by Liana Lefey
“Oh, come now,” he scoffed, gentling his words with a chuckle. “I’m sure your parents will take your happiness into account when considering a match. You’ll have plenty of time to ascertain and assure mutual compatibility before exchanging vows. But in the end, the choice to accept a suit is yours and yours alone. No one can make you marry.”
“Not yet.” Her face remained impassive. “But make no mistake, circumstances will eventually force me to the altar. If anything should happen to my father while I remain unwed, both Mama and I will be at the mercy of the distant relation who is to inherit his modest estate. A man whose character is completely unknown to us. At that point, the luxury of refusal will no longer be mine.”
“The law says otherwise,” he insisted. “And anyway, you might be pleasantly surprised to find this distant relation of yours a kind, amiable fellow rather than a villain to be feared.”
“Regardless, if he should insist I accept an offer of marriage, I’ll have little choice but to comply. I’ve a dowry, but no money of my own, and my mother’s jointure won’t support us both. Therefore, I must marry, lest I burden her.”
Shame crept up from beneath Devlin’s collar to heat his face. Many of the girls who worked at his gaming hells had come to him for employment after having been turned away from a relative’s house following the loss of a husband or father. That Miss Tomblin might someday find herself in such straits was more than a little unsettling. In fact, it made him feel distinctly nauseous. “Forgive me, I had not fully considered your position.”
“In this, you are no different than most men,” she said quietly. “The world is yours from birth—a man can always make his own way. It is not so for a woman. In reality, marriage is the only path for any gently raised female not possessed of wealth in her own right. As I am no heiress…” A tiny shrug lifted her shoulders.
“I see your struggle,” he acknowledged with chagrin. “In the future, I shall endeavor to be more understanding of the female plight.” He wondered if Miss St. Peters was under similar pressure. Surely, her father’s financial situation was secure enough that she should never worry. Regardless, Miss St. Peters must look elsewhere for a husband.
As must Miss Tomblin. “Fortunately, your father appears to be in excellent health, so I trust you’ll have plenty of time to make your selection.”
“I am one and twenty, already quite mature by Society’s standards,” she replied wryly. “This is to be my last Season as an unwed woman. My parents are quite determined that I marry before next winter.”
Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Then, I wish you success in your pursuit and joy in the result.”
“Thank you.” She held his gaze prisoner for a long moment before speaking again. “Despite my many impositions on your forbearance, you have been a true and steadfast friend. No please, let me finish,” she said when he began to object.
Biting his tongue, he fell silent.
“First, I made you uncomfortable with my indiscreet behavior, and then I subsequently inserted myself into your life where I was unwanted. I knew it then, yet I persisted, thinking that if only you knew me better, you might change your mind. It was wrong of me.” Her voice broke a little, but she continued. “You have tolerated my constant intrusions with both patience and kindness, when any other man would have cruelly rejected me. I will impose upon you no further save to ask forgiveness and request that you pray for me when I leave Harper’s Grove. Pray that the man I marry is a good man. He need not be perfect, only good. Will you do that for me?”
The paper cut’s sting of guilt became an enormous gaping wound—with salt and strong spirits poured into it. His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. Have the spine to do what must be done! He forced the words past unwilling lips. “I shall pray for better than that, Miss Tomblin. I shall pray the man you marry loves you truly and deeply, as you deserve.”
Chapter Ten
“Thank you, Reverend.” Mary held back her emotions with an iron will, determined to behave with all the dignity she’d thus far lacked in this man’s presence. It was well and truly over, if indeed, it had ever even begun. Turning, she silently urged the horse to pick up the pace. The sooner they parted ways and she forgot him, the better.
When he spoke, it was with an air of studied indifference. “Am I to assume this means you no longer wish to accompany me on my Sunday calls?”
She couldn’t look at him. Not without bursting into tears. “I would not want to cause you further discomfort. You’ve made it perfectly clear you have neither need for my assistance nor desire for my company. Therefore, to continue in our present mode makes no sense.”
