The Heart of a Vicar

by Sarah M. Eden

  She indicated her mourning dress. Though there was undeniable jesting in her tone and expression, he also sensed more sincerity than she was letting on. Black was a somber color. Not many appreciated wearing it in unrelieved constancy.

  Harold took her hand. “You are beautiful no matter what color you wear.”

  “I hope you like black, then, because that is all you’re going to be seeing me in for the next three months.”

  That was encouraging. “Does that mean I will be seeing you?”

  “Would you like to?” Every now and then, Sarah managed a tone that was utterly flirtatious.

  “I would very much like that. I would, in fact, really like to see you all day each day. Every day.”

  She threaded her fingers through his, watching him closely.

  He firmed his resolve. “I have spent the morning and a good part of this afternoon looking for a way to address the neglect at the vicarage while not draining my income as quickly as I have been.”

  She nodded silently, not looking away.

  “I don’t think it can be done,” he said. “My situation will be difficult for a long time. I cannot change that.” He saw disappointment tiptoe over her. He pressed forward. “I’ve lived years without you, Sarah. I was lost, wandering, broken. I used to pray—literally pray—that you would come back.”

  “You did?” She spoke almost breathlessly.

  “Then I heard you were returning, and I was terrified. I knew—I knew you would be disappointed in me.”

  “I—”

  “And you were,” he pointed out. “Rightly so. And your disappointment shook me from my yearslong stupor.” He tucked both his hands around hers and pressed them to his heart. “When I am with you, I feel like I can be better, I can be more than what I’ve let myself become. You make me whole in a way nothing else and no one else ever has.”

  She watched him with such tenderness.

  It was all the encouragement he needed. “I have almost nothing to offer you. You would have far more comforts and ease here in your brother’s home.”

  She tucked herself against him.

  One of his arms slipped free and wrapped around her. “I would love you, Sarah, but that is all I have. No comforts, no promise that we wouldn’t have days when food was scarce. The vicarage is cold in the winter to save on coal. There’d be no new clothes, no jewels. Only my devotion and my love.”

  “That, Harold, is all I’ve ever wanted from you. It is all I have dreamed of.”

  “I’m offering you a life of poverty.” He needed to be certain she understood that.

  “You are offering me your heart. That is a treasure.” She stretched and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I have hoped ever since our discussion of your finances that you would simply ask me if I was willing to accept a life on a small income, if it was enough for me. I didn’t want to push you, but I hoped.”

  “I finally found the courage to ask.” He leaned his forehead against hers. He brushed his fingers along her cheek. “I have loved you all these years. I never stopped. I never could.”

  “And I love you,” she said. “I always have.”

  He tipped his head enough to press a light kiss to her lips. Her arms slipped around his neck. He pulled her to him, holding her close as he kissed her more fully, more deeply.

  He’d lost her once to his own doubts and uncertainties, every hope he’d had disappearing in a single afternoon. Yet here she was in his arms, loving him as he loved her, accepting what little he had to offer.

  Never again would he doubt that the heavens could work miracles.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Watching Harold fill his role was a joy. He smiled now. He laughed. He was loved. And his family had, at last, begun showing him the appreciation and acceptance he needed from them. Jason and his wife had come with their tiny daughter, and Stanley and Marjie had returned with their new son, both wanting their infants to be christened in the Collingham church by their brother. Others who had witnessed the rite likely hadn’t realized how deeply touched Harold was to have been asked to perform it, but Sarah had seen it in his eyes.

  She had been invited to join the Jonquils for a family gathering afterward. Scott had left for Town a few days earlier. He’d not elaborated, but some matter of business related to the estate had pulled him there with noticeable earnestness. She was grateful to see him no longer forced into a position of subservience to a meanspirited and angry man, but he was very busy, and she missed him.

  Harold met her in the entryway. He put his arms around her, pressed a kiss to her temple, and held her to him.

  She held fast to him. “Scott said that before he left for Town, you spoke with him about our wish to be married.”

  “I did. And he laughed.”

  She pulled back and looked up at him. “Laughed?”

  Harold grinned. “He said that he knew it was customary for me to ask his permission and he knew that the two of us would have to work out the particulars of the arrangements but that he found it rather ridiculous that his ‘permission’ played any role in this at all since you have always been one to do exactly what you felt was best.”

  “He knows my stubbornness all too well.”

  Harold kept his arms around her. In the week since they had chosen the future they meant to claim together, he had grown very affectionate. She loved this change in him.

  “I intend to tell my family today,” he said, “now that all is settled with your brother. I should warn you though: the laughter that will follow will put your brother’s little chuckle to shame.”

  “You think they’ll laugh?”

  “I am nearly the youngest. That puts me in the perfect position to be teased by all of my older brothers, and every last one of them is here today.”

  “If you need someone to stand as second, you simply tell me.” She felt him chuckle, and she held tighter to him. “I missed this all those years we were apart: being with you, hearing your voice. I don’t want to ever have to miss that again.”

