Lydia’s Story #7
Michael returned the following day bearing a basket.
“That is not my basket,” I said, putting off the inevitable conversation that would end these delightful visits forever.
“No indeed,” he said cheerfully. “This is from my mother. I hope you are hungry. Arab mothers insist on feeding their loved ones well past the point of satiety.”
The unmistakable smell of fresh summer squash and seasoned lamb wafted over me.
He came in and set the basket on the table.
He wore a dark fitted suit, his typical somber vicar clothing, which I had come to find exceedingly attractive.
His brown curls were ruffled as usual. He’d never looked more handsome.
Disappointment welled up in my chest. How lovely it would have been to spend a lifetime with this man.
After the squire’s visit, I realized how much I wanted a life with Michael.
What would it be like to have a husband who wanted to come home to his wife and actually did so?
To have a life mate who shared his thoughts with me?
I’d come to look forward to our conversations while we gardened.
Wickham had never wanted to talk about anything beyond what I was serving for dinner.
“This is kousa mahshee,” Michael said with pride in his voice. “Do you have plates?”
I nodded and set out the plates and utensils. He carefully placed two stuffed yellow squashes on each plate and spooned the tomato sauce broth over them.
“It smells heavenly,” I said, hoping he did not note the catch in my voice.
“Come and sit,” he urged, pulling a chair out for me. I couldn’t remember the last time a man did that for me. Wickham, for all the fine manners he displayed on first acquaintance, dropped all pretense of chivalry once we married.
“Eat up,” he instructed. “I would not want to have to report back to Mama that my future wife doesn’t care for mahshee.
Alarm trilled through me. “You told your mother about me?”
“I couldn’t resist. I did not name you.” His dark eyes twinkled. “I told her you have not accepted my offer as of yet, but, because she thinks I am the catch of the county, she’s certain your answer will be yes.”
“Michael,” I began, “about that—”
“I insist that you eat first, and then we can discuss what I hope will be our life together.”
I marveled at his confidence in our future. Blinking back tears, I focused on my plate and tried a bite of the stuffed squash.
“Well?” he prompted, watching me carefully.
The food was delicious, and he was so wonderful—I could not help myself. I burst into tears.
Alarm stamped his face. “It cannot possibly taste as bad as that.”
“No, it’s very flavorful,” I said through my tears. The squash was tender and the rice and meat filling perfectly seasoned. “I love it.”
“Am I to understand that these are tears of joy?” he asked dubiously, offering me his kerchief. “Will you tell me what is vexing you?”
I took it and blew my nose. “I’ve had a visitor.”
“Did Mr. Wilson return?” His lips thinned. “Have you accepted his offer in favor of mine?”
“Squire Worsley was here.” I proceeded to repeat everything that odious man said. “And so,” I said in conclusion, “there is no way we can marry.”
His face reddened. “He had no right to come and speak with you,” he said angrily. “I will have a word with him.”
“To what end?”
“If necessary, I shall find a church living elsewhere.”
“Who will employ you with me as your wife? You must think about your future.”
“You are my future. If you will have me, I’ll stand for nothing less.”
“You must be reasonable.”
“Worsley is being difficult because he wants me to wed his daughter.”
Although the squire had been a stranger to me, I’d seen his daughter before. An only child, she was in her late twenties, shy and a bit plain. She had not had success on the marriage market. “Maybe you should. If you wed her, your future would be assured.”
“As would my misery. I have nothing against Miss Worsley, but my heart is already taken.”
“The squire must think highly of you to want you for a son-in-law.”
“It is not as great an honor as you might think. He realizes his daughter will likely be a spinster and thinks, due to my less-than-porcelain-like skin and my parents’ foreign connections, that I should be grateful to make such a match.”
I was outraged. “Your wife will be the most fortunate woman in all of England.”
He rose and came over to me. “If you truly believe that, then say you will marry me, Lydia, please.”
I shook my head. “I followed my heart once, and it led to great unhappiness. I am a grown woman now. I cannot follow my whims and desires.”
His eyes sparked. “So you do desire me.”
I looked away. “It means nothing.”
“It means everything. I am offering myself to you, body and soul.”
“I cannot.” I stood and moved away because I couldn’t think rationally when Michael was physically close to me, when all I wanted to do was throw myself into his arms. But for once, I needed to lead with my head and not my heart.
“My impulsive actions ruined my future. I am not willing to destroy yours as well.”
