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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.”