by Mary Balogh
"I really did not wish for any fuss," she was telling him. "I did not even know that my birth date was known, and I planned to keep very quiet about it. Apparently Rachel remembered. I feel quite embarrassed. I don't think one-and-twenty is an age to be extremely proud of."
"Or ashamed of, surely," David said. "One's age is something over which one has no control whatsoever. Look at it this way, Miss Barnes. People love to have an excuse to celebrate. You have given everyone here that excuse by having the kind forethought to be born on this particular date."
"Ah, the voice of good sense," she said. "How do your parish duties go, Mr. Gower? Do tell me about them."
David described his days to her, omitting nothing of the long hours he spent traveling around his parish, the two nights when he had been called from home to a sickbed, the time spent at his desk reading and praying and preparing his sermons, the early mornings spent in the church saying matins for a handful of worshipers. He did nothing to glamorize his situation or to make the tasks seem less onerous than they were.
"I believe you must be quite dedicated to your work, sir," Celia said. "Do you not find yourself becoming overtired, working all hours of the day and night?"
"The truth is," he said, "that sometimes I feel guilty at how easy the work seems. When I sit talking to a lonely parishioner, for example, I am so happy to see his face light up with the joy of company that I feel as if I should be jumping up in order to get on to some real work. No, I have not suffered from undue fatigue yet. And how are you enjoying Oakland, ma'am? It is quite unusual, is it not, to have two such splendid mansions within three miles of each other?"
They talked on, their conversation easy, if somewhat dull. David found himself testing his feelings for Miss Barnes, wondering if an alliance between them would help dull the ache of an unattainable love.
***
Rachel was sitting on the bank of the river hugging her knees, even though Lady Mountford had just warned her that the grass was probably still damp and she would catch a chill. Mr. Holland sat on one side of her, Lord Morrison on the other. Mr. Hart stood behind them. Rachel was laughing merrily.
"Mr. Hart has declared that he would kneel down on the bank and stretch out a hand for me if I fell in," she said, "and then carry me back to the house. Mr. Holland would dive right into the water to save me. And what would you be prepared to do, my lord, if I should have the misfortune to tumble into the river?"
"Be assured, ma'am," Lord Morrison replied, "that I should remove my coat while Holland was in the water, allow Hart to haul you out, and then wrap you in a warm, dry coat and convey you to the house with all speed."
They all laughed. "And I would be left to soak unrewarded in the river," Mr. Holland said.
"Ah, but Mr. Hart would be there with a hand to help you out," Rachel reminded him, laughing.
Mr. Gower was walking with Celia, she could see. She felt guilty monopolizing the attention of three gentlemen. She just could not seem to avoid doing so. When they had driven over from Oakland, she had been careful to see that Celia shared her barouche with Sir Herbert Fanshawe and Mr. Hart. And she had tried very hard to curb her tongue so that she would not dominate the conversation. She had grabbed at Algie's arm as soon as they reached Singleton Hall so that she would walk with him to the river and Celia would have her choice of two escorts.
She had tried very hard. But somehow, when they finally began to make their way to the picnic site, she had found that Celia was on Algie's arm and she herself had an arm linked through both Sir Herbert's and Mr. Hart's. She must remember to scold Algie for being so shortsighted as to deprive Celia of other escorts. He was being kind, of course. But that was no way to find Celia a husband.
And now the worst had happened. Oh, she must not feel that way, Rachel thought guiltily. If she put aside her own feelings, she would have to admit that Celia and David Gower would make the perfect match. She should be delighted that they were together now, strolling away down the bank. She should not be feeling sick.
Rachel laughed gaily. "You would all have me full to bursting," she declared, looking around at her three escorts. "If each of you brings me a plate of food as you are offering to do, how am I to eat it all? I think I must solve the problem by throwing off my indolence, getting to my feet, and going to the tables myself. Mr. Hart, you may have the pleasure of helping me to my feet. Thank you, sir." She giggled and swept him a deep curtsy. "My lord, your arm, please?"
