Chapter Fourteen

August 6, 1817

T he last thing I want to do is attend this fete.

But it was what he had to do if he were to find a suitable candidate to begin courting. An engagement couldn't happen unless a courtship did first, and in order for that to take place, there needed to be a connection, a spark.

The past four days had been strained and awkward at best between him and Geneieve. While he hoped she might have defied him once more, she took great pains to avoid him at all costs. Two of those days, he was hosted for dinner at the homes of his parishioners. The other two were at home, and though Penny and Lily kept up a steady stream of conversation, their governess had remained uncharacteristically quiet with downcast eyes and a demure attitude.

During the days, she taken care to either keep the children in the attic-turned-schoolroom or they took lessons abroad in the countryside with picnic lunches and a change of clothing in the event they went swimming if the afternoons were stifling.

There had been no chance for flirting, casual touches, stolen kisses, or even a conversation that might relieve the tension between him and Gigi. Beyond that, he missed her smiles, the mischievous light in her lake-blue eyes, and the way she would constantly remind him that his way of thinking wasn't necessarily the correct one. Additionally, he missed the sound of her humming when she sat in the garden and thought she was alone. Often, those melodies wafted through his study window when he worked on his sermons. He missed her floral scent, and rarely did he catch snatches of those perfumed ghosts, for she rarely ventured out of her room if she was in residence. He even missed the evenings when they both sat in the common room reading books on vastly different topics, when he would read passages from his works, and she would return the favor.

And he didn't know how to fix their relationship beyond going back on everything he believed in or betraying his flock.

"Come and join in the game of croquet, Vicar."

The sound of a woman's voice yanked him from his musings, and it took a few seconds for Thomas to focus on the redhaired woman. He nodded and offered a polite smile. "Thank you. Perhaps I will in a bit." Ordinarily, he didn't mind the attentions of eligible women in his church, but today, the scrutiny and interest grated over his nerves.

"Don't linger too long else the games will end for luncheon," she said as she passed his location with a simpering smile and a flutter of lashes beneath the brim of her bonnet.

Tamping down the urge to grumble, Thomas glanced across the wide expanse of the village green where long tables had been set up. Crisp ivory cloths covered the surfaces, and the edges of them danced in the errant summer breeze. Settings had been laid; the sunlight sparkled on the silverware and glass, and the appetizing aromas of savory things wafted to his nose even at this distance as various villagers worked to arrange platters of food along the middle of all the tables.

"Now why would a man so sought after try to hide himself beneath the shade of these trees when he could be out there, flirting as he played croquet?"

He jerked his head around as Lord Grantford joined him, looking as fresh and pressed as if he were about to step out onto a dance floor in London.

"I am simply not of a mind to mingle just now." If it sounded far too grumpy, so be it. Thomas tugged on the knot of his cravat. "This gathering has made me quite nervous."

"Ah, well, that is understandable," his friend said as he clasped his hands behind his back. "I'll wager your current confusion has nothing to do with the fact you are at odds with Miss Hasting."

Merely hearing her name sent awareness prickling over his skin. "It is for the best." Though he remained wildly unhappy about this latest turn of events, he couldn't go back on the decision. He had responsibilities, and he was a changed man besides.

"Yet you aren't doing the pretty with Miss Partridge either," the viscount was quick to point out. "She is fetching today in that sky-blue dress."

Thomas flicked his gaze across the lawn to where croquet was being played. Miss Partridge was one of the participants, and indeed, she was lovely in the dress, and the matching ribbon in her brunette tresses called attention to her high cheekbones and slender neck. "Indeed, she is." While Miss Patridge was lovely and wholesome and everything he should want in a potential wife, she wasn't Geneieve, but the woman he wanted was the one person forbidden to him. "I expect the congregation is waiting for me to formally pay my addresses." The knowledge sent a stab of pain through his chest. If he chose Gigi in defiance merely to please himself, it would practically spell an end to his living. He would be replaced by someone else, someone better who had a stronger will, who would be more able to follow the Bible's dictates.

"Oh, indeed, and why wouldn't you? Everything about her screams proper and demure," Grantford said with a touch of amusement in his voice.

