Incognito

leave them at the grave of a Mary Simpson, whose epitaph they had just read, before they left the graveyard. In her present guise, Alexander thought her the quintessential country maiden and could not picture her hobnobbing with the bored and sated nobility in London. But perhaps he was mistaken in thinking that light in her eyes would ever be extinguished by ennui. Alexander stopped walking, and Emily turned to face him, still grasping her daisies. They had continued discussing poetry after Emily’s mention of Wordsworth, and, after a long pause, while the air around them seemed to crackle with tension, Alexander resumed the conversation. “I prefer one of Wordsworth’s other poems: ‘She Was a Phantom of Delight.’ Are you familiar with that one?” he asked.

His voice had grown softer, and there was a tender look in his eyes as he regarded her. Emily could only nod, her breath caught in her throat. He began to recite softly,

She was a Phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely Apparition, sent

To be a moment’s ornament;

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;

Like Twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;

But all things else about her drawn

From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;

A dancing Shape, an Image gay,

To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

He paused, and drew her gently into his arms, leaning closer and closer until he was just a breath away from her lips. “‘A perfect Woman, nobly planned, to warn, to comfort, and command,’” he finished, the last word barely distinguishable as their lips met.

Emily could no more resist his kiss than she could fly to the moon. His words had turned her insides to mush, and she felt herself returning his kiss with a passion she did not know she possessed. Time was suspended, and nothing else existed except her and Alexander. The moment was over far too soon, and Alexander raised his head, still holding Emily in his arms.

“Obviously you are not an admirer of Marvell,” she said, when she could speak again. Even then she did not recognize her own voice.

Alexander could only look at her in confusion. Whatever reaction he had expected, it was not this. “What?” he asked.

“‘The grave’s a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace,’” Emily recited.

Alexander laughed. “I do not think that is a proper poem for you to know, my girl.” He lowered his head as if to kiss her again, but she evaded him. “Someone might see us,” she protested.

“You are right. Marvell was wrong about graveyards. This is far too public a place to share an embrace. I seem to lose my head whenever I am with you,” he said, reaching for her hand instead and placing a kiss inside her palm. He closed her fingers over the kiss.

“We should probably return to the vicarage,” Emily suggested shyly, afraid to meet his eyes. She was quite embarrassed at her lack of decorum, and was even more humiliated to discover the daisies she had been holding were scattered about their feet, apparently dropped by her during their embrace, though she had no recollection of it.

Alexander nodded, gave her his arm, and they turned to walk back. “I can only hope that Sedgewick and Lydia have used their time alone to such advantage,” he said, smiling at the thought.

Try as she might, Emily could not imagine the so-proper Lydia and Sedgewick exchanging the searing kiss she and Alexander had just shared. Perhaps there is something to be said for propriety, Emily thought, as she realized she might live to regret her actions if Alexander were really the fiend she suspected he was.

After Emily and Williams left, Lydia and Sedgewick were left looking at each other in uncomfortable silence.

“I must apologize for my sister’s behavior, Mr. Sedgewick,” Lydia offered, looking up at Sedgewick through her eyelashes.

“Think nothing of it, Miss Smithfield. Your sister’s behavior could never influence my respect and esteem for you,” Mr. Sedgewick replied formally.

“Thank you, sir. The knowledge that you respect and esteem me is more comforting than you can ever know.” She was the picture of despair, her head bowed, her eyes downcast. She could not help but raise them for one quick peek at Sedgewick, to see what effect her pose was having on him.

It was having all the effect she could have desired. “My dear Miss Smithfield, it pains me deeply to see you in such distress. I would do anything to alleviate your sorrow,” Sedgewick told her, crossing the room to sit beside her on the settee.

“Alas,” Lydia said, raising her eyes at last to his, “I fear there is nothing that can be done.”

“But, please, tell me, what has caused you such distress?”

“Mr. Sedgewick, I do not think you can be entirely unaware of the plans my mother has conceived for me.”

“No, Miss Smithfield, I am not ignorant of them.” Sedgewick said. “She intends for you to marry, I believe.”

“She does, indeed, sir. To a gentleman with whom I am not even acquainted.” She looked up again, tears forming in her big blue eyes. “I must admit I have no desire for this marriage to take place. Yet I do not want to be disobedient to my mother’s wishes.”

“Of course you do not. I have often admired your strength of character, your moral integrity and virtue. You do not esteem lightly the dictates of family and conscience. It is your sense of duty and moral rectitude that makes you so appealing to one, such as I, who regards a woman’s character more than her outward appearance.”

If Lydia found this compliment lacking in any way, it was not apparent. She blushed fiercely, but still managed to smile at the young gentleman who, whatever he might say to the contrary, was regarding her outward appearance with every semblance of delight. The slight smile gave Sedgewick the courage to reach for her hand. “Miss Smithfield, I have no right to speak what is in my heart.” Lydia did not know how to react to this promising statement, so she only nodded, and did not try to remove her hand from his grasp. “So I will not,” Sedgewick continued. Lydia tried her best to conceal her disappointment. “Neither can I encourage a daughter to act in opposition to her mother’s wishes.” At this speech, Lydia removed her hand. “However, although I do not counsel you to oppose your mother, I think it only right that you should be honest with her as to your feelings.”

“What do you think I should do?” Lydia asked.

“It is not my place to tell you what to do.”

Lydia masterfully concealed her impatience at this remark, and Sedgewick continued. “But it is my feeling that a loving mother, such as I am convinced Lady Smithfield is, would be desirous of knowing your true feelings regarding the proposed match. And, as a loving mother, she could hardly force you into a position that you would find repugnant.”

This was not the answer Lydia wanted, and it seemed a shame that a scene that had such a promising beginning had gone so awry. “But, as you know, it is the desire of every mother to see her daughter successfully wed. She may not agree to the dissolution of her previous plan if it is unlikely that I will marry anyone else.” Modesty forbade Lydia from making her point any clearer.

Sedgewick reached for her hand again. “Miss Smithfield, such a prospect is entirely unlikely, even absurd. Your mother will realize that there are many gentlemen who would count it a great honor indeed to marry her beautiful daughter. No, I am convinced that if you are honest with your mother about your feelings, you will prevail.”

Lydia nodded in response, but wondered why, if so many gentlemen would count it an honor to marry her, the dolt sitting beside her would not make a positive effort in that direction.

Emily and Alexander entertained sentiments similar to Lydia’s when they returned to the vicarage to find Lydia and Sedgewick sipping tea with expressions of noble resignation on their faces and in no greater charity with each other than they were before they had been left alone. It then began to occur to Emily that Sedgewick was as