Charming the Vicar's Daughter (8 page)

He held her gaze for a long, promise-filled moment. “I do not have any definite plans to return at the moment.”

“I see. I imagine our quaint village will grow dull after too long.”

“As you see, it held more interest to me than staying in Town. I find myself liking it here more each day.”

Her heart swelled. She held up the plate of cakes Mrs. Hook had prepared for their visit, and when Mr. Harrow reached for one, his hand brushed against the back of hers. The contact sent a shard of lightning up her arm. She gripped the plate to keep from dropping it. “I am glad.”

Rebecca could almost forget Lady Patience and Lady Madeleine sat in the room with them, as they kept to themselves, understanding their cousin’s intentions. She kept her voice low. “What does your uncle say of your calling on me?”

Mr. Harrow’s features tensed. “He doesn’t speak much, but I see approval in his eyes when I talk to him.”

She longed to ask if he’d written his parents about her, but he might not have reached a decision regarding where their visits were leading. “The weather grows warmer. Perhaps we should plan a picnic soon.”

Mr. Harrow smiled. “I would like that. I will ask Knightwick to borrow his carriage and we might all go together.”

The morning came when Mr. Harrow arrived alone, and Rebecca’s heart skipped a few beats when he walked into her father’s drawing room. She motioned to a chair, afraid to ask where his cousins were.

He rested a hand on the back of the chair but did not sit. “I have come to speak to your father, but I wanted to be certain I have your permission to do so.”

“My permission…” She could not draw in a breath to complete her thought. She knew exactly what he meant. Her prayers had been answered. Still, she fought to speak intelligently through all the wool wadding filling her head. “I would be foolish not to give it.”

His right eyebrow twitched, and he tilted his head slightly. “I am sorry, have I mistaken the level of your affection for me?”

She jumped up and took a step toward him. “No, that is not what I meant at all. I am so pleased and so astonished all at once, I cannot find the words. Mr. Harrow, I would love nothing more than to be your wife.”

His grin was quick and wide. “Do you mean it? You will be mine?”

“Yes.”

He grabbed her upper arms and swung her around, laughing loudly. Suddenly remembering where he was, he set her down and stepped back.

Rebecca continued to laugh. “Yes, save the celebration until you’ve heard what the reverend has to say.”

Taking both her hands in his, he grew serious again. “Do you think he will refuse me?”

“I think not. He knows I care for you. He wants what is best for me and I believe he will see that is you.”

Mr. Harrow’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Do you truly believe that? That I am what’s best for you?”

“How can I not? You weren’t swayed by the way the others treat me.” She laughed suddenly, her entire body growing warm at the look she saw in his eyes. “You didn’t run the other way when the Widows League tried to force the issue.”

“Yes, that begs a question. Why were the widows pushing so hard for us to be married? They hardly knew me. Is it my connection to Bridgethorpe?”

“I cannot say for certain. They have wanted for me to find love ever since the incident with Rory.” The women wanted the best for her, she knew, and she loved them in spite of their meddlesome ways.

He moved in closer, so close she felt his nervous breaths against her cheeks. His gaze danced from her eyes, to her lips, and back. “And have you? Found love, that is?”

“I believe I have.” Her stomach quivered as she said it.

“I cannot even say when I realized I loved you. From the beginning, the way you held yourself proud while the tongues wagged behind you drew my respect. You are unlike any woman I have met.”

Her lips spread wider and she felt quite flirtatious. “For me, I would say it began when you danced with me at the assembly. No one under the age of forty years has done so since the gossip spread about Rory and me.”

“Trey tells me the boys about the village were saying you’d been compromised. Yet you said your father refused to let you marry a Catholic.”

“The refusal was correct, but I am innocent of the other. At least in that, Rory treated me with respect. Or he was found out before he could really shame me.” She bit out the last with a bitter taste. She had mentioned that name more times in recent weeks than in the months she knew the man. It was time to put him behind her.

“Do you still love him?” Mr. Harrow seemed to be holding his breath, awaiting her answer.

She shook her head. In her heart she was certain of that. “I believe I was so flattered by his attention I mistook the excitement for love. I was in a whirlwind of emotions. My mother’s death. This handsome young man with a musical voice enchanting me with his sweet, pretty words. I was crushed when he didn’t fight for my hand. I never heard from him again. As my heart healed, I realized what I’d felt was not love.”

“He could not have loved you.” Mr. Harrow raised her hand to his lips and pressed a warm kiss against her skin. “I would fight legions for you.”

Her eyes welled. She rose on her toes and kissed him, sweetly, chastely, but heat sparked between them and it became a passionate declaration. Hunger made her cling to him, needing more of something she couldn’t name.

Mr. Harrow was first to reach his senses. He pulled away and released her hands. “I must go make it official, my love.”

Banns were read in the reverend’s church that Sunday, and the two following. On the Friday that followed, a small group gathered to witness the wedding of Mr. Neil Harrow to Miss Rebecca Cookson.

Neil’s parents came, and his mother was grateful that he’d given her plenty of time to travel back to be with his sister as her time to give birth grew nearer.

His voice shaky, Neil responded where he’d been told to, and he was quite surprised when the reverend’s voice grew gruff toward the end of the ceremony.

When he looked into the eyes of his wife, his Rebecca, Neil saw they were brimming with happy tears. He led her down the aisle, past those of his Lumley cousins who were not in London, past the Widow’s League—who were all patting their damp, rosy cheeks—and into the cool morning air.