"Yes." Feeling far too glum, Thomas nodded. I've failed at everything. He owed it to himself and his congregation to toe the line and maintain the proper image of a leader. How could he expect his flock to follow the teachings found in the Bible if he didn't?

"Sometimes, Thomas, I rather believe you are the biggest nodcock I've ever met."

"How do you figure?" It was enough to shake him from his musings to focus on his friend's face. "I am truly struggling."

"There is an easy answer to that." Grantford nodded. "Miss Hasting is summer personified today, wouldn't you say?"

Despite himself, Thomas followed his friend's gaze. His world seemed to tilt, for Genevieve was easily the most beautiful woman he'd ever known. Clad in a dress the color of daffodils, she stood out among the ladies who wore white and ivory. Her golden hair gleamed and almost made her resemble an angel. While she talked and laughed with a few younger ladies, his heart stuck in his throat.

Why couldn't she act that free and genuine in his company?

He blew out a breath. "You know why anything with her is impossible for me."

"I know you are an idiot of the highest order. Miss Hasting is a wonderful woman, and since you are too set in your ways, I think I might try my luck with her."

Jealousy speared through his chest, and the ache was felt in his heart. "You should. She is part of the beau monde , and you are apparently everything she wants from a match." Grantford was much better suited for her. "Let me wish you well. No doubt you will be quite happy together, and if you don't treat her well, you will answer to me." It was the least he could do for her. Swallowing hard around the ball of emotion in his throat, Thomas nodded. "Do make certain you seat yourself near her at luncheon."

"Perhaps I will." The viscount frowned. "If I were you, though, I would decide what it is I truly want before too long. There will come a time when you cannot go back, and a chance might be forever lost. It has been my experience that good women will not wait around forever."

And she already told me she despises weak-spined men. The urge to cast up his accounts grew strong. "How can I, in good conscience, decide with my heart and soul when knowing that will muck up everything I have worked for in the past few years?"

"I didn't think you for a dunce, Thomas." Grantford shrugged. He huffed. "The question should be how can you not? No doubt life will work itself out, and the people who have their noses out of joint can get glad in the same face they were mad in." He clapped a hand on Thomas's shoulder. "At the end of the day, it is your life. Congregations and livings come and go, but who you have at your side is forever."

"It is much too soon, isn't it, to fall in love with a woman who is still much a stranger?" he asked in a soft voice. "Doesn't it take time and copious days spent in each other's company to necessitate a fall?"

The viscount snickered. "The fact you need to ponder the question indicates you have already tossed your hat over the windmill for the woman."

"Then that makes this all the more pathetic."

"Oh, indeed. Much like a drama played out on a Drury Lane stage."

Thomas shook his head. "It doesn't matter. There are others I must think about above myself." As he continued to watch Genevieve, who now talked and laughed with his nieces, who looked every inch like summer in their ruffled white dresses, Miss Partridge moved into his sight. She waved, gestured at him, then pointed at two chairs at the end of one of the tables. Clearly, she wished for him to sit next to her for luncheon. With a bit of a feeling that he went to his doom, he nodded. "Well, I should mingle. It's what a decent vicar would do."

"Perhaps, but you are also a coward."

"Yes, so I've been told before."

"It would behoove you to listen, then." Grantford had pity in his eyes as he regarded him. "I hope Miss Partridge proves everything you hope for." He dropped his hand. "And when Miss Hasting and I are taking London by storm, I'll be sure to write to you. No doubt she'll prove quite the adventure between the sheets."

Thomas bristled. He curled a hand into a fist. Though he wanted to punch his friend in the nose and hear the satisfying crunch of cartilage, he refrained from violence. "I refuse to dignify that with a comment."

"Ah, then that's as good an endorsement as any." Grantford chuckled and he grinned as he glanced at Thomas's fist. "Enjoy luncheon. I certainly will." Then the viscount took himself off. In short order, he reached Geneieve's side, and immediately she flashed him a wide grin while the girls ran toward his location. With his golden head bent close to hers, it was already evident they were a good match and had much in common. No doubt he would give Gigi the life Thomas could only dream of… if he wasn't a vicar.

Dear God, why does it hurt so much to see her obviously happy? Shouldn't I want that for her?

But why couldn't she feel that with him? Why wouldn't he let himself have that with her?