“What of the people you’ve promised to visit?”
Oh, really! Must he make this more difficult? “I shall arrange to call on them during the week with my mother.” She clenched her teeth for a moment before continuing, gathering her courage. “With the exception of church, however, our paths need never cross again. I’m afraid I cannot avoid attending services without rousing my parents’ suspicion as to my motive, but I’ll tell them our parish visits have concluded due to the threat of inclement weather. They won’t question it. By the time it improves enough to resume, I’ll be well on my way to London.”
His look became indignant. “Are y— Do you now seek to punish me for having accepted your apology? I begin to wonder if it was truly meant!”
Frustration burned away the threat of tears. “Every word I utter, you take the wrong way! If I’m friendly, you see it as an attempt to entrap you. If I seek to distance myself, you think I’m trying to bait you into a pursuit. You read inferences into my every action and color my every phrase!”
“Ha!” The derisive bark of laughter echoed in the cold, still air. “And how am I not to color the words of a woman who all but openly declared an affection for me despite my having given her no encouragement?”
Furious beyond caring, she raised her voice. “Had I been bent on having you without considering your wishes or your happiness, I would long ago have ensured the appearance of my compromise at your hands.” She let that sink in. “But you need have no fear of me, Reverend. I would sooner die than entrap an unwilling man, and I fully respect your desire to remain unencumbered. Unlike many women, I comprehend that not all men are the marrying sort. Some remain bachelors for good reason!”
Satisfaction warred with apprehension as his flushed face slowly drained of color. She hadn’t intended to insult him, but if he chose to take her words as such, then so be it. Anger had made her bold enough not to care. He wasn’t interested in her anyway.
“You assume much, Miss Tomblin, and wrongly so, I think.” Against the pallor of his cheeks, his blue eyes looked even darker as they locked with hers. “I will one day take a wife, but it won’t be for some years yet.”
“Best not wait too far into your dotage,” she quipped. “You must be some thirty-five years of age already.”
The color returned to his face in a rush. “I am, in fact, only recently turned thirty—hardly what I would call ‘into my dotage.’ And my age is irrelevant—many men marry at the half century mark or even older.”
“You wish to wait until you’re fifty?” She allowed her incredulity free rein and laughed aloud. “What possible reason can you have to wait so long? It cannot be your situation. A vicar’s living is modest, but well enough to support a family comfortably, provided your household observes good economy.” She couldn’t resist. “Therefore, it must be a lack of suitable candidates that prevents your wedded bliss.”
“Yes, if you must know,” he answered hotly. “My standards are not those of most men.”
And I’ve obviously fallen far short of them! Stung, she smiled sweetly and laced her reply with utmost scorn. “Dear Reverend, you of all people should know perfection exists only in heaven. But if indeed there is an earthly female capable of meeting your lofty requirements, one cannot help bu
t wonder what she’ll make of you. Should you chance to meet this paragon, my advice would be to marry her quickly, before she learns the truth.”
His eyes darkened another shade, presumably with fury. “And what truth is that, Miss Tomblin?”
The thrill of battle sang in her veins, and she made no effort to moderate her harsh tone. “That you, sir, are a conceited ass who thinks himself high above the rest of us unworthy sinners. I’m glad I discovered it now rather than continuing to lavish my time and regard on someone so ungrateful and undeserving of my attentions.”
He flinched, and she saw pain, real pain in his eyes.
The gravity of what she’d done struck her. “Forgive me,” she gasped, full of remorse. “I—I should not have spoken so to you.” Again, she fought back tears, shame making her cheeks warm as he stared at her. “Please, let me take back my harsh words.”
When he at last spoke, it was with unexpected gentleness. “There is naught to forgive. I’ve caused you pain and deserved every one of them. The fault for my rejection is not yours, Miss Tomblin. You are lovely and—when not provoked to wrath—generous and kindhearted. I’m exceedingly flattered by your interest; however, I cannot in good conscience reciprocate.”