Celia and David Gower were also approaching the tables. Algernon intercepted them and drew Celia's arm through his.
"It is time you cut your birthday cake, Miss Barnes," he said, "before all of us have filled ourselves so full with other food that we have no room left."
"Oh, must I do that?" Celia asked, looking up at him in some alarm. "Cannot someone else cut the cake?"
"Once you have plunged in the knife, yes," Algernon said. "But you must make the first cut. One of the penalties of being the guest of honor, y'know."
"Oh," said Celia.
"Come," Algernon said. "You may hold on to my arm so that you do not collapse from the strain of so much public attention." He drew his shoulders back, lifted his chin, and viewed the world along the length of his nose.
Celia laughed. "I could not feel safer with a whole company of soldiers," she said. "Do you suppose it was His Grace of Wellington's nose that frightened the French into submission at Waterloo?"
Algernon threw back his head and barked with laughter. "What a novel theory," he said. "We will have to write a book on military strategy, ma'am. We must call it How to Nose Out Victory."
Celia laid a finger against her cheek and looked thoughtful. "A Comparative Study of the Facial Appendages of Victorious and Vanquished Generals Through History would be far more imposing," she said. "Or perhaps Great British Naval and Nasal Victories."
They were both convulsed with laughter when Lady Edgeley joined them to suggest that it was time for Celia to cut her birthday cake.
David had wandered over to the table when Algernon took Celia's arm. Rachel, turning abruptly from the food, her plate filled to her satisfaction, found herself face-to-face with him. She felt herself flush despite herself.
"Mr. Gower," she said, "how do you do? I have been wishing to speak with you."
His eyebrows rose as his eyes smiled down at her. "Have you?" he said. "Shall we take a stroll? The table seems somewhat popular at the moment."
"I shall wait for you to fill a plate," Rachel said, but he shook his head and they wandered back to the bank of the river and began to stroll beside it, in the opposite direction from that he had taken with Celia earlier.
"I do believe you are trying to edge me out of a job," David said when they were clear of the chatter of the largest group of guests. "When I arrived at the Perkinses' cottage yesterday afternoon, it was to find that my offerings were to take second place to your cakes."
"Oh." Rachel flashed him a smile. "That is what I wished to talk to you about. You were not hurt, were you?"
He grinned. "Not at all," he said. "The cake I was made to sample was quite delicious. And I must say that it is a good thing that the Perkinses have produced five sons and only three daughters. The cottage would have rivaled a London ball for color if there had been any more hair ribbons in evidence."
Rachel laughed outright. "Does not the little one look thoroughly comical in hers?" she said. "She is all hair ribbon and almost no hair. Mrs. Perkins said that she had to almost fight with the child to remove it when she went to bed the night before. It is so easy to delight such children. Three lengths of hair ribbon merely. One would have thought I had brought them a boxful of precious jewels."
"Oh, but you did," David said. "The ribbons are very precious to the girls. Even more so is the fact that they are a personal gift from Lady Rachel Palmer herself."
"Oh, nonsense," Rachel said. "There is nothing so very special about me."
"There you are wrong," he said. "You are the embodiment of
beauty and grace and perfection to those children."
Rachel smiled and offered her plate to him. David shook his head.
"Old Mrs. Perkins was every bit as happy as the children," he said, his eyes smiling down at her as she bit into a lobster patty. "I would imagine that there has not been so much excitement in her life for many years, if ever. You had been there, Rachel, with a book. And you had read from it just for her, though everyone else crowded into the room too to listen. Where on earth did you get the inspiration to do something so wonderful? Do you fully realize what a glorious day you created for that old lady?"
"Oh, come," Rachel said. "You exaggerate. I merely read to her from the Bible."
"And she wept telling me about it," David said. "What did you read?"
"Ruth's decision to follow Naomi back to Judah," Rachel said. "It was the only story of the Bible she could remember. It was read at church a few days after her marriage, apparently, and it suited her feelings at the time."
