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But he and his fellow students were filled with zeal and saw no limitations to the harvest field.

But once he’d been ordained and served, first as a deacon and then as a vicar in a country church, he’d been confronted with the reality of complacent congregations resistant to any kind of change. They did not want their lives turned topsy-turvy. Those who did had already left for the Methodist chapel at the other end of town. They did not want that kind of emotional preaching in their own sanctuaries.

It had been a difficult and lonely time for Lancelot, his only support the letters from his old mentors and fellow students now scattered about the British Isles.

It had been one of those friends, who’d left as a chaplain for the East India Company, who had written asking him to come, telling him there was a massive field to sow in India. As soon as his curacy period was over, Lancelot had applied to the London Missionary Society and, to his amazement and awe, had been accepted, certain it was a sign of God’s will.

The voyage was long and arduous and fraught with dangers. Once he landed, he’d confronted a land so different from everything he’d ever known; he’d been overwhelmed.

How could a few men and women ever hope to change the hearts and minds of these people with their innumerable gods, their temples and pagodas dotting the countryside and cities, their slavish adherence to sometimes barbaric rituals?

Sickness and fever had plagued him almost from the first day and driven his spirits even lower.

He’d had to rely on God as never before, his soul frequently weak and despairing. Thankfully, he’d found sweet fellowship in
the small community of other Christians. Most surprising and eye-opening had been the community and collaboration among those sects viewed with disfavor back home. He’d worked closely with Baptist missionaries, traveling through the countryside, preaching the gospel and establishing Bible colleges.

He’d been forced to return after the last bout of fever had almost finished him. He doubted he could go back. The doctor had bluntly told him it would be the end of him. Neither would the missionary society accept him if his health was not good.

Since his convalescence he’d been waiting for a position to open somewhere in England. It could easily take years. In the meantime, his parents were pressuring him to marry.

He remembered his mother’s words last evening when the dinner guests had departed.

“Well, Lancelot, those were a pair of sweet young ladies you had me invite. No portion either of them, I’m sure,” she added in a dry tone, “and you with a vicar’s living will be as poor as church mice, but I’d prefer you choose one of them than remain a bachelor.”

“Since I have no plans to marry either of them, I have no idea what their portion is.”

She heaved an impatient sigh. “But you must marry
someone
, and as long as she is respectable, your father and I do not care if she is indigent or plain—only healthy and young enough to bear children.”

His father, who had said nothing until then, spoke up, “Your brother and Rosamunde are in their thirties.” He stood before the mantel in the drawing room and stared up at the portrait of the late baronet. “After ten years, I doubt they’ll begin a family now.” He looked at Lancelot over his shoulder. “All I know is God had the grace to spare you. Now it is your responsibility to beget an heir for this family.”

Before Lancelot could make a suitable reply, his mother added, “I shall endeavor to introduce your misses—what were their names?”

“Miss Barry and Miss Phillips,” he answered automatically, his heart still heavy with his father’s pronouncement. It was not that he didn’t wish to be married. Many times he’d yearned for a companion and helpmate. He’d seen with almost envy the strong partnerships some of the missionaries overseas had enjoyed with their spouses. But the life had been hard on the women, and he couldn’t have brought himself to ask a woman to sacrifice her life so. Thus, he’d chosen the single life throughout that time of seeking God and living for him. He hadn’t yet met the woman who shared his dedication in that area.

But now that he was home for good, he’d begun to reconsider his bachelor state. Yet, he didn’t wish to be pressured into a hasty marriage just because his parents were afraid they would be left without an heir.

Marriage was too sacred a covenant for Lancelot to go into without the certainty that God had chosen his mate for him.

“Yes—Misses Barry and Phillips—to the right circles,” his mother continued. “This will give you the opportunity to pursue an acquaintance and determine which one you prefer.”

“Yes, Mother,” he said quietly. He hated the whole business, but as he’d found with his mother over the years, it was easier to agree with her when she had made up her mind to something, and then simply go one’s own way.

It had been what he’d done when he’d decided to go to India.

In this case, he realized, it was in his interest to have his mother introduce Miss Barry and Miss Phillips to society, where he could continue his acquaintance with Miss Barry and see if she continued to interest him. Or if he could ever interest
her
—a much more daunting thought.

