Lydia’s Story #6
He flushed. “Is it not obvious?”
“If it were, I would not be asking.”
“I find you very appealing.”
“I beg your pardon?” My surprise quickly gave way to outrage. Reality slammed through me, and the vicar’s daily visits took on an unsavory twist. So that was what he was after. I should have known. “Just because I am a widow with a scandalous past, that does not mean I want to entertain men.”
“What?” He gaped at me. “That is not my intent at all.”
I stomped out of the garden and into the house, eager to slam the door in his face. But his scuffed black boot appeared in the door to prevent it from closing. Instead, it bounced open. I flounced away from him into the kitchen. “Go away.”
He followed me. “I cannot allow you to believe that I have the worst of intentions. My aims are completely honorable.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I am thirty-four. A parish expects its vicar to be married.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“You are a widow. I find you to be most amiable.”
“You want to marry me?” I asked incredulously.
“Of course,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What else? Do you think I would spend hours gardening for just anyone? It might not be the most conventional way to court a woman, but I hoped it would help me capture your heart.”
“Capture my heart? Are you mad?” As if it wasn’t bad enough that Darcy and Lizzy pitied me. “I am not your charity case.”
His eyes sparked, and his smile was slow. “Taking you to wife would most definitely have nothing to do with charity.”
Heat flushed through my body. I backed up against the kitchen table. “I do not understand.”
“I have admired you since I was eleven. At thirteen, I was heartbroken when Wickham stole you away before we came of age, depriving me of the chance to win your heart.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Thirteen-year-olds know nothing of matters of the heart. I thought I loved Wickham, and it ruined my life.”
“You may have noticed that I am no longer thirteen.” His voice was a low rumble that vibrated through me.
“I am a grown man who knows what he wants with complete certainty. When we became reacquainted after all these years, I realized I still find you as appealing as ever. Perhaps even more so. And our time together in the garden has only served to deepen my feelings.”
“But,” I spluttered, “a vicar cannot marry a woman like me!”
He stepped closer. “Whyever not?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I am not respectable. You need to wed a young lady with an unblemished reputation.”
“I have had such opportunities. Squire Worsley once hoped I’d wed his daughter.”
Jealousy, hot and potent, slashed through me. “Miss Worsley is an only child. She stands to inherit everything.”
“The only woman who interests me is standing right here.”
His ardent manner flustered, and flattered, me. “But we are barely acquainted.”
“I know you well enough.”
“Perhaps working in the sun these last few days has affected your judgment.”
He smiled. “You have been in my thoughts since the day we met again. Why do you think I returned your basket the other day?”
“Because you wanted me to refill it?”
“No. I knew you were entertaining a potential suitor. I lost my chance once before when Wickham came between us. I refuse to lose my opportunity again by allowing another man to steal you away before I declare myself.”
It took me a moment to digest his words. “Have you been drinking, Vicar?”
He laughed. “My name is Michael, and no, I have not imbibed spirits of any kind.”
The intensity of his gaze threatened to blaze a path straight to my heart. I looked away. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you will at least consider my offer.”
“I vowed never to remarry.”
“Why?”
“Because Wickham was a terrible husband. He was a gambler and a philanderer. He was never home.”
“I am neither a gamer nor a cheater. When not busy with church business, I will be home.”
He stepped close enough that the lemony scent of his shaving soap filled my nostrils. My knees lost their strength. What was happening to me? I settled my hips against the kitchen table.
“I would treat you with the kindness, care, and respect you deserve,” he said. “I have long admired you. I believe that I might already love you. Most fervently.”
“Stop saying such impossible things!”
“Why does it surprise you that a man could admire you?”
“Because I am not a lovable person. My husband never loved me. My own father had no use for me.”
“You are very deserving of love.” He pressed his lips against my temple.
“And you have mine.” My skin burned with sensation at the feel of his mouth against my flesh.
“Promise me that you will at least consider my offer. Think of the advantages of choosing me over Mr. Wilson. I am considerably younger… and more vigorous.”
The following morning I awoke full of hope. I’d pledged never to remarry, but Michael made me reconsider. I could not help wondering what it would be like to be the wife of such a man, who was decent and generous. A man who made my blood swirl.