  He slipped his hands to her face, holding her tenderly. He pressed a light kiss to her lips. “Let us go face the horde.”

  “Did we decide on ‘a horde of Jonquils,’ then?”

  He shrugged. “It’ll do for now, at least.”

  “The horde it is.”

  He nodded. “The sooner we tell my brothers about our plans, the sooner they will finish tormenting me over it, and the sooner we can begin planning our forever.”

  “I love you, you know.”

  “And I am more amazed by that every day.” He kissed her again, lingering over the moment of affection.

  His sigh when he pulled back spoke of regret. She understood; she too wished they could stay just as they were.

  The drawing room was a study in beautiful chaos. The five oldest Jonquils, plus Crispin. All their wives. Their ever-expanding families.

  “Sorrel has joined the gathering tonight.” Sarah was so pleased to see her future sister-in-law sitting amongst the family. Clearly, she had not fully recovered from all she had passed through—her coloring remained pale and her posture spoke of continuing weakness—but she was there, enjoying the gathering.

  “The twins are down from the nursery as well,” Harold said. “They’ve been passed from one aunt or uncle to another all evening. I suspect the poor babies are growing seasick.”

  “Those two will not want for attention; that much is certain.”

  Harold smiled. “No one does in this family.”

  “I cannot believe I get to be part of it.” Sarah could not hide her amazement.

  “I cannot believe you want to be.” His grin brought out her laugh.

  Philip and Layton turned at the sound. Layton smiled warmly. Philip looked ready to burst with amusement, a common thing for him these days.

  “Are you re
ady?” Harold asked out the side of his mouth.

  “Absolutely.”

  Harold slipped his hand around hers. She held fast. She wasn’t truly nervous, but there was enough anticipation tiptoeing over her to make his touch and his comfort very welcome.

  “I don’t know what you see, Layton,” Philip said, “but I spy a Jonquil looking to make an announcement.”

  “I see the same.” Layton could be every bit as mischievous as his older brother when he chose to be.

  “Am I so transparent?” Harold didn’t seem the least offended.

  “Let us just say, this moment has played out a few times.” Philip rolled his eyes. “Did you want this to be announced to the entire gathering, or were you hoping for a more personal moment?”

  “If everyone already knows, secrecy hardly seems necessary.”

  Philip turned to face the crowd, who were paying him no heed. He let out a long, shrill whistle, and the room fell silent, all eyes on him.

  “Holy Harry means to sermonize.”

  Amusement, eye rolls, disbelief. Nearly every reaction was accounted for amongst the gathering.

  Harold was not put off by any of them. He had at last reached the point where he felt sure enough of himself to not be overset by his family’s tendency to tease. “I have no intention of preaching,” he said to them all. “I simply wanted you to share in my joy. Sarah and I”—he looked at her as he spoke, love filling his eyes—“mean to build a life together. She has agreed to marry me.”

  Caroline spoke before anyone else could. “She was always going to marry you, Harry. You just hadn’t asked her yet.”

  Snickers followed that pronouncement. Marion eyed them both with amusement but also with a look that clearly said, “The girl is not wrong.”

  Harold lifted Sarah’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Is that true, my dear?”

  “I would have married you years ago if you’d asked me.”

  He pressed their clasped hands to his heart. “We have wasted a great deal of time, my love.”

  “Speaking of wasting time,” Philip jumped in. “Do you have any other announcements you want to not shock us with?”

  Harold pushed out a dramatic groan. “This is not at all the warm, heartfelt congratulations I was expecting.”

  “How long have you known this family?” Stanley asked dryly. “Mockery was a given; congratulations never are.”

  Harold met Sarah’s eye. “I still can’t believe you are willingly joining this throng.”

  “As long as you’re part of it,” she said.

  Philip joined them, nudging them a little away from the others. “Are you meaning to marry by license or post the banns?”

  “It had best be the banns,” Harold said. “I haven’t enough for a special license.”

  Philip’s brow pulled in confusion for only a moment. “Consider it a wedding present, Harold. You have kept Sarah waiting long enough.”

  “Would you consider a different present?” Harold asked. “Because I could use advice more than a license.”

  “Advice on what?”

  Harold kept her hand in his. She suspected he was finally going to ask his brother about the insufficiency of his living. “Vicars aren’t educated on matters of budgets and finances. I am hopeful you’ll know something I don’t about stretching an income.”

  Philip motioned for them to walk with him into the corridor. “Are you struggling, Harold? The income attached to this parish is not enormous, I grant you, but it isn’t meager.”

  “I have no complaints about the size of the living,” he assured his brother. “If not for the impact of Throckmorten’s neglect of the vicarage and church, I would have far more of my income at my disposal still.”

  Philip’s brow pulled low. “The vicarage is in disrepair?”

  “Not as much as before, but there is still much to be done. It will require a significant portion of my income for a couple of years.”