He came to stand in front of me. “When will you start believing that you deserve good things?” He brushed a kiss across my temple, his masculine scent enveloping me.
“When will you believe that you are most worthy?” His lips feathered across my cheek.
“That an honorable man can love you and is willing to fight for the privilege of taking you to wife?”
Emotion roiled in my chest as his lips found mine.
Moving in soft yet assured motions, his soulful mouth was a gentle pressure against mine, sliding from the top of my lip to the bottom, exploring, stealing the air from my lungs.
Strong, warm hands caressed my face with delicate care, as if I were a great treasure.
The floor beneath my feet fell away, and I was floating on a tide of pleasure and sensation.
He broke the kiss, his breath coming fast and hard, and set his forehead against mine. “That,” he said, “is a mere taste of what we have to look forward to. If you are willing to fight for us. For our future.”
Sensation still streaking through my body, I marveled at this man’s effect on me. Wickham, in the beginning, had kissed me more forcefully with tongue and hands roaming everywhere. Yet Michael’s almost-chaste kiss affected me much more profoundly.
How could I ever let him go?
Lizzy made a surprise appearance later that afternoon. “Oh, dear Lydia, do not cry!” she exclaimed as soon as she took note of my swollen red eyes.
“I cannot help it.” I slumped into a stuffed parlor chair.
“I am overcome with guilt,” she said. “I never intended to upset you by disclosing Darcy’s agreement with Wickham. It was my natural instinct to protect my husband. People always misjudge Darcy. Please say you’ll forgive me.”
I waved a miserable hand. “I haven’t a care about that. Oh, Lizzy, I am wretchedly unhappy.”
She frowned. “If this is not about Darcy and Wickham, then what is upsetting you so?”
“The vicar.”
“Mr. Haddad? What has he done?”
“He has made me a proposal of marriage.”
“The vicar wants to marry you?”
“You needn’t look so surprised,” I said scornfully. “I understand you think I cannot do better than to marry a pensioner.”
She clapped her hands together. “This is the most marvelous news! Mr. Haddad is very appealing. When will you wed?”
“We won’t. The squire here in Castleberry forbids it.”
“Can he do that?”
“He is Michael’s employer, the biggest landowner and the wealthiest gentleman in the county. And yes, the richest among us have tremendous power over other people’s lives. As you, of all people, should be aware, Mrs. Darcy.”
Lizzie wore a contemplative look on her face. “That power can also be a force for good.”
“If you are referring to Darcy paying off Wickham to wed me, I am no longer angry about that. I recognize that Darcy was trying to do the right thing. Just as you both try to do the right thing by helping me financially.”
“Thank you for saying that.” She paused. “I thought you said you’d never remarry.”
“I believed no gentleman of good character, who wasn’t decrepit, would ever offer for me. Michael’s integrity made me reconsider.”
Lizzy raised a pointy brow. “His integrity or his handsome looks?”
“Both, I suppose. But it is of no matter now. I turned down his offer.”
Lizzy looked at me sharply. “And does it end there? People do change their minds.”
“He said he wasn’t giving up.”
Lizzy grinned. “Commendable.”
“Or foolish. The squire pointed out that if I am not respectable enough to be received in my own sister’s house, why would the village of Castleberry accept me as the wife of their vicar?”
Lizzy’s face dropped. “Oh, Lydia.”
“Women like me are not meant to live happily ever after.”
“That is not true.” She reached for her wrap. “I must go.”
“So quickly? You just arrived.”
“I have a matter that needs to be urgently attended to.”
“What is it?” It was unlike Lizzy to leave so abruptly when she knew I was feeling low.
“I’ll be back Sunday morning,” she said briskly.
“You will? It is not as though you live nearby. Pemberley is two hours away. You certainly are visiting more frequently than usual.”
“I am a woman on a mission. Be ready.”
“For what?”
“To go out.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see,” she said breezily as she strolled out the door.
“Come along,” Lizzy said. “We mustn’t be late.”
She appeared at my door bright and early, dressed in her Sunday finest, a navy pelisse over a sky-blue gown with a fitted bodice. I yawned. I hadn’t slept well. Thoughts of Michael—and that kiss—kept me tossing and turning. “Where are we going at this hour?”
“You will see soon enough,” she said. “Don’t dally.”
I grabbed my pelisse and accompanied my sister to the coach, a stately affair with red velvet seats.