made her forget for the moment all the wonderful times she had had over the last few months.
Rachel began to sing.
Chapter 8
David found that he had to make a deliberate effort to remind himself that the members of the two leading families of his parish were also part of his flock. It seemed like a shirking of his duty to be riding into Singleton Park on his way to join a picnic that Algie had organized. The afternoon was glorious after a cloudy, misty morning. The weather would have been ideal for visiting some of the more widely scattered cottages of his territory. However, attending the picnic was also work. He owed it to both Algie and the Earl of Edgeley to attend some of their social functions. And this one was special. It was in honor of Miss Barnes's birthday.
At least this time he did not approach the gathering with dread, David mused. He had seen Lady Rachel only once since the ball three nights before, at church on Sunday, but he did not feel the embarrassment at having to face her that he had felt on the other occasion. She had even looked at him a few times during church, a faint smile curving her lips the first time he met her eyes. But she had colored up when it had happened during his sermon, and had directed her eyes at her lap for the remainder of the service.
He was glad they had had a chance to talk privately at the ball. He felt that the air had been cleared between them even if the problem had not been solved. Incredible as it was, it seemed that she really did have an infatuation for him. She was afraid to risk loving him, she had said, afraid to trust that that love would become the love of friendship. It was far too late for that. Those had been her exact words, as far as he could recall them.
It was too late for him too, of course. He loved her in every way it was possible for a man to love. Including the physical. Thoughts of her were beginning to wake him in the middle of the night and set him to tossing and turning on his bed, unable to gain the oblivion of sleep again.
But he no longer felt burdened by a sense of sin. There was nothing impure in his love. He was doing nothing to encourage it. He was not deliberately dwelling on his feelings or on erotic images of Rachel. If his circumstances were different, or even possibly if his personal commitment did not hold him back from accepting his godmother's offer of help, he would consider his love for Rachel quite an honorable thing. He would perhaps be able to offer for her before her betrothal to Algie became official. As it was, he could never hope to marry her. Besides, she would soon be beyond the reach of any man except her betrothed.
But his feelings were not wrong. It was never wrong to love, he believed. He would not try to stop loving her. His life was devoted to love. And Rachel Palmer was eminently lovable. He must do what he had asked her to do. He must risk not putting up a wall between his feelings and her. And he must trust that in time the sexual desire would die and leave behind only deep affection and respeet.
He hoped that Rachel could do the same. But surely she could not love him as deeply as he loved her. Could she? What was there about him to love except a passable exterior? The women in his past had always assured him that he had a handsome face and physique. But what else was there for Rachel to love? He had renounced all the qualities that women of her class would find attractive.
The ladies and gentlemen had all gone down to the river, where the tables had been laid out, David was told by one of Algie's footmen when he knocked at the door. He had known he was late. He grinned to himself. Algie must be one of those people who believed that one's creature comforts were to be looked to even at a picnic. The tables had been laid, the footman had said. David had a flashing image of armies of servants carrying tables and chairs and elaborate dishes of food and bowls of punch across the lawn and through the trees for the half-mile that lay between the house and the river. He chuckled aloud at the thought.
He was quite right, he saw as he came within sight of the river. Two long tables covered with immaculate white cloths were set in the shade of the trees away from the grassy bank. Both were laden with fine dishes and attended by a bevy of liveried footmen. But then, David thought, being charitable to his cousin, Algie had organized this picnic with the fact in mind that he was to host a dozen or more visitors from the ton. A rustic setting with blankets and baskets of food would possibly give some of them the lasting impression that Algie was a bumpkin. And Algie could never live with that reputation.
David was still grinning as he walked out into the clearing and approached his host, who was looking quite immaculate enough for a London drawing room. David was almost surprised to note that Algie was not holding his gold-topped cane.
'Ah, David,' Algernon said, somehow succeeding in twisting his head sufficiently to see his approach, despite his high shirt points. 'Thought you weren't going to put in an appearance, dear boy. Glad to see you. You remember Lord Mountford?'
David bowed and greeted the older gentleman. 'Indeed, yes,' he said. 'How do you do, my lord? Where is Miss Barnes, Algie? I must pay my respects to her on her birthday.'
'Down by the river, talking to Miss Higgins and Miss Ames,' Algernon said. He watched David walk toward her, nodding his head sagely. Yes, they would make a good match. And the girl was looking very fetching today in pale lemon. Suited her.
A few minutes later David was strolling along the bank of the river with Celia Barnes on his arm.
'I really did not wish for any fuss,' she was telling him. 'I did not even know that my birth date was known, and I planned to keep very quiet about it. Apparently Rachel remembered. I feel quite embarrassed. I don't think one-and-twenty is an age to be extremely proud of.'
'Or ashamed of, surely,' David said. 'One's age is something over which one has no control whatsoever. Look at it this way, Miss Barnes. People love to have an excuse to celebrate. You have given everyone here that excuse by having the kind forethought to be born on this particular date.'
'Ah, the voice of good sense,' she said. 'How do your parish duties go, Mr. Gower? Do tell me about them.'
David described his days to her, omitting nothing of the long hours he spent traveling around his parish, the two nights when he had been called from home to a sickbed, the time spent at his desk reading and praying and preparing his sermons, the early mornings spent in the church saying matins for a handful of worshipers. He did nothing to glamorize his situation or to make the tasks seem less onerous than they were.
'I believe you must be quite dedicated to your work, sir,' Celia said. 'Do you not find yourself becoming overtired, working all hours of the day and night?'
'The truth is,' he said, 'that sometimes I feel guilty at how easy the work seems. When I sit talking to a lonely parishioner, for example, I am so happy to see his face light up with the joy of company that I feel as if I should be jumping up in order to get on to some real work. No, I have not suffered from undue fatigue yet. And how are you enjoying Oakland, ma'am? It is quite unusual, is it not, to have two such splendid mansions within three miles of each other?'
They talked on, their conversation easy, if somewhat dull. David found himself testing his feelings for Miss Barnes, wondering if an alliance between them would help dull the ache of an unattainable love.
Rachel was sitting on the bank of the river hugging her knees, even though Lady Mountford had just warned her that the grass was probably still damp and she would catch a chill. Mr. Holland sat on one side of her, Lord Morrison on the other. Mr. Hart stood behind them. Rachel was laughing merrily.
'Mr. Hart has declared that he would kneel down on the bank and stretch out a hand for me if I fell in,' she said, 'and then carry me back to the house. Mr. Holland would dive right into the water to save me. And what would you be prepared to do, my lord, if I should have the misfortune to tumble into the river?'
'Be assured, ma'am,' Lord Morrison replied, 'that I should remove my coat while Holland was in the water, allow Hart to haul you out, and then wrap you in a warm, dry coat and convey you to the house with all speed.'
They all laughed. 'And I would be left to soak unrewarded in the river,' Mr. Holland said.
'Ah, but Mr. Hart would be there with a hand to help you out,' Rachel reminded him, laughing.
Mr. Gower was walking with Celia, she could see. She felt guilty monopolizing the attention of three