Jessamine sat at the breakfast table with Megan and Lady Bess, only half listening to them go over last night’s dinner party again. It was all they’d talked about on the ride home, past midnight.

As she buttered her toast, she ignored the names of the important members of society Lady Bess had spoken to, hadn’t seen in an age, and whose lives—births, deaths, weddings—she’d been able to catch up on during the evening.

But Jessamine’s thoughts had been fixed elsewhere ever since the dinner party. She’d thought long and hard about the lady who’d spoken to Megan about Brussels. Jessamine had continued to observe Lady Angelica Dawson when the ladies rose from the table, leaving the men to their port, and afterward when the men rejoined them in the drawing room.

Jessamine had found a seat closer to Lady Dawson. Even her name—Angelica—sounded French, like Céline. As soon as the gentlemen joined the ladies, she never had fewer than three gentlemen around her.

“Jessamine, are you all right? You’ve been awfully quiet since last night.” Megan’s voice intruded her thoughts.

“What?” She looked over the piece of toast still held at her lips unbitten. “Yes, I’m quite all right,” she assured her friend.

Lady Bess smiled. “Are you so wrapped up in thoughts of Mr. Marfleet that you aren’t hearing a word that goes on around you?”

Jessamine blinked, hardly remembering the vicar. “Mr. Marfleet? No—of course not.” She determined to nip that notion in the bud. “In fact, I thought it was Megan he took an interest in,” she added, hoping to turn the focus from herself.

Megan held up a hand to her breast, her gray eyes wide. “Me? I think you are being too modest. Mr. Marfleet sat with you at dinner after fobbing me off on Mr. Emery, a very pleasant though dull individual,” she said with an impish smile.

“Well, whoever Mr. Marfleet fancies is no concern of mine, since I don’t fancy him,” Jessamine replied with firmness. Mr. Marfleet might be the worthiest of young gentlemen, but she was no longer interested in impressing a worthy gentleman. She was interested in being a Lady Dawson, with a gaggle of men fawning over her.

“You don’t?” Lady Bess looked crestfallen beneath her lacy cap. “But he’s such a nice young man, even if he is a redhead.”

“If he is such a nice man, he will have no trouble at all in snagging any of the numerous young ladies out this season.”

“Are you sure you wish to relinquish him so quickly, my dear? He’s a most eligible young man, though he hasn’t much as a vicar.” Lady Bess’s face brightened. “But he is a baronet’s son. A pity there were not more eligible young men at Lady Marfleet’s dinner. But perhaps we’ll receive another invitation.” She tapped a finger to her lips, thinking aloud. “I could drop a line to one or two of the guests I spoke with last night.” She drew in another long breath. “There was a time when my drawing room was full. Alas, what age and a loss of fortune can do.”

She put on her reading glasses and picked up the
Morning Post
. Megan and Jessamine ate in silence while she opened the paper.

“Let me see if there is any mention of last night’s dinner.” She flipped through the pages and began to peruse the society columns. “There was a rout at Lord and Lady Brougham’s last night . . . the Duchess of Stathemore was seen at the Drury Lane in company of—” She cleared her throat and didn’t read on. “Oh—here it is. ‘A distinguished and lively gathering was seen at Sir Geoffrey and Lady Marfleet’s Grafton Street residence. A line of carriages lined the block into Bond Street.

“‘Lord Palmerston’s crest was spied on one carriage; Lord Grey walking up the steps in company of his wife the countess; and the divine Lady Angelica Dawson on the arm of Richard Cavendish, lately of Kingston, West Indies. We are sure the most scintillating conversation took place around her as she holds court wherever she goes.’”

Even the gossip columnist knew this!

“Who is she?” she ventured to ask Lady Bess.

Lady Bess lowered the paper to peer at Jessamine. “Who, my dear?”

“Lady Dawson.”

“Lady Dawson? She’s a widow of the late Sir Dawson, a baronet. He left her immensely wealthy and with entrée into all the best places. She was nothing when he met her but a young, penniless miss from the country. He was besotted when he first beheld her in a London drawing room and married her almost immediately. He was quite some years older and died a few years later. They had a child, a son, who is being brought up by a governess on their country estate.”