I even hummed as I made myself a cup of tea and wondered what Lizzy would say.
I would take satisfaction in telling her that a man of quality, a young, handsome man of virtue, wanted to make me his wife.
I could imagine her surprise that a man like Mr. Wilson, who was old enough to be my father, was not my only option.
But was I really considering remarrying?
I was.
And the thought of it made excitement course through my veins. I prepared a quick breakfast of tea and toast before going to check on the garden. I reached down to pull an errant weed when a supercilious male voice sounded behind me.
“Mrs. Wickham, I presume?”
“I am she.” Facing the well-dressed man, I wondered who he could be. He was in his forties, with a flushed round face. How had I gone from receiving no visitors, outside of family, to this constant stream of people appearing on my doorstep?
“I am Squire Worsley.”
I immediately recognized the name. This man was Michael’s benefactor. Worsley was the village magistrate and largest local landowner. He’d given Michael the church living in Castleberry. “How do you do?”
“Not very well, I am afraid. Do you have a moment to speak?”
I could not imagine what business a man of the squire’s influence could have with me. “Of course. Would you care to come in?”
He made a moue of distaste. He possessed full, wet lips. “I suppose it is necessary because I do require a word with you.”
I took an immediate dislike to the man and his high-handed manner, but he was Michael’s employer, so I forced myself to behave in a courteous manner. I led him to my tiny parlor. “May I offer you some tea?”
He pursed his lips. “No, thank you. This is not a social call.”
“What kind of call is it?”
“One in which I attempt to talk sense into you.”
“Into me?” I asked, confused.
“You are aware that Michael Haddad serves as the vicar of Castleberry at my pleasure.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
“It has come to my attention that he hopes to make you his wife.”
“It has?” Despite my surprise, I forced myself to maintain a neutral expression. “Where did you hear that?”
“Do you deny that he has made you an offer?”
“I will neither confirm nor deny it.”
His eyes flashed. “You are impertinent.”
“I cannot imagine where you would have heard such a thing.” I could not fathom Michael telling anyone, especially considering that I had yet to accept his offer.
“The vicar informed me that he hopes to marry soon. Although he did not name the… erm… female he has in mind, it has been noted by many that the vicar has recently made several visits to your home.”
I shouldn’t be surprised that the townspeople had noticed Michael working in the garden with me. I barely contained my temper. “If you are suggesting that anything untoward has occurred—”
“I am not. I know the vicar to be a virtuous man, and it is my expectation that he will remain so.”
“And you believe that the scandalous widow of Castleberry has turned her wiles on a defenseless man?”
“Mrs. Wickham. You do realize that the vicar has a modest income.”
“I hadn’t given it a thought.”
“Mr. Haddad supplements his rather meager salary by tutoring some of the village youth. Were he to align himself with you, respectable village families would naturally reconsider that arrangement, causing the loss of a vital source of revenue.”
My heart sank. The last thing I wanted was to hurt Michael. I should have known that happiness was not for me. One mistake at fifteen, a lifetime of ruin.
“It is well known that you are not welcome at your sister’s home of Pemberley for long periods of time. Her husband, Mr. Darcy, is the largest landowner in several counties and very respectable. Of course I, as well as all decent people, would follow his lead.”
I felt the sting of his words. They reminded me of my separation from my children. And of a family that took care of me financially but never publicly stood behind me.
The squire continued. “A promising man with as much appeal as Mr. Haddad should marry a respectable young woman of unblemished reputation. In other words, someone who is worthy of him. Surely you understand.”
“Perfectly.”
“Furthermore, I cannot be expected to employ a vicar whose standing in the community is lower than it should be. A vicar should set the moral standard rather than flouting it in the service of his baser desires.”
Disappointment panged through me. Michael thought wedding me would envelop me in a cloak of respectability. The squire made clear that the opposite was true; my questionable reputation would limit Michael’s future prospects. I swallowed against the soreness in my throat.
I could never ruin Michael’s life.
“I take your meaning very clearly.” I stood, no longer able to bear another second in this man’s company. “Thank you for coming. I am certain you can see yourself out.”
And then I fled to my bedchamber before the tears fell.