by Mary Balogh
And there was her exuberance, her silliness, her frivolity. She undoubtedly expended a great deal of energy on trivialities. And her conversation was less than profound. The temptation was to dismiss her as a foolish, empty-headed young girl who was centered entirely on self. And yet he could not be satisfied that this was Lady Rachel either. There was a vibrance about the girl, and some inner force or restlessness that defied explanation.
And he did not even know why he wished to explain her. Was it because she was to be his parishioner and he knew that he must get to know her eventually? Yet he did not feel the same compulsion with her parents, and they would be just as much his parishioners. David would have far preferred to see a great deal less of Lady Rachel. He would have been more comfortable without knowing her.
And now he had a garden party to look forward to. There was nothing very remarkable about that except that the party was in his honor. It was all very embarrassing really. His godmother lived in Richmond, and he had paid a call on her on his arrival in London. He had done so from choice as well as duty, as he had always been fond of her. Indeed as a boy he had frequently spent holidays with her and the late Lord Wexford, and they had always sent him lavish gifts at Christmas and for his birthdays.
She was almost crippled with rheumatism and was a frequent victim of chills and coughs, she had told him. Indeed on the day she had received him David had felt that she should have been in bed. And yet a mere few days later she had sent a letter telling him-not asking him-that she was going to give a garden party in his honor. He had no chance to protest. The invitations had gone out the same day.
And she was remarkably well-informed, he had discovered. The Earl of Edgeley and his family and Algie had all been invited. David felt uneasy about the whole thing. Apart from that one visit on his arrival in London, a visit he had cut short out of concern for her health, he had not seen her for three years. She really did not know him now. He was no longer the sort of person for whom one gave a lavish party.
***
Rachel was wearing a rose-pink muslin dress, its hem scalloped and embroidered in a deeper pink, its sash of a matching shade. Her straw hat was held in place by a wide pink ribbon that passed over the crown, drew the sides of the brim against her ears, and tied in a dashing bow beneath her right cheek. She felt very fetching and had drawn a compliment from Lady Wexford on her arrival at the garden party.
It was an outfit that she had been keeping for a special occasion. And what more special occasion could there be than a garden party in Richmond on a perfect late-spring afternoon? Especially when Algie was going to be there to admire her. He always appreciated fashionable clothes. And more especially when she knew that the Marquess of Stanford was to be there and had expressed his gratification to know that she was to be in attendance too.
Rachel was very pleased with the progress of that particular relationship. He had sent flowers to her the morning after the Simpson ball and visited in the afternoon. He had singled her out for attention several times since. Indeed, she had heard that they had become quite an on-dit about town. The marquess just was not known to show such interest in any lady of the ton.
She was elated. She could not have hoped for any greater sign of success. At the same time, she was cautious. She did not wish to appear too eager to receive his attentions. She did not want to appear foolish if his interest in her faded as fast as it had arisen. Besides, she was conscious of the fact that he was a great deal older than she and that he treated her with a charming indulgence, almost as if he dealt with a child. She was not at all sure yet that she wished to marry the marquess. And she was equally aware of his own caution. Apart from that one visit after the Simpson ball, he had spent only a few minutes at each function in her company.
And the same thing had happened at the garden party. He had greeted her as she strolled with her parents and Celia down by the river, out of sight of the house and the upper lawn, where Lady Wexford presided and the tables were spread with refreshments. He had taken her arm and walked with her for ten minutes, amusing her with a description of a riverboat race in which he had once participated and been tipped into the water. And then he had returned her to her parents, bowed over her hand, and disappeared in the direction of the house again.
Rachel was not disappointed. She did not want him with her all afternoon. Algie was coming toward the river, and she waved her parasol gaily in his direction. He lifted her hand to his lips when he came up with them and complimented her on her appearance, did the same to Celia, drew an arm of each through his, and proceeded to stroll with them back along the riverbank again.
Algernon and Celia talked. Rachel did not. She could not seem to keep her head from turning in the direction of the hidden house and upper lawn. Had Mr. Gower not come with Algie? But he must have. He was the guest of honor. Of course, as such he would doubtless have to stay close to Lady Wexford. He probably would not come down to the river at all. But she could not concentrate on the conversation, and she could not stop her eyes from turning in the direction from which he would come, if he came.
"Shall we cross to those trees?" Algernon suggested. "I see General and Mrs. Harding over there. I played cards with him the other evening. Very decent sort of fellow."
Celia turned obediently.
Rachel drew her arm free. "You two go," she said. "I would really far prefer to return to the upper lawn. To tell the truth, Algie, I am starved. I shall follow Mama and Papa up to the house. No, no." She held up a hand and smiled dazzlingly at the other two, who had both turned back. "Don't let me spoil your pleasure. I should feel guilty if I dragged you back with me. And the Hardings may think you are trying to avoid them. I shall be with Mama in but a moment. There will be no impropriety at all."
