound sad.”
Jessamine attempted to smile. “I suppose I am. I . . . I’ve grown used to his company.”
Megan reached out a hand to her. “He must be quite fond of you to come all the way here to visit you.”
Jessamine wanted to tell her about Lancelot’s proposal, but something held her back. Until she gave him her answer, she felt protective of him and didn’t wish anyone speculating or commenting on his proposal. Instead, she said, “He lost his brother—you remember Sir Harold?”
Megan looked down. “We read the notice in the paper. I’m so sorry.”
Jessamine briefly filled in the details of his sudden illness. “But come inside, I’ve left you standing out here in the garden all this time. You may greet Mr. Marfleet yourself and give him your condolences.”
It was later that afternoon that Rees and Céline stopped in. They were all in the parlor—Jessamine’s mother and father, Lancelot, and Jessamine—when they called.
After the enthusiastic handshakes, hugs, and greetings, they all sat over tea to hear about Rees’s time in Belgium and the somber reports he brought back from the Duke of Wellington and other returning soldiers and aides-de-camp who had survived Waterloo.
Jessamine listened, her gaze going from Rees to Céline. Céline’s waistline had increased so it was very evident now she would soon bear his child.
The knowledge did nothing to upset Jessamine, as it had a few months—even weeks—ago. All she felt was joy over Rees’s safe return and their anticipation of the impending event.
Her glance strayed more than once to Lancelot, and she colored each time she found his eyes on her. Was her complacence over Rees and Céline’s obvious happiness due to her newly discovered feelings for Lancelot?
Jessamine traced the rim of her teacup with her forefinger, continuing to analyze her feelings as the talk went on around her. She felt a burden lifting from her shoulders. She had not dared confess to Lancelot her budding love for him as long as she was weighed down from the twin burdens of guilt—her past behavior and her fear that her girlhood infatuation for Rees had left her unable to give her heart fully to another.
She still feared his parents’ reaction to a betrothal, but she grew impatient now, as the afternoon waned, for an opportunity to speak alone with Lancelot before he left. She wanted to give him the words she knew he longed to hear.
Her heart constricted with the fear that despite his declarations of love and his proposal to her, once he returned home and spoke to his parents, she would never see or hear from him again. The realities of his new responsibilities as heir would extinguish his feelings for her.
Instead of a moment with Lancelot later that afternoon, she found a moment alone with Rees.
When he and Céline stood to leave, she walked out with them, intending to accompany Megan to the gate.
But when they reached it, Rees held back, allowing Megan and Céline to precede him and continue to their house next door. With a smile, he turned to Jessamine.
“I wanted to tell you how much Mr. Marfleet impressed me,” he said when they stood alone. His gray eyes smiled warmly into hers.
Jessamine swallowed. “He is a very worthy gentleman,” she said through dry lips.
“It is apparent he adores you. He can hardly take his eyes off you.” Rees lifted a dark brow. “May I ask if you return his feelings?”
She found herself nodding her head. “I hardly feel worthy of his love. My own feelings have grown so gradually, I was hardly aware of them until he arrived here.” She looked down. “He has asked me to marry him.”
“Have you accepted him?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Only you know your own feelings. Let me just tell you it would give me great joy to know that you have found the kind of love I have found with Céline.”
Slowly she lifted her head and nodded. “Thank you. That means a great deal to me.”
He smiled, and she was able to return the smile. “I hope we will be invited to your wedding.”
“You may be sure of it.” Her smile disappeared. “That is—if his parents approve of me.”
“I have no doubt they will.”
“You don’t know who they are. They are very proud.”
“If this is the man the Lord has for you, He will give you favor with them.” With those words, he winked and left her with a wave.
She continued watching his departing figure a moment longer before returning slowly to the house.
Lancelot looked up at her when she returned to the parlor, but she only smiled and took a seat next to him on the settee.
“Is everything all right?” he murmured when her mother turned to say something to her father.
She smiled. “Yes, very much so.”
He questioned her with a lift of his brows and finally returned her smile when her own didn’t waver.
After supper, in the warm summer evening, she invited him for a walk through the garden.
When they reached the end, they sat on the bench the way they had at the beginning of his visit.
With a boldness she had not displayed to him up to now, she took one of his hands in both of hers. If he was surprised, he said nothing.
“I will miss you,” she said softly.
He covered her hand with his free one. “As I will you—but it won’t be for long.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “That is, if you decide to accept my proposal. Then I shall be back here as soon as possible and fetch you and your parents to visit me and meet my parents at Kendicott Park.”
Her gaze rose to his and she read the fear and uncertainty in his. She moistened her lips. “I do.”
He continued regarding her a few seconds as if uncertain what she meant. Slowly, understanding filled his blue eyes. They widened before uncertainty filled them once again. “Do you mean that you agree to be my wife?”
She nodded slowly, her gaze never wavering from his. “If you still want me . . . after you’ve spoken to your parents.”
For answer, he wrapped his arms around her tightly and laughed. “Have no fear of that changing.”
She hugged him back, burying her head against his chest, feeling shy all of a sudden with this man who would share her future.
“Are you sure?” He tilted her head up with his fingers, his gaze scanning hers.
She nodded. Drawing in a breath, she braced to tell him all that was in her heart. “I realized this afternoon when I . . . I saw Rees again that my heart was truly free . . . to love you,” she ended in a whisper.
Before he could speak, she continued. “I think I had been afraid of trusting my feelings for you until I was certain I no longer felt anything—not in that way—for Rees.” Her eyelids fluttered downward. “I had been infatuated with him for so long that I no longer trusted my feelings. You have every right to think me a most fickle creature, first pining after Rees and then allowing Mr. St. Leger to cause me to forget my better judgment.”
He drew her up to face him once more. “Your feelings for Mr. Phillips only do you credit, proving your faithfulness. We shall speak no more of St. Leger, since you acted out of your hurt—and he took advantage of that.”
Her heart felt it would burst with emotion at the tenderness and understanding reflected in both his words and gaze. “I love you, Lancelot Marfleet, and hope I can someday be worthy of your love.”
For reply, he bent his head closer, closing his eyes. She drew in a breath of happiness as his lips touched hers. “Your sentiments echo my own for you,” he murmured, drawing apart a hairsbreadth from her before kissing her once more.