He hurried her to the carriage Bridgethorpe had arranged to take the couple to the manor for a breakfast with their guests. He wanted nothing more than to finally have her alone. He helped her climb in, then sat down beside her as the carriage pulled away.

Neil gazed into her eyes, overcome with a nauseating blend of excitement, fear and love. He had a wife now, someone for whom he was responsible. Someone for whom he planned to make every day a delight. All he’d wanted when he’d left home last month was a matched pair of horses, and he’d ended up the richest of men. He sighed. “Mrs. Harrow.”

“Husband.”

His chest tightened at the word. “That has a beautiful sound when spoken in your voice.”

She raised her fingertips to push a lock of hair off his forehead. “It is the name of a most beautiful man.”

He snorted. “Beautiful? That is the word you’d use to describe me?”

“It describes your spirit perfectly. On the outside you are charming, handsome, and at the moment, rather full of yourself.”

“I am. I believe this to be my finest accomplishment.”

She tipped her head and peered up through her lashes. “What is, falling victim to the Widow’s League?”

He chuckled from deep in his gut. “There is that. However, I had a greater accomplishment in mind. That of charming a very serious vicar’s daughter into trusting me with her heart.”

Rebecca sighed. “And I do, dear husband. I trust you and love you with all of my heart.”

Neil leaned down and tasted her lips, claiming her as his own. “My beautiful wife. I love you, too.”

All concerns about what to do with his rooms at the Albany and where he and his wife would live left his mind. Staring into Rebecca’s eyes, he saw his future, and he was home.

Dear Reader:

In the Georgian and Regency era in England, members of the Catholic faith weren’t allow to worship publicly, and marriages performed by Catholic priests were only valid if they’d already been performed by an Anglican minister under English law. When I read that a Catholic marriage was invalid if not performed correctly, I was intrigued with how that could work into a story. Thus the secret in Rebecca’s past came to be.

Research has shown Catholics did marry in secret, either before or after their Anglican ceremony, thanks to recusant houses like Coughton Court in Warwickshire. Records have been found listing the marriages performed there. Masses were also held in secret at such houses, where “mass chests” and priest holes have been found.

A novella isn’t a large enough setting for such a tale, so I might delve into it further in another series. I don’t wish to get into politics, but I am immensely intrigued by stories of the extremes people went to in order to be married. If you are interested, you can learn more about Coughton Court here:
http://www.coughtoncourt.co.uk/

Yours in romance,

Aileen

The Bridgethorpe Brides Series

If you enjoyed Neil and Rebecca’s tale, look for the other stories in the Bridgethorpe Brides series. In
His Impassioned Proposal
, we met Stephen and Jane. The Incorrigible Mr. Lumley featured David and Joanna, who married in this book. And watch for
Lady Hannah’s Impetuous Rogue
, coming Summer 2014!
 

His Impassioned Proposal
 

The wounded hero comes home.

Six years she has waited for the man she hopes to marry to return from war and propose to her. When he finally does, he is so far in his cups as to not remember the event the next morning! Miss Jane Marwick can't decide if she has wasted her heart on the wrong man or if he just needs some time to recover from too many life-changing events.
 

Stephen Lumley isn't sure he's capable of being a good husband to any woman, but he only has a few months to convince himself and Jane he is worthy of her love, or she'll be off to London to find a man who is. He's not certain what his future will bring, only that he needs Jane in it.
 

The Incorrigible Mr. Lumley

Stubborn. Hard-headed. Single-minded.
The qualities that make David Lumley a successful horse breeder are put to work befriending Lady Joanna Hurst with less than noble intentions. He’s tenacious in his pursuit of the answers he seeks.

Lady Joanna falls fast and hard for the handsome, witty and charming Mr. Lumley after her brother’s ultimatum to find a husband by the end of the Season. He is everything she imagined a husband could be, and more. Blissfully unaware of the conflict between their fathers, she believes he’ll declare his love soon. Then she overhears a conversation between Mr. Lumley and her brother, and all of Mr. Lumley’s tenacity will be needed if he’s to win back her heart.

Charming the Vicar’s Daughter

What’s a gentleman to do when the local Widows’ League insists on a marriage over a simple misunderstanding? How does he honor his family name without damaging that of a vicar’s daughter? For Neil Harrow, the journey to obtain a matched pair of horses for his new curricle has taken a wrong turn. While his uncle is not insisting Neil marry Rebecca Cookson, in his heart he knows it’s the thing to do.

Rebecca wants nothing to do with the popinjay who came to her aid, no matter how the situation appeared. The meddling old widows are a formidable opponent, but Rebecca will do everything in her power to avoid such an ill-suited match. As charming Mr. Harrow might be, Rebecca is determined to only marry a man she can love with all her heart.

Please enjoy this sampling of David and Joanna’s story!

Excerpt from:

The Incorrigible Mr. Lumley

Aileen Fish

Chapter One

April, 1810

Newmarket, Sussex, England

The air held a hint of excitement and promise of a fresh beginning. For David Lumley, the new year began in spring. Not with the first foal in the family stable, but with the Craven Race Meeting in Newmarket, the first official meeting of the year. This was going to be a grand year for Triton, he could feel it. Fernleigh Stud would be the name on everyone’s lips again.