"Hullo, girls. You both are quite lovely today." And that was all due to Gigi's influence, for it had been she who'd helped them to pick out their outfits. "And it's quite a fine day for you to run about, hmm?"

"Uncle Thomas!" Lily ran up to him, then threw her arms about his hips. The purple satin sash about her waist matched the one in her dark hair. "Will you sit with us at luncheon? And there is a May pole but it's not even May!"

He couldn't help but grin over her wonder and enthusiasm. "Of course I'll sit with you. I plan to share the table with Miss Partridge as well."

Penny frowned. She fussed with the yellow satin ribbon around her own waist where a posey of wildflowers rested. "Might we sit with Miss Hasting instead? She is ever so much fun, and she knows loads of stories."

"I rather think you should be with me just now." He infused a brightness into his voice he didn't feel. This were exceedingly fond of Geneieve, and they would be devastated when he had to let her ago. "Once we come to know Miss Partridge better, I'm sure she'll be just as entertaining."

I hope.

"It's a good thing for you to spend time with Miss Partridge. She's a lovely young woman, don't you think?" For he might as well make inroads into courting the young woman.

All for the sake of a damned reputation and image, of keeping this living, which was much like pulling a lie about himself. What did it matter who he chose as a wife? Why the devil was he content letting a few gossips and an old vicar decide his fate?

"Her cake tasted like paste." Lily was nothing if not honest. She tugged on his hand. "I want a lemonade."

"So do I," Penny agreed with a shake of her head. She glanced across the lawn. "Who is the man talking to Miss Hasting?"

He didn't need to look to know. "My best friend, Lord Grantford. They make a fine match, don't you think?" The ache around his heart had grown in intensity.

Penny's frown continued. "One of my friends says you will marry Miss Partridge." She glanced up at him with worry in her eyes. "Are you?"

What to tell her? "Uh, I'm not certain yet. There are many things to consider."

"No!" Lily stamped a foot. She popped her hands on her little hips in much the same way he'd seen Geneieve do. "You should marry Miss Hasting."

"Miss Hasting is ever so lovely." Penny tugged on his other hand. "She is much better than Miss Partridge, and her voice sounds like a song."

Didn't he know it?

"Miss Hasting is your governess, but Miss Partridge is someone I am considering a courtship with, and she is a member of the church." Not that the girls would understand all the reasons he should choose Miss Patridge.

The girls exchanged a glance, and even a blind man would know what that meant.

"Don't you think Miss Hasting is pretty, Uncle Thomas?" Lily wanted to know.

"Of course I do, but—"

"Miss Hasting feels like a mother." Penny peered at him with expectation.

Thomas frowned. "What does that mean?"

She huffed. "When Miss Hasting hugs me, it's tight and squishy. Miss Patridge's hugs don't feel like that."

Lily nodded. "And her eyes don't smile like Miss Hasting's do."

Well, that was true. He'd noticed that as well.

"And…" Penny said as she tapped a forefinger on her chin. "Miss Patridge doesn't know about floating flower crowns on the water when you want to speak to the people who have gone before." Her expression suggested it was an affront to show ignorance in the subject. "She said it was scandalous to say so, and that I shouldn't bring it up again. She said people can't talk from heaven."

That was true also, but there were many different ways to honor loved ones. It seemed Geneieve had given the girls back their hope in life. Their sadness from months before had dimmed. Not forgotten, of course, but they weren't incredibly focused on it every day.

"People are different, and there is nothing wrong with that."

Penny stared at him as if trying to puzzle something out. "You should marry Miss Hasting. She makes all of us happy. Lily and me like having her around."

"Sometimes, pet, adult business and interactions are far more complicated than that." Taking them both in hand, he led them across the lawn toward the tables. "Luncheon will begin soon; we should find our chairs." As he guided them to where Miss Patridge stood, his gaze accidentally collided with Geneieve's. She talked with Lord Grantford not far away.

He grinned and inclined his chin in greeting. She acknowledged it by giving him a nod, but her smile was more dull than usual, but then the fleeting few seconds she'd exchanged with him were over, for she responded to something Grantford said, laughing with him and then moving off toward a table at the opposite side of the square.

Dear God, how can I survive losing her?