'Oh,' she said, and laughed, 'country living is not boring, my lord. There is a great deal to do here. It is town living that is dull.'
'What?' he said. 'Is this Lady Rachel Palmer speaking? The young lady who was famous during the Season for never being idle? And you can call that life dull? You tease me.'
'Here I have the countryside,' she said. 'All the vast and quiet spaces of creation. It is true that I have not had much chance to enjoy them lately because there are so many people with whom to spend my time. But I love nothing more than to wander alone. Do you like solitude, ray lord? Do you like quietness? Do you like to wonder about the created world and where it all came from and what is behind it all?'
He smiled his charming smile and touched her fingers lightly where they rested on his arm. 'You would enjoy travel, I can see,' he said. 'And there is so much more to see than the English countryside, Lady Rachel. I would like to show you all the countries of Europe. There would be so much to see, I promise you, that you would not have time to think or wonder about it all. You would be able to feast your senses in beauty.'
Rachel smiled briefly. 'And there are all my friends here,' she said. 'My father's tenants and laborers. I have always enjoyed visiting them and talking to them. Recently I have learned that I have much to gain from them in the way of love and knowledge of a life beyond my own experience. And I have learned that I can share my own life with them, particularly my knowledge of reading and books.'
'How very charming!' the marquess said, and he squeezed her hand. 'Your father has a reputation for fair and charitable dealings with those on his estates. He is a deeply religious man, I have heard. You have learned from him, and I find that very touching. A devotion to charitable works is a great asset to a lady's reputation.'
'Charitable works,' Rachel said, wrinkling her nose and looking ahead of her down the slope they were about to descend.
'I would always encourage you to retain your interest in the poor,' he said. 'I would enjoy seeing you patronize certain select charities.'
'I have been planning to start a school,' Rachel said, 'to teach the children to read.'
He laughed softly. 'You are very charming,' he said, 'and very young. Even supposing that they could learn, Lady Rachel, have you considered what these children would do with their knowledge? They would merely acquire ideas above their station, you know. However, there are certain charity schools in London that may be well worth patronizing. Perhaps you would like me to look into the matter?'
'No,' Rachel said hesitantly. 'No, I would not wish you to trouble yourself, my lord.'
'What a very delightful prospect there is from this hill,' the marquess said. 'I do not wonder that you love the countryside, Lady Rachel. There is nowhere quite like England, you know. Though I must confess the weather reminds me more of Italy at the moment. It is to be hoped that the storm does not break until tomorrow. I look forward to this evening's ball. You have reserved a set for me? I will hope that you can bear not to dance during that set. I believe I will wish to use the time and the romantic atmosphere for a talk that will be too important for a ballroom floor.'
He smiled warmly down at her and squeezed her hand again.
Rachel was pleased to note that they were catching up to Celia and Lord Morrison, whose footsteps had also lagged in the heat. Soon the four of them were strolling together, and the conversation became general.
No, it would really not do, she was deciding rather sadly. She had grown up a little perhaps in the last few weeks. Just a few weeks before, she had walked this same route with Algie and had ended up begging him to marry her because she had seen marriage as a way to drown out her infatuation for David. She had ended up behaving badly to Algie. It was only very recently that she had started to wonder if he really wanted to marry her after all. He had shown no great eagerness for that betrothal when she had suggested it.
In her terrible conceitedness at the time she had assumed that his reluctance was all for her sake. But perhaps not. Perhaps Algie was far wiser than she and had realized that they would not suit as husband and wife. She supposed now that it would be better if this really were the truth. If it were not, if Algie really did love her and wish to marry her, then she had raised false hopes in him and within the next few days she would have to hurt him. All because she had not realized that marriage to one man can do nothing whatsoever to dull the pain of love for another.
And yet just that morning she had thought briefly yet again that perhaps it would be possible. She had thought about marrying the Marquess of Stanford. But she knew that she could not. For one thing, she could not be the sort of person he thought her to be or lead the sort of life he would intend her to lead.
He could offer her a great deal: a life of travel and privilege and social involvement as well as an attractive and charming person. And he was not a heartless man. He would allow her to involve herself in charitable works. But it was not a life she could lead. It would have no possible meaning to her. She would feel removed from life, a spectator merely. Life would be permanently as it had been for those few months in London, so very full and busy that there was no room for silence and thought and feeling. No room for love. No room for God.
She could not do it. The marquess was going to ask her again that evening to be his wife, and she was going to give him a final answer. Mama and Papa would call her mad. No marriage to Algie. No marriage to the Marquess of Stanford. And after all the opportunities they had given her by taking her to London! And that visit had been a great sacrifice to Papa, who hated town. But she could not enter either marriage merely to please them. She could not.
'I was never so glad to see a red fox even at the end of a long and fruitless day of following the hounds,' Lord Morrison said as the inn came into view over the final rise of land.
Rachel joined gaily in the laughter of the other two.
David had dressed reluctantly for dinner. There could not be a great deal of excitement, of course, in donning the same clothes that one had worn to every evening social function for the past two years. But it was not that that caused him to lag, even though he knew that he was in danger of being late. Neither was it his usual feeling that social pleasures were largely a waste of time. After all, Rufus and Madeline were to be at the dinner and ball. In two more days they would be gone, and he had no idea when he would see them again.
His reason for not wanting to go despite his brother's presence was of course, as always, Rachel. He had thought-no, he had expected-that by tonight they would be betrothed. Not officially, of course. She would want some time first to speak to Algie. And he would have to speak to Lord Edgeley. But he had expected that the matter would be settled between the two of them. He had expected that his future would be assured, that he would no longer have to plague his mind with doubts and questions and decisions. If she had said yes, he would have felt himself committed, even before the betrothal could be official.
But he had been rejected. Accepted and then rejected in no uncertain terms.
And did he feel disappointment or relief? David was still not quite sure which. There was, of course, disappointment. He had decided finally that he would put Rachel first. He was meant to love her, he had concluded, meant to make her his wife. And he had felt strong enough in his own faith and convictions to be confident that he could continue to live a life of service even in the midst of affluence and personal contentment.
And it had seemed so right that morning when he had first asked her to marry him. All the sunshine of her bright character had shone behind her eyes when she had looked at him. He could not doubt at that moment that he had made the right decision. And that kiss they had shared! There had been passion in it, physical desire, yes. But far more than that. They had poured out their love for each other during those precious few minutes.
And then she had rejected him. Knowing what he was giving up for her, she had denied her own love for him and turned away. She would not marry him under the circumstances, she had said. And her answer was final.
Oh, yes, he was disappointed. Dead inside. No, not dead. He would not ache with emptiness and longing if he were dead. He had been so close to making her his own. He had glimpsed heaven. And now he was living at almost the opposite extreme.
Almost. But was there not also some feeling of relief? Almost as if he had been released from the threat of a great bondage? It was strange not to want that vast fortune that could so easily be his. He could be wealthy, comfortable, respected for the rest of his life. He could live the life he had been brought up to. Just a few years ago he would cheerfully have given his right arm for even half the wealth that was now his.
Yet he did not want it. He truly did not. Rachel was the only possible reason that could lead him to accepting it. He did not want to return to the old way of life. He could now see its emptiness and its lack of fairness. He was
