smile at me and tell me that we will be friends.'

Rachel smiled. 'Friends,' she agreed, and withdrew her hand discreetly from between his. But he could not have looked very deeply into her eyes, she thought, or he would have seen the guilty truth there. It was true. It was no longer to be denied. She was in love with him, head over heels, topsy-turvy in love. Adoration. Obsession. A physical, throbbing ache. A moment longer with her hand in his and she would have flung the other arm around his neck and drawn his face down to hers. A man she could never even dream of trying to attach as a husband. What a wicked trick of fate!

'Have you eaten?' he was asking. 'Let us go in search of some tea, shall we?' He held out an arm for hers.

Rachel was glad of the opportunity to break the tension of her own mood. She looked down at her abandoned bonnet and giggled. 'I believe I would shock not a few people if I walked back thus,' she said. 'I do hope the hem of my dress is not wet or covered with grass.'

'I shall turn away and admire the water,' he said with a grin, 'and I expect that while I do so, some power will transform you once again into the very proper Lady Rachel Palmer.'

Little more than five minutes later the Reverend David Gower emerged from the trees with an immaculate Lady Rachel on his arm, and they made their way across to the upper lawn, still crowded with guests.

'You said that Lady Wexford believes you unhappy,' Rachel said. 'Does she think that you will not be contented with your new church?'

He smiled down at her. 'She has lived most of her life close to town,' he explained. 'She cannot imagine anyone choosing to live in the countryside.'

'And will you be content there?' she asked. 'Will you not find your parish duties tedious? Or do you plan to spend most of your time with Algie and the rest of the gentry?'

'I shall socialize with the gentry,' he said carefully, 'because they will be my parishioners and as much entitled to my services as anyone else. But I intend to spend most of my time with the poor, since there are far more of them than there are of the wealthy.'

'You will not be bored?' she asked, wide-eyed. 'Or restless? You will not feel that your education and your talents are being wasted?'

He looked down at her, his eyes as serious as she had seen them. 'You read the Bible,' he said. 'You told me so. Where was our Lord to be found during his earthly life? Among the rich, yes. But far more often among the poor. And did He ever seem bored or unhappy? I am His servant, Lady Rachel, and therefore a servant of the poor. I believe I will be happy. You see, I am also a servant by choice.'

There was a depth behind his eyes that was not quite a smile. Rachel stared, fascinated. She had never heard anyone speak quite like this before. Certainly not anyone of her own class. And certainly not a handsome young man who was more or less fashionably dressed and in attendance at a garden party held in his honor at one of the mansions of Richmond.

'Rache!' Lord Rivers was making his way across the lawn toward them, Celia Barnes on his arm. 'We were about to call out the Bow Street Runners to search for you. And all the time you were ingratiating yourself with the new vicar. I hope you have been suggesting that he keep his sermons shorter than we have been used to. Forty minutes with Vicar Ferney, David, m'lad. And that was on the days when the text did not inspire lengthy reflections! Many is the time in the last few years I have regretted not having cushions installed in my pew as I am entitled to do.'

They all laughed and turned toward the tables, where a sumptuous feast was still spread out. Rachel looked up at David Gower and smiled as she caught his eye. He gave her a warm and comfortable smile in return. There was no worship in his eyes, but there was kindness and friendship, she believed. It was a sensible look, one she would do well to emulate. Not only had she chosen to fall in love with a clergyman, but she had had the misfortune to choose a man dedicated to his calling.

Such an infatuation would just not do at all.

***

It was two weeks later before Lord Rivers returned to the country and Singleton Hall, taking David with him. The Season was more or less at a close. He never particularly enjoyed staying until the bitter end. Once most people had left for the country or one of the spas, social entertaiments became somewhat tedious. One saw the same faces wherever one went.

And as he explained to David, Edgeley and his family would be coming home in five days' time and they would soon be followed by a dozen houseguests who would be staying for a few weeks. Miss Barnes, of course, would be coming with Rachel. And then David would want to be in the country for a week before Vicar Ferney retired and removed thirty miles to take up residence with a bachelor brother of his. There would be many details that David would wish to talk over with his predecessor.

And so they came to stay at Singleton Hall and David found that he was indeed busy, his days filled with happy activity and plans. He found himself impatient at having to wait out the final week until he could take up residence in the vicarage and start visiting his parishioners and getting to know his parish.

The challenge facing him excited him enormously. And the move to the vicarage would be the symbolic beginning of his service. It was true that the house was the most imposing in the village of Singleton and perfectly comfortable within. And he would have the services of an excellent housekeeper, who had lived there for forty years and was reputed to be able to convert even bare stones into a banquet. But even so, the house would be far humbler than any he had lived in in his five-and-twenty years. Moving there would be a real beginning to the life he had set himself, a life divorced from the privileges he had always taken so much for granted. He was impatient to be in his new home.

David was very thankful to be in the country at last, away from the noise and the constant round of activities of London. Not that he had participated in many events after his godmother's garden party, it was true. The enjoyment of going from one entertainment to another had palled, he had told himself as he refused more than once to join Algie at some event. He had seen something of town and society again, he had told himself, and now he was ready to begin his life's work.

But he knew that he was not being quite truthful with himself. He could have continued to enjoy the holiday in London, though there was no question of the fact that he longed to be in his own parish. He could have continued to develop his acquaintance with Miss Barnes. Indeed he had done so to a very limited extent. No, it was his uneasiness and perplexity over Lady Rachel that had kept him at home when he would normally have been out with Algie. He had avoided meeting her whenever possible.

It had not always been possible. She had been at the opera one evening with a party that included Lord Stanford, and he had felt obliged to accompany Algie to her box during an interval to pay his respects. And she had been walking in the park with Algie one afternoon when he was there with Miss Barnes. The four of them had ended up walking together. But apart from those two occasions, he had not set eyes on her for two weeks.

He did not know quite why he felt uneasy. After all, nothing had happened during that meeting at the garden party. Nothing at all. They had talked and laughed together, and he had taken her to tea. That was all.

But the trouble was, that was not all by any means. He had seen a different side to Lady Rachel Palmer there at the stream. She had not been her usual self, brightly sociable, chattering on about trivialities. She had been enjoying her solitude, enjoying it utterly, with no regard for her appearance, and with no concern for what she might be missing at the party. It was as if she had put off a mask. Even when she had seen him, there had been no trace of flirtatiousness in her manner or conversation. And paradoxically he had found her quite enchanting.

Dangerously enchanting, in fact. He had felt the pull of her attractiveness as if it were a tangible force. He had wanted to stay there and talk with her. He had felt relaxed and happy for a few minutes. Until there had been that tension between them. And then quite unexpectedly, without any warning at all, he had wanted more. His arms had ached to reach out for her. She had looked infinitely desirable. Afterward, in fact, he did not know by what good fortune he had overcome the urge to close the distance between their mouths. The pull had been almost irresistible.

And she had felt it too. When he had withdrawn in confusion, she had leapt to her feet, clearly agitated. And she had assured him that she had not been flirting with him. And she had told the simple truth. There had been no flirtation on either side. Nothing that might explain or excuse what had happened. And something had definitely happened, even if they had not so much as touched each other.

Perhaps he was refining too much on a small matter, he had thought in the days that followed. Perhaps she

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