“In good conscience”? What does that mean?
But he went on before she could seek clarification. “It would be cruel of me to encourage and accept tender sentiments when I know doing so would only cause you the acutest misery.”
A scowl tightened her brow. “Misery?”
The ghost of a smile flickered about the corners of his mouth, eliciting a hollow ache inside her. “Come now, Miss Tomblin. Let us be frank. Within a few minutes of being in each other’s presence, we unerringly find a bone of contention to squabble over. A marriage between us would be full of strife, the two of us either carrying silent grudges against each other or engaging in open, bloody warfare. In time, you would grow to hate me.”
“I could never ‘hate’ you,” she said, appalled by his gloomy prediction. “Though you do seem to know just how to infuriate me, you are too good a man to truly despise.”
Again, that small, wry smile hovered on his lips. “As you so accurately pointed out, I’m a sinner like everyone else, madam. And even a good man may earn his wife’s contempt if she feels slighted. And you would, in time.” He shut his eyes briefly, as though struggling with some inner pain, before going on. “The Lord is first in my heart, you see, and His flock second. What room is there for aught else in a heart already so occupied?”
The crack in hers widened a little more. “But I’m part of that flock, am I not?”
“Indeed you are.” Reaching out, he gently brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
The shock of his tender touch against her bare skin left a tingling river of fire in its wake, a sensation that was almost eclipsed by surprise at the naked regret that flashed in his blue gaze just before resignation chased it away.
When he spoke again, his voice had deepened to a gravely rumble. “But someone like you could never be happy with anything less than her husband’s whole heart, and that is something I simply cannot give.”
Pulse pounding, Mary couldn’t formulate a coherent argument. Her mind was too busy marking the regretful tone of his words, as well as his nearness and its effect on her. Winter lost its chill as heat slowly blossomed throughout her body and the place between her legs began to throb. As if a hand were pushing her, she found herself leaning toward him on the seat.
Larkspur eyes widened an increment, but he didn’t withdraw.
Closer.
His clean-shaven face came into sharp relief, the faint, sandpapery texture of the day’s new growth along his jaw contrasting with the smoothness of his lips. For a man, he had such full, sensuous lips. Were they as soft as they looked?
Closer.
Like iron to a lodestone, he drew her. The look in his darkening eyes shifted as she neared. He wants me. Nothing in his speech had denied it. He’d simply chosen not to act on it.
Closer.
Emotion met with physical sensation, both crashing over her in a roiling confluence of heartfelt longing and raw, visceral desire. Every nerve came alive in anticipation…
The cart hit a bump, jostling them apart and breaking the spell. Mary turned away suddenly. Cold dribbles of melting snow, shaken from the branches above as a startled bird fled, stung her face. But the icy droplets couldn’t dispel the hot flush rising in her cheeks. And their seemingly mutual physical attraction couldn’t reconcile the differences between them.
I’ve been a complete fool.
She fought to feign nonchalance as she at last answered his rebuttal. “You are undeniably correct in your assessment of me. I would indeed want my affection returned in full measure. As such, I’m forced to admit both my selfishness and our incompatibility. With the exception of the Almighty Himself, Whom we are commanded to love first, I want no competition for my husband’s devotion.” Steeling herself, she added, “Thank you for being patient enough to take the time and make me see the truth.”
His brows shot skyward. “I must confess, that was…not the response I anticipated.”
Mary knew all too well the sort of response he’d expected. But she’d give him no tears.
I’m done crying over men who don’t want me.
It was an effort to dredge up a smile, but she did, though it was tight and shallow, at best. “Rest easy, Reverend. You’ll have no more trouble out of me.”
…
Part of Devlin was glad to have at last accomplished his goal. Another part—by far the greater part—rebelled against it.