She whisked herself around and began to stride purposefully up the slope before the other two could make any protest. She smiled brightly at the other strollers she passed.
But she stopped before she reached the top of the rise that would bring the house into full view. What was she doing? The hunger story was, of course, false. She was going in search of Mr. Gower. She was being more foolish than she had thought it possible for her to be. The man had shown no interest in her from that first day on. He treated her with the merest courtesy only, he had shown a marked preference for Celia. And she knew with her rational mind that it was right that it be so. Celia was eminently suited to life as a vicar's wife. The thought of herself in that role was ludicrous.
Why, then, was it that she could not put him from her mind? Why was it that she counted the hours until she might next expect to set eyes on him? Why must she be developing an obsession for the one man who seemed quite uninterested in her? Was that the attraction? Would she lose interest in him if he would just show some in her?
She should be wholeheartedly wishing for an attachment between Mr. Gower and Celia. There was much in favor of such an attachment. She loved her friend. She wanted her to be happy. And she would have her close to Oakland if Celia married the vicar. But she could not wish for such a thing, Rachel thought in an agony. She could not.
Rachel's steps slowed. She must not go on. If she did, she would see him on the upper lawn and she might well begin to make a thorough cake of herself. People would begin to notice that she was pursuing the new vicar of her home parish and that he was in no way interested in her. She glanced back down the slope to the distant figures of Algie and Celia, standing with the general and his wife. She could not return to them. Her behavior would seem decidedly peculiar.
There were trees close to her on the right. They looked to be deserted. Perhaps she could lose herself among them for a while until she could feel sure that Algie and Celia had come back up to join the main party. In fact, Rachel thought as she walked far enough into the thicket to be out of sight of those people strolling on the lower lawn, it was an inspired idea. She had not realized just how much she was missing her life in the country and the frequent opportunities for solitude.
Rachel loved company, it was true. But it was equally true that she loved to be alone, especially when out-of-doors. It was during such times that she experienced her favorite and her most frustrating feeling, that feeling of excitement and exhilaration welling to the surface and sometimes even spilling over so that she was forced to run or to dance, to shout or to sing. The only thing she did not like about such feelings was that she could never explain them to herself. There was the exuberance, the reaching out for something more valuable than anything else in life or beyond it. But what was that something? She had often stood with her arms outstretched, her face lifted to the sky, and longed and longed for... what?
This was not quite such a moment, but it was very welcome, nonetheless, the unexpected interval of quiet peace. The little stream bubbling over the uneven ground was the item that finally took her mind completely away from the garden party and her dreadful infatuation for a man who should be no concern of hers whatsoever.
Two minutes after spotting the stream, Rachel was sitting beside it, her hat discarded on the ground at her side, her dress pulled safely up to her knees, so that it would not get wet, and her slippered feet resting on a large rounded stone over and around which the icy-cold stream gurgled its way to the river below. Her weight was braced on her hands behind her. She was humming a tune and watching her tapping toes.
***
David had indeed been detained on the upper lawn. He had deliberately stayed with his godmother for a while, taking her arm, leading her to a chair in the shade, and scolding her for putting herself to the trouble of arranging such an entertainment for him.
"Nonsense!" she said. "You know you are the son I never had. Or the grandson, rather. It is no compliment, is it, Davy lad, to be told that you might have been my son? Now, to business. You are to come to live with me immediately, my boy, and we will find genteel employment for you."
David smiled down at her. "I told you when I called on you, Godmama," he said, "that my cousin has given me the living of Singleton. I am most fortunate. And I shall be starting my work there at the beginning of summer."
"That is nonsense, of course," she said. "You would die of boredom in such a life within a month, Davy. I have been thinking about the matter, and I have decided to bring you to the attention of my friend Bishop Haines. He will find something more suitable for you here."
It took David many minutes of patient talk to persuade his godmother that indeed he had no wish for the appointment that she was convinced she could make possible for him. She seemed still not to believe at the end of their conversation that he really wished to begin his work in a country parish, longed to make a start, in fact.
"You are a proud and stubborn boy, Davy," she said at last, laying a gnarled hand on his arm. "You always were, I remember. I had forgotten that. But enough. This is a party. Let me introduce you to some people who might be useful to you when you do decide to settle in town."
And David had to be content to leave her unconvinced. And he was forced to spend another half-hour conversing with the people who she deemed would be useful to him. At the end of that time his face was stiff from smiling and he felt weary from the unaccustomed social activity. He longed to see a familiar face. Where was Algie? he wondered. But even greater than the desire to see someone he knew was the need for peace and quiet.
There was a thicket running down the eastern side of the grounds, and if he remembered correctly, there was a small stream trickling through it down to the river. He could imagine no more pleasant diversion at the moment than to go and find it. If only no other guests had decided to stroll that way! He slipped among the trees when he thought no one was observing him, feeling only a slight pang of guilt. No one would miss him for half an hour.