"Ah, yes," David said. "It is one of the truly beautiful passages of the Old Testament: 'Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go.' "
Rachel joined him. " 'And where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.' "
They smiled at each other. Rachel found suddenly that she could eat no more.
"She said you will read to her again," David said gently. "Will you?"
"Yes," she said. "I think you were right. There is a great satisfaction in visiting the poorer people and bringing help where one can. Though the benefits do not work all one way. I do not pretend that my visits involve any self-sacrifice. These people are my friends. I gain more happiness from them than I give, I daresay."
His smile spread slowly from his eyes to his mouth. "Precisely!" he said. "Rachel, there are other old people too. I wonder if they would like to be read to as well. In their conversation they love to live in the past. Perhaps the world of the mind and the imagination becomes more attractive when the body becomes weary. Books would provide another activity for their minds."
"Those children," Rachel said, frowning. "They help with the household chores a great deal. I have always noticed that they have very little else to do. Life in all its richness does pass them by, does it not?"
"Perhaps you will have more inspiration," David said. "In fact, I have quite decided that you are the angel I have been praying for every day since I came here."
Rachel looked up at him to find his eyes twinkling. He grinned outright when she smiled.
"Oh," she said, "you are making fun of me. But I shall have the last laugh, you know, when I suddenly sprout wings."
"And a halo," he said. "You must not forget the halo."
"After all," Rachel said gaily, "who needs ribbons? I might as well give them all away. How many children are there in this parish, David? Female ones, I mean."
***
"Perhaps Sir Herbert is something of a spendthrift," Rachel said. "But I must admit, Algie, that I had not heard before now that he has an addiction to gambling. Is it really true? 'Addiction' is a very strong word, you know. Are you sure that he does not just indulge in it as a pastime because he is still young and unsettled?"
"It all amounts, to the same thing, Rache," Algernon said. "Only time will tell if he will grow out of it or not. In the meantime, it would be safer not to encourage an attachment between him and Miss Barnes. She deserves better. Besides, I have not noticed that either one of them has any partiality for the other."
"Hm." Rachel looked thoughtful. She and Algernon were strolling arm in arm through the trees on their way back from the river to the house. They were a few minutes behind all the other guests, Algernon having stayed to give instructions to the servants. "You may be right, Algie. But I have so set my heart on helping her find a husband before she goes back home again. And he is a pleasant enough man. What do you think of Mr. Hart, then?"
"That he enjoys sighing over you, Rache," he said, "and imagines himself doomed to a tragic fate because you will not take him seriously. The man is well-named."
"Oh, dear," Rachel said. "I really do not do anything to entice him, you know."
Algernon gave her a sidelong look. "Rache," he said, "ensnaring men is the breath of life to you when you have nothing better to do with your time."
"Oh," she said, pulling her hand from his arm and coloring up indignantly. "What a dreadful thing to say. Are you implying that I am a flirt, my lord?"
"No, I am not," Algernon said, looking at her along the length of his nose. "And what is this 'my lord' business all of a sudden?"
Indignation left Rachel as fast as it had come. "Oh, don't look at me in that ridiculous lordly manner, Algie," she said. "You know that it does not awe me in the least. It merely makes you look silly. But you do not really think I am a flirt, do you? I do not mean to be, you know. I cannot seem to help the fact that gentlemen gather around me wherever I go."
"It's just your nature, Rache," he said in a consolatory manner.
Rachel's eyes looked troubled. She had stopped walking and was gazing up at him. "Algie," she said, "all I really want is you, you know. I would not care if I never set eyes on another man as long as we could be married and live here together. I just want to make you happy. You do believe that, do you not? I do love you."
"Rache," he said, laying a hand on her shoulder and giving it a comradely squeeze, "I thought we had agreed not to talk like this while all your guests are here. And don't take to heart what I have been saying. I have been teasing you. You are quite perfect the way you are, you know."