Vehemently.
This is for Danny. I must behave as he would. Still, it took every ounce of will not to turn and take Miss Tomblin in his arms, consequences be damned.
“If you wish my continued assistance with your weekly visits, you have but to say so,” she went on, oblivious to his inner struggle. “However, I think it would be easier on my parents’ expectations if we simply sever our association. As such, you had best drop me off at the gate instead of walking me all the way to my door, as I believe they are planning to ask you to dinner later this week.”
All the warmth had gone from her voice and her eyes. It was as if they’d never laughed together, never argued, never nearly kissed. She’d dismissed him from her heart. It was for the best, but it rankled.
It’s Daniel she’s dismissing, not you, dolt! He wanted to believe that if she knew him—the real him—she’d never be able to walk away so easily. But the truth of the matter was that if she knew the real man beneath this cassock, she’d never speak to him, much less consider him for a husband. And she’d be well within her rights to refuse him address. Mary Tomblin was a decent woman, and he was unworthy of her in every respect.
Knowing it made him feel no better. In fact, it made him quite wretched.
At last, he forced himself to speak. “I think you must know best, Miss Tomblin.” Each word was a searing knife plunged into his chest. But she deserved to walk away from this with as little injury as possible. “I’ve been blessed to have you as part of my congregation,” he added awkwardly. “I really do hope you find someone who will make you truly happy.”
Her nod of acceptance was firm and her gray gaze unveiled by tears. When she replied, her voice was calm and quiet. “Thank you, Reverend. I shall always remember the time we’ve spent together with great fondness. When you are ready, I hope you find the right lady to stand by your side.” Her mouth twisted in a wry half smile. “One who won’t be jealous of her husband’s parishioners.”
Devlin knew better than to buy the act, but it was better for her dignity to let her think she’d fooled him. The remainder of their journey was made in silence—at least on the outside. Inside, he was full of questions.
Why hadn’t Daniel given this woman a chance? In Devlin�
��s case, his main attractant to women was money. He was, to put it bluntly, filthy rich. But, as the lady herself had pointed out, Daniel was a humble vicar, a man of modest means who would require a practical wife capable of running a household with economy. Her interest in his brother had been genuine, not mercenary. She’d thought him kind and caring, a true gentleman worthy of her regard, worthy of her devotion.
For the first time in his life, Devlin thought of his twin with both envy and contempt. How blind did Danny have to be not to see what a treasure she was? His brother was a coward, plain and simple—a craven fool for running from what was possibly the best thing that could ever have landed in this backwater village.
Such thoughts rattled around inside his skull like dice in a cup, allowing him no peace. Half a dozen times, he opened his mouth to speak. Half a dozen times, he closed it again and bit his tongue to keep it still. Its tip was sore by the time they pulled up before her front gate.
His companion turned to face him one last time. “I—I don’t think I’ll be attending the service this evening,” she stammered, her cheeks pinking. “I just…need a little time.”
“Of course.” Inside, he squirmed with discomfort. Clearing his throat, he nodded formally. “Goodnight, Miss Tomblin.”
“Goodbye, Reverend.”
Stepping down, she went in, shut the gate behind her, and retreated down the gravel path. Her head was high, her back straight, and she didn’t look back even once. As her front door shut, blocking his view, it seemed as though all the color left the world. Even the vivid red breast of the robin that lit on the postern suddenly seemed leached of its brightness.
He’d done it. He’d driven her away. But Devlin felt no sense of accomplishment. Foolishly hoping to see her face appear at a window, he lingered a few minutes more. The robin sang out as twilight deepened, and a chill wind at last impelled him to seek the shelter of the vicarage.
Yes, he’d done what Daniel wanted. But it wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was for Mary Tomblin to look on him with affection again. He wanted to see the soft light of it in her eyes, to feel its warmth steal over him. He’d grown to care for her, enough that he hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but it had been impossible to part ways without some pain.