Chapter 4
David almost did not disturb Rachel. He recognized her instantly despite her dishabille and despite the fact that she was more than half turned away from him. He had no wish to exchange any more bright social chatter with anyone for a while that afternoon. Certainly not with this particular beautiful little widgeon. But something held him to the spot when his mind told him to turn and make his escape before she spotted him.
She looked so amazingly out of character. He had seen her always as a creature of society. He would not have expected the girl to have an original thought in her head. She should be out on the lawn, taking dainty bites out of a sandwich, flirting discreetly with Stanford and every gentleman who glanced her way, not sitting hatless on the grass beside the stream. And with her dress above her knees, displaying very shapely legs. And toes tapping in time to the tune she hummed.
And it was the tune that intrigued him most. "A mighty fortress is our God," she hummed. "Da da da da da dum de da da." And after the flourish of the second line she resumed the humming. A hymn tune. Martin Luther, no less. Most out of character, he would guess.
Amusement finally got the better of discretion. "Da da da da dum de dum de da da," he finished with her, and grinned as she turned sharply in his direction. "Are you not afraid of getting your slippers wet, Lady Rachel?"
"Oh," she said, "you did startle me. I had quite forgotten where I was. No, I am afraid I have not spared a thought to my slippers. They are quite dry, though." She blushed hotly and edged her dress over her knees and down her legs, hoping that their bareness had not been too noticeable from where he stood.
Rachel felt immediate guilt. It seemed that she was not to win that victory over temptation after all. But, she thought determinedly, she was going to behave herself. She was not going to use her charms on Mr. Gower or chatter brightly in order to entrance him. She was going to be her own more sensible self and there would be no danger whatsoever that he would succumb to the general male tendency to worship her.
Almost against his will David crossed the space that lay between them and looked down at the bubbling stream. "I knew this was here," he said. "I came in search of a moment's peace. Did you?"
"No," she admitted, "but I recognized it immediately when I found it. I like being alone. Just thinking and enjoying nature. Sometimes one tires of having to be gay all the time."
He looked down at her in some surprise. "It is the smiling that tires me," he confided. "One becomes afraid that the expression will become habitual and one will be doomed to go around for the rest of one's life grinning like an idiot."
Rachel laughed. "But you are always smiling anyway," she said.
He grimaced to give the lie to her words. "You mean it has happened already?" he asked in mock horror.
"Oh, no." Rachel laughed again, in delight. "I did not mean a social smile." She regarded him for a moment, her head to one side, "It comes from inside, I think. Even when your face is in repose, as it is now, there is a smile behind your eyes. And on your lips. I cannot explain exactly."
He stooped down on his haunches beside her. "You terrify me," he said with a more open smile. "Can you read my mind too?"
"No," she said, embarrassed suddenly. "But I think you are a happy man. Are you?"
He did not answer for a moment. He looked at her with close scrutiny. "Yes, I am," he said quietly. "Strange. My godmother has just been telling me how unhappy I must be to be going to a parish in the country. Perhaps she has not looked as deeply into my eyes as you have."
He wished he could have recalled that last sentence even as it came from his mouth. He had not meant it to sound the way it did. It sounded flirtatious and provocative. And she obviously thought so too. She blushed deeply.
And their eyes became locked. Neither seemed capable of looking away.
"How could she not?" Rachel said after a tense pause. "They are beautiful and compelling eyes." And it was her turn to hear with dismay the words she had spoken.
The little thicket suddenly seemed very quiet and very secluded, and the distance between them uncomfortably close. David swallowed noticeably and got hurriedly to his feet.
"This party is in my honor," he said. "I must not disappoint my godmother by staying away any
longer."
Rachel scrambled to her feet beside him and caught at his sleeve. "Please," she said in a rush, "I did not mean anything by what I said. I believe you do not approve of me. I have sensed it ever since we met, and I regret it. You think me silly, do you not? And forward. And you are quite right. I am very often both when I am with other people. But I did not mean anything just now. I was not really flirting with you."
His eyes had widened. He took her hand in both of his and held it tightly. "I did not think it," he said, looking earnestly into her eyes. "And I have not disliked you. Perhaps I have thought you a little giddy, but I see now how unjust I was to form such a hasty opinion. Forgive me. You are to be one of my parishioners, and I shall be responsible for your spiritual welfare. I wish to be your friend. I did not think you flirted any more than I did. Come, smile at me and tell me that we will be friends."
Rachel smiled. "Friends," she agreed, and withdrew her hand discreetly from between his. But he could not have looked very deeply into her eyes, she thought, or he would have seen the guilty truth there. It was true. It was no longer to be denied. She was in love with him, head over heels, topsy-turvy in love. Adoration. Obsession. A physical, throbbing ache. A moment longer with her hand in his and she would have flung the other arm around his neck and drawn his face down to hers. A man she could never even dream of trying to attach as a husband. What a wicked trick of fate!
"Have you eaten?" he was asking. "Let us go in search of some tea, shall we?" He held out an arm for hers.