She must ask him, Rachel decided, the next time they met, if he were disappointed or not, if he had every truly wished to marry her. It would take a load off her mind to know that he was not brokenhearted over her defection.
The orchestra was playing a waltz. She had loved to waltz with Algie in London. And she thought of that one occasion when she had waltzed with David and found that he performed the dance quite as well as Algie.
David! Her pain became localized as a raw ache at the back of her throat. David. She had had her chance that morning. She had glimpsed heaven. For the space of a few minutes she had thought that all was to be well between them, that they were to marry. She had laid all her love at his feet. She had surrendered utterly to his embrace. She would have given all of herself to him there in the field if he had chosen to take her. There had been no thought of holding back.
And why now was she sitting here alone, that pain in her throat making even breathing an agony? Why was David not there with her as he had been a few weeks before? It was on just this seat she had been sitting when he had come to her that other time. The first time he had kissed her. Where was he now? Had he stayed away because of her? The popular theory at the house was that he must have been called away to a sick or dying parishioner. She was not so sure.
Rachel allowed her thoughts to return fully to the events of that morning for the first time since then. So far she had felt only the pain. Now she recalled the source of the pain-her realization that David had been willing to sacrifice all his principles, all his happiness with his chosen way of life, for her. He would never be happy living in a mansion close to London with a wife who spent his money on fashions and frivolity and her time on social pleasures. And he would be doing a job that had been found for him as a favor to his deceased godmother.
He would soon become desperately unhappy with such a life. She knew. She had, of course, not known David when such a life was the one he was used to. He was, after all, Lord Cardwell's brother. But that life would no longer suit him. David would lose his soul under such conditions. If she had accepted his proposal, she would have lived to see that smile, that look of inner peace behind his eyes, die away.
But he had been prepared to risk that for her sake.
She had been inclined to anger that morning. She had known immediately that he could do no such thing. And she blamed him for thinking that that was what she would want. Did he know her so little? Did he really consider her so shallow that she would accept him with his wealth and cheerfully watch him destroy himself?
When she had rejected him, she had been very angry. She had felt insulted rather than honored by such an offer. And was she still angry? He must have known what he was doing. David was not a man to act impulsively. He must have pondered and prayed much over his decision. And he had decided that she was more important to him than the kind of life in which he knew himself happy. He had laid a gift at her feet-the gift of his devotion, the gift of an inheritance which, on his own, he would have rejected. How could he know that the only gift she wanted from him was the gift of himself?
He had quite consciously made a great sacrifice for her sake. How could she be angry even if his decision had been misguided? She tried to see herself through David's eyes. He had known her in London, where she had lived a deliberately gay social life, given over to fashion and the pursuit of frivolity. And he had known her here, where she was still surrounded by gay young blades and bright young ladies, where every day was given over to some mindless delight. It was true that he had also seen her during the mornings reading to the elderly, telling stories to the children. But it must have looked as if that were novelty only, a very small part of her life of privilege.
Could she blame him for believing that she would not fit in with his life as it was? She would live at the vicarage, a smaller building than she had ever so much as spent a night at. There would be very few social activities with the people of her own class. She would have a husband who would be at home very little and would frequently be called from home even at night. And there would be very little money. Algie was generous in the salary he gave, she was almost sure. But she was equally sure that David spent the bulk of that money on everyone but himself.
Was he right? Would she find such a life as impossible as he would find life in that mansion in Richmond? It would not be easy. She knew that. She could see beyond the romance of marrying David and renouncing all her bright prospects for a country vicarage with the man she loved. And she knew that she would face many problems of adjustment.
But David was not right, for all that. She would be able to do it, Rachel knew. She was familiar with her present way of life, comfortable with it. But happy? No, she had not been a truly happy person since she had begun to realize that she was growing up and that certain things were expected of her as a lady and the daughter of an earl. She had learned to enjoy herself and to be at the center of activity and attention. But that did not equal happiness.
To be happy, she needed to be able to look inward and be satisfied that there was some substance, some meaning to her life. She had started that inward looking in the past few weeks and she had begun to feed her soul. Even without David she felt that she would continue in the direction her life had begun to take. It was the only direction she could take. For however long she lived, she would be forced to live with herself. And how could she do that if she found that she could not look herself in the eye? She would have to live without mirrors-either physical or spiritual.
She had already changed far more than she had realized, in fact. She could not remember another occasion when the thought of participating in a ball, dancing, and talking and being admired had driven her outside to hide.
Rachel shivered as a gust of cool air rustled the plants around her. The rumble of thunder that followed sounded closer than before. And the sky had been lit up in the far distance for a few seconds before the thunder. She would have to go inside soon.
But she could not. Facing anyone at the ball was becoming a physical impossibility to her. She could not walk back through the doors into the noise and the lights and the heat and force a smile to her lips and a sparkle to her eyes. She could not dance. Her feet might as well be loaded down with leaden weights. And she could not face Lord Stanford. She could not cope with his proposal tonight. However cowardly and rag-mannered it was to run away, run she must.
Where could she go? Should she walk home across the fields and go to bed? The thought was attractive. And she did not fear the darkness of the fields, with which she was thoroughly familiar. But she did not fancy being alone during the storm. Storms did not usually alarm her, but she did not believe she would enjoy the fury of nature that night.
She wanted to go to David, but that was an absurd wish, of course. She had an almost amused mental image of herself knocking on the vicarage door and announcing that she had come for a visit. How lovely it would be, though, to sit inside that rather austere and quiet building, curled up on a sofa with her head on David's shoulder, just talking quietly while the storm raged around them. Rachel sighed.
She had another notion, almost as ridiculous. She wanted to visit one of the cottages, sit down inside, and just soak up the atmosphere of humble family life. It might not be impossible to accomplish. It was true that some of the families fussed a great deal when she arrived, as if she were some creature from another world. But many accepted her as they had all through her childhood and girlhood, and treated her with cheerful courtesy and even affection.
The only trouble with visiting any family now was that it must be late already. Only the idle rich could afford the energy expended on staying up until midnight and even beyond, someone had told her once. It was unlikely that she would find anyone still up. Should she try? If all the cottages were in darkness, then she would go home. She would probably still race the storm, which seemed to be moving over very slowly. If worse came to worst, she would just have her maid sleep in her room for company.
Rachel jumped resolutely to her feet. That was what she would do. Ten minutes later she was driving Algernon's gig away from the stables, having persuaded a doubtful and disapproving groom that it would be quite all right with Lord Rivers for her to do so. She had left with the man the message that she would see her family at home. She rather regretted the worry she would probably cause them, but there was no point in even considering going back to the house to give the message to a more official person, like her papa. She would never be allowed to leave alone, especially with a long-threatened storm on its way.
Lightning lit her way as the gig bounced its way over the rutted road, and thunder rumbled at her back.
