guilt.'
'It need not be!' Rachel said tartly. 'It was nonsense, sir. I have forgotten it already.'
'No,' he said quietly, 'I think you have not. I hope you have not because forgetfulness of such an incident would denote a careless heart and an undeveloped conscience. But I hope you can forgive both yourself and me. What is most on my conscience is the fact that I lied to you. Yet we all have the right to know the truth in matters that concern us. I told you that when I embraced you I had been merely wanting…' He drew a somewhat unsteady breath. 'I said that it had been a purely physical thing. It was not. It was more than that.'
'What do you mean by 'more than that'?' Rachel's eyes were huge as she stared up at him.
'You are a beautiful and a vibrant woman,' he said carefully, 'and you add to both qualities an awareness of the mystery of life and a yearning to do more than merely exist. It is difficult not to be attracted to your character. And I would not wish to deny that attraction. Unfortunately, the circumstances under which we met that night invited a physical response, which was quite inappropriate to what I felt. Forgive me, please, and forgive yourself for what I am sure you must be seeing as indecorous and quite impulsive behavior. I am not at all the man you should be feeling any attraction for.'
'I want to hate you,' she whispered. 'It is safer to hate you.'
'No.' His eyes smiled back into hers. 'You do not hate me, I think. You are afraid merely, as I am, because we like and respect each other and because we understand each other. We both demand a great deal of life and of ourselves. We both demand meaning. But it is never good to hide from ourselves or to lie to ourselves, Rachel. Safe, perhaps, but not good. We have to risk loving. You and I are afraid to love each other because we might end up loving in the wrong way. But you love Algie, I believe, in the way a wife should love her husband. And I hope that soon I will have a wife whom I can love in the same way. You and I must not hate each other. We must love, and have faith that ours will be the love of deep friendship.'
'David…' she whispered, and she closed her eyes and lowered her head. 'David, I cannot take the risk. I cannot. It is far too late already.'
'No, it is not,' he said, laying a hand lightly over hers where it rested on the balustrade. 'I have seen you and Algie together, Rachel. I have seen you tonight, sparkling when he is in your sight. You could not feign that response. You must trust your feelings for him. I am a latecomer, someone who came across you on two occasions when you were alone and relaxed and dreaming. I am only a part of your daydreams. In reality I am a dull, impoverished clergyman, my dear, who has pledged his life and all his energies to the poor. I am not the sort of man who could aspire to the hand of Lady Rachel Palmer.'
Rachel said nothing. She kept her eyes tightly closed and her head lowered. His hand burned through the flesh of hers. He lifted his hand after a while and put it beneath her chin to lift her face.
'Oh, don't cry,' he said, his voice suddenly distressed. 'Don't cry, Rachel.' He brushed at a tear with his thumb. 'I cannot even take you into my arms to comfort you. We are in an appallingly public place. Rachel. Please.'
Rachel swallowed, every nerve in her body tensed to try to control the humiliation of her tears. She wanted to cast herself into his arms and bury her face against his chest and howl out her misery. But there were light, noise, and music coming from the open French doors a few feet away. Someone might step through them at any moment. Her mind vaguely registered the fact that Mr. Robertson and Clara had left the balcony.
'I can't bear to see you cry,' David said. 'You were made for happiness and laughter. Don't cry.' He had taken a linen handkerchief from his pocket and was dabbing gently at her cheeks.
Rachel laughed shakily. 'What a goose I am,' she said, taking the handkerchief from him and blotting her face resolutely. 'You should have stayed away from me tonight, David, and let me continue avoiding you. I was quite happy doing so, you know. I don't like taking risks. And that was the theme of your sermon last Sunday, was it not? We have to risk giving of ourselves, you said. It is not enough to give alms or to give help or to give of our time and talents. We have to give ourselves. I don't think I can do it. I have to keep some of me for myself. Your idea is terrifying. But, there. Perhaps it is as well we have spoken this evening. It is embarrassing to avoid someone one has to meet frequently, is it not? We will not have to avoid each other now, will we? We will be friends?'
'Friends,' he agreed. 'And I am amazed that you heard any of my sermon. You did not raise your eyes from your psalter all through the service, I swear. Give me the handkerchief. Yes, I know it is wet, but I have a pocket, you see, and you do not. Now, let us talk about trivialities for a few minutes so that your eyes can recover before we have to return to the ballroom. What are you planning to do with your guests for the remainder of their stay?'
'Oh, I have lots of plans,' Rachel said, depositing the crumpled handkerchief in his hand. 'Picnics, walks, rides. No one will be bored, I can assure you. I shall be so busy enjoying myself that I shall not have a single spare moment in which to think.'
David smiled. 'I feel exhausted just looking at the energy in your face,' he said, and they both laughed.
Only a few of the gentlemen were up when Rachel left the house the following morning. She had left them in the breakfast room without telling them that she was going out. She did not want company. Later perhaps, but not during the morning.
She should be still in bed like all the other ladies. She had not gone to bed until nearly dawn. But she had never been able to sleep until noon and waste the best part of the day. She had always loved the morning, she supposed because it was the least structured part of the day. Or at least it had been since she had left the schoolroom. There was very often an obligation to do something in the afternoon and evening, but one was usually free to do what one wished to do during the morning.
And Rachel had decided that it was time for her life to return to normal. Or as near normal as it was possible for it to be with a houseful of guests waiting to be entertained for the next couple of weeks. She had looked forward for so long, it seemed, to going to London and being presented at court and meeting other members of the ton that it was difficult now to adjust her mind to the fact that she had been there and done those things. And she was back home again, the same person she had been before.
Except that she was not the same person. She had met a large number of people, had been successful in her come-out, had been offered for by one of the most eligible bachelors in the country. She had come home still excited and intent on filling her days with social activity. She had jumped at the chance to have house-guests when Mama and Papa had suggested it to her. She was still feeling the restlessness that had driven her when she was in town. If she was less than happy, she had told herself all through the Season, it must be because she was not active enough. She must be happy. This was what life for a young lady of the ton was all about. Her life up until then had been childhood. Now she was a woman and must behave as a woman behaves.
Her conversation with David Gower the evening before, however, had changed her outlook somewhat. He was undoubtedly not a child. He was beginning his adult work, his life's work as he had described it, and he seemed to be a person who knew very well what he wanted of life. She had seen right from the start that he was a happy man. And he was happy working with the poor. In fact, he was happier with them than he was with people of his own class. He was not comfortable at
He did not think it necessary, then, to mix exclusively with his own class, to put behind him lesser activities that he enjoyed. In fact, he seemed to think it right to do as he did. If it was right for him, then why not for her? Why should she feel that it was no longer acceptable to spend time alone enjoying nature and her own thoughts? And why should she feel that it was immature to want to be with her friends? Her friends included Algie and several other members of the gentry in the neighborhood, as well as several of their houseguests. But they also included many of her father's tenants of all ages.
The Earl of Edgeley had always been a pious man. But his religion consisted of more than occupying his pew at church every Sunday and reading the Bible with his family at home. His religion also involved works of charity. His own people were well-looked-after. No one on the Edgeley estates ever starved or suffered in any material fashion. And Rachel had been brought up to visit the laborers and tenants, to take baskets of food when any was sick, to offer comfort to any who needed compassion.
The visits had become far more than duty to Rachel. All through her girlhood she had spent as much of her days wandering or riding from cottage to cottage as she had spent at Oakland or at the homes of the friends of her own class. She had always been a great favorite, her sunny nature and ready conversation making the tenants