"Am I?" Rachel gazed up at him forlornly. "I think you had better be very strict with me when we are married, Algie. Don't let me flirt. You must beat me if necessary."
Algernon looked searchingly at her, his face unsmiling. "Don't talk this way, Rache," he said. "And what is troubling you now? What has brought on all this self-castigation?"
She shrugged and stared numbly at him for a moment. "I don't know," she said. "Sometimes I think I should not have gone to London at all. I was happy before I went."
"And you are not happy now?" he asked.
"Yes," she said fiercely. "I am very happy, Algie, because I am back here again and we are going to be betrothed soon. We are, are we not? But I have learned some things about myself, you see, and I am not sure that I like myself a great deal."
Algernon looked searchingly into her eyes for a few moments before pulling her against him and wrapping his arms comfortingly around her. "What a little goose you are, Rache," he said. "I like you even if you don't, you know."
"I wanted these weeks to be happy for Celia," she said. "I wanted to make sure that at least one of the gentlemen would see what a gem she really is. And look what happened this afternoon. You stepped in to escort her to the river because you wished to be kind, and I ended up flirting with three of the eligible gentlemen down by the river." She moved away from him and straightened her bonnet.
"You are not responsible for Miss Barnes, Rache," Algernon said. "She is older than you are and quite capable of ordering her own life, as far as I can see. Certainly she shows good taste in displaying no interest in any of those guests you invited. Jeremy is a friend of mine, I own, but not suited to your friend, Rache. Not by any means. Now, David perhaps would be a good match for her. You might try to throw those two together rather more often."
"No!" Rachel said sharply. "Can you not see, Algie, that they are not suited at all? They are far too similar in temperament. They would never share so much as a laugh."
"You are probably right," he said. "Miss Barnes has quite a sense of humor when one gets to know her. Perhaps she would live rather too dull a life with David. She needs someone who can bring her out of her shell and set her to talking. Can't say I know anyone who would be just right for her. But then she is not our problem, Rache. Indeed, I don't believe we have any right to be plotting and scheming about her future."
&nbs
p; "So you have noticed that Celia is not as dull as she somehow appears in public," Rachel said, smiling at him in delight. "I am so glad, Algie. I might have known that you would appreciate her. Now, if we could only find another man like you for her."
"I wish I could find someone for David," Algernon said. "I don't like the thought of his living alone at the vicarage. It's a tomb of a place. He wouldn't hear of living at Singleton Hall, of course. Pride, I suppose. But he must live a dull and lonely life, Rache."
"I think his devotion to his faith brings him quite sufficient happiness," Rachel said. "Perhaps he does not even feel the need of a wife."
"He needs someone who shares his strange vision of life," Algernon said. "Someone who is as careless as he of material comforts. And someone with high spirits to prevent his from sinking into gloom. I wouldn't think there is such a woman, is there, Rache? You are likely right. David will probably never marry."
They emerged finally from the trees onto the lawn to see that the carriages were assembled on the terrace ready to take the Oakland party back to the house.
David Gower, having handed Celia into one of the barouches, turned to smile at Rachel and Algernon.
Yes, perhaps it would be possible, Rachel thought, to risk loving him. Perhaps she could learn to admire and respect him only. Perhaps she could learn lessons for her own life and happiness from his devotion to living his faith. Perhaps she could learn to be his dear friend.
Perhaps if she kept working at it and working at it, this very physical ache of love and longing would finally be dulled.
Chapter 9
rachel's days fell into a pattern much as they had done when she was in London. The mornings were hers in which to do almost as she pleased. Quite frequently Celia was up before noon, and usually some of the gentlemen were downstairs and looking for some activity. But generally the gentlemen found something to do together, riding out if the weather permitted, playing billiards or cards if it did not. And Celia preferred reading or writing letters to joining her friend outdoors. During the afternoons there was usually some group activity: a walk, a ride, a picnic, a drive to some place of interest. The evenings were occupied with music, charades, conversation, cards, and sometimes even dancing in the drawing room.