Lady Bess shook her head at the vagaries of the nobility. “Lady Dawson pursues a life among the ton in London and Brighton. I wouldn’t be surprised if she dashes off to Brussels as she said last night.” She glanced at Megan. “It was quite a compliment she paid you to take such an interest.”

Her words brought to mind the other thing that had kept Jessamine awake long after Megan had fallen asleep. “I didn’t know your brother was in Brussels.”

Megan colored. “Yes. A letter came only yesterday,” she hastened to say. “The congress received news of Napoleon’s escape almost a fortnight after he’d sailed from Elba. Rees writes of the great disarray this news put the members of the congress in.”

She turned to Lady Bess. “It was more than a week after Bonaparte’s landing in southern France that they were informed of his escape. My brother writes that everyone is in a panic. His letter is already a few weeks old. He sounded quite rushed. Wellington has just received orders to leave the congress and join the allied troops in Belgium when the congress hasn’t even concluded its business!”

“Goodness gracious, what is the world coming to?” Lady Bess clucked her tongue.

Megan kept her eyes fixed on Lady Bess as if unwilling to meet Jessamine’s gaze. “Rees sounded concerned in his letter. He said no one trusts Napoleon—neither the Prussians nor Austrians nor
Russians—and they want to be prepared to stop any ambitions he may still harbor.”

“Do they really expect war?” The whites of Lady Bess’s eyes were visible all around her aqua-green irises above her spectacles.

Megan gave a helpless shrug. “Rees doesn’t say. He only wrote that the congress passed a resolution before he left Vienna declaring Napoleon an ‘international outlaw.’ That was the wording he used.”

Lady Bess fanned herself with one of her letters. “So many years of war to face the possibility once more. I don’t think I could bear it!”

Megan sat back, her expression troubled. “My brother’s biggest concern is his wife, Céline. You see, she’s in a . . . in a family way.” She stumbled over the words, her glance flickering to Jessamine and away again.

Jessamine’s world collided in on itself. Rees and his French wife were expecting a child! She gazed down at her plate, everything blurring.

Lady Bess’s exclamations of delight and Megan’s quieter replies swirled around her.

Why was it so shocking? People married and babies followed. That was how it went. Jessamine clenched her fists under the tabletop, willing herself to calm, but her insides felt twisted. For a moment she was afraid she would be sick.

“Jessamine, are you all right?” Lady Bess’s solicitous voice came to her as from afar.

She stood, finding it hard to swallow, much less speak. “I’m sorry, I—I don’t feel well.”

Ignoring their expressions of concern, she hurried from the room.

She ran up the stairs to her room and flung herself across the bed.
Please, God, don’t let Megan follow me! I don’t—can’t—see her right now.
She curled into a ball, rocking back and forth, a fist
to her mouth, a pillow clutched to her breast, wanting only to blot out the image of Rees and his beautiful French bride.

Jessamine moaned, imagining his tender concern for her now that she would bear his child. That woman should have been Jessamine.

Why had he stopped loving her? She knew he had been fond of her—no, it was stronger than fondness. The last times Rees had visited her, he had shown a distinct preference for her company. He had sought her out. He had made his intentions clear by the look in his eyes, by his warm words. If not expressly those of a suitor, then certainly those of a man singling her out with that purpose.

Even her mother and Megan had remarked upon it. They had all been so happy with the thought of the two families joining through marriage. Jessamine had been content to wait until Rees felt able to marry. She had heard him say more than once over the years that he wouldn’t think of marriage until he had enough saved up to take care of his mother and Megan’s coming-out. But in that last year before he’d met that Frenchwoman, he had told Jessamine that he had saved enough money to think about settling down very soon.

Then everything had changed. He’d gotten an assignment in Lady Wexham’s household and ended up falling in love with her—a woman who had more than likely been a spy against the British even though nothing had ever been proven.

The tears came hot, squeezed from her eyes and running down her cheeks, soaking her pillow. All the tears she had suppressed since that last visit of his when he had gently killed all Jessamine’s hopes and dreams.