  “Confound it, Harry. Did they teach you nothing at Cambridge?” Philip didn’t sound angry. Exasperation hung in his amused tone. “The upkeep of the vicarage is the responsibility of the estate that controls the living, you beefhead.” Philp laughed. “If the vicarage is falling to bits, that’s for the Lampton Estate to put to rights. Your income was never meant to cover that.”

  Harold stared for a long moment. He shook his head. “The parish tithes repair the chapel and bridges and roads,” he said.

  “Yes, the parish oversees those things. The estate maintains the vicarage.”

  “Mercy,” Harold whispered.

  Philip took pity on him. “I ought to have spoken with you about this when you first took on the role of curate. You always seemed so sure of your role it never occurred to me you might have some gaps in your understanding.”

  Harold looked to Sarah, amazement and emotion in his expression. “The estate maintains the vicarage.”

  “I knew you should tell him.”

  “You were right,” he said. “Philip does know something.”

  Philip laughed. “Make an accounting of what you have spent putting the vicarage to rights, and I’ll see to it you’re reimbursed, and for heaven’s sake, let me know what else needs to be done there. I’ll have to fund it out of Kendrick and Julia’s inheritance, but as long as you don’t have guilt about leaving infants destitute . . .” Philip shrugged.

  Sarah patted Philip’s arm consolingly. “The bald one will struggle, but I suspect Lady Julia has her mother’s resolve.”

  “The bald one.” Philip shook his head. “I’ll have you know, even Wilson approves of his bald little head.”

  “Well, Wilson has a bald little head,” Harold said.

  Someday, Sarah hoped to meet this legend of a valet.

  Mater peeked through the drawing room doorway. She shot her oldest son a look of warning. “I mean to gush over these two, and you had best not interrupt.”

  “I’m in the suds now,” Philip whispered. He crossed to Mater and pressed a kiss to her cheek, then left the three of them in the corridor.

  Mater looked back at Harold and Sarah. Without another word, she pulled them both into a hug. “I couldn’t be happier. I have waited for this since the last time Sarah was in England. I had hoped you two would find your way to your happy ever after.”

  What a joy it was to be part of this loving family.

  After a long embrace, Mater released them. “Do allow Philip to procure you a special license. You’ve waited quite long enough, and I would so love to see you married while so many of my boys are here to be part of such a special day.”

  “I believe I will accept his generosity,” Harold said. “As soon as Scott returns, we can hold the ceremony.”

  Sarah met his eyes, her heart warming and glowing inside. “I couldn’t be happier, my dear.”

  Mater walked with them back into the drawing room. They were instantly flooded with Jonquils offering well-wishes. No one seemed the least displeased, and absolutely no one appeared surprised.

  “Will you be my aunt and my cousin now?” Caroline asked.

  “I will.”

  The little girl smiled broadly. “I am glad. I like that you’re in my family.”

  “I like it as well,” Sarah said. “It is my very favorite dream come true.”

  Epilogue

  According to his brothers, Harold Jonquil was born a vicar. According to his new bride, he was her champion, her companion, her dearest love. She made him feel as though he could conquer the world.

  Harold sat on the doubled-back section of banister in the quiet stillness of the house he now shared with Sarah. He’d always liked the Collingham vicarage, but it finally felt like a true home.

  He heard her footsteps before he saw her.

  She leaned around the corner of the wall and looked at him. “Why are
you in your thinking spot? Has something happened?”

  He shook his head. “I was only sitting here, realizing how very fortunate I am and how very much I love you.”

  “Would you care to ponder your good fortune over here with me?”

  “I am always pleased at the prospect of spending time with you.”

  She held her hand out to him. “Come join me on solid ground, Harold. I don’t climb on banisters.”

  He scooted down the wood and hopped onto the floor beside her. His arms slipped around her almost of their own accord. “I love you, Sarah Jonquil. I love you so very much.”

  She smiled broadly. “You tell me that often, Harold.”

  “You had best grow accustomed to hearing it.” He kissed the soft spot just below her right ear. “I don’t intend to stop telling you. Over”—he kissed her neck—“and over”—he kissed her just below her jaw—“again.”

  Sarah leaned into his embrace.

  He closed his eyes, committing the perfect moment to memory. “I love you, Sarah.”

  She shook with a silent laugh. “You really are going to keep telling me that, aren’t you?”

  He bent low and whispered in her ear. “For the rest of our lives.”

  About the Author

  Sarah M. Eden is a USA Today best-selling author of witty and charming award-winning historical romances. Combining her obsession with history and her affinity for tender love stories, Sarah loves crafting deep characters and heartfelt romances set against rich historical backdrops. She holds a bachelor’s degree in research and happily spends hours perusing the reference shelves of her local library. She lives with her husband, kids, and mischievous dog in the shadow of a snow-capped mountain she has never attempted to ski.

  Other Books by Sarah M. Eden

  The Lancaster Family

  Seeking Persephone

  Courting Miss Lancaster