“Won’t you come inside, my lady?” He offered his arm. For a second, she hesitated, then tossed her hat and driving goggles onto the passenger seat. Her fingers touched the fine linen of his shirt sleeve to rest on the strong muscles beneath. Instantly, she had to fight the desire to pull away. A tingle, like a low electric shock, raced through her. Only her desire to hide her reaction kept her hand on his bent arm. As if they had talked of nothing more personal than the automobile, he asked, “You like being different, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she answered hastily. She was pleased he had not noted how his nearness disconcerted her.
She did not understand why she reacted this way. Reverend Beckwith-Carter did not like her particularly, and she expected he would cause her trouble. She should not be so thrilled by the warmth of his skin, separated from her by only a single layer of fabric.
Mrs. Reed, the parsonage’s housekeeper, came forward to greet her as they entered the front hall of the small house. The silver-haired woman had kept the parsonage for Reverend Tanner before he retired. Mariel smiled. She had worked on church projects with this lady, who was as thin as her name suggested. She respected the older woman’s common sense and ability to deal with pettiness, which exasperated Mariel to distraction.
“Good morning, Lady Mariel. I just took biscuits from the oven. You will have some?”
Unbuttoning the heavy mackintosh she wore to protect her clothes from the dust blown up by the wheels of the automobile, Mariel nodded with a smile. She smoothed her simple skirt and the wide sleeves of her cream, voile shirt. “You know I can’t resist your biscuits.”
“Jam? Strawberry is your favorite, if I recall correctly.”
“If it is no trouble.”
“Certainly not. Reverend?”
He had been watching the young woman hanging her coat on a hook as if she was as at home here as he was. Aloud he told Mrs. Reed that whatever she had would be fine. He admitted to himself it should be no surprise Lady Mariel was familiar with the parsonage. She had lived in Foxbridge all her life. He had been here only a few weeks.
When he motioned toward the study, she smiled coolly. His lips tightened. The open friendship she showed Mrs. Reed would not be wasted on him. He had hoped Lady Mariel would not be an adversary, but it appeared she did not share his feelings.
He waited while Mrs. Reed brought in the tray, and he listened to the two women talk about people he barely knew. When the housekeeper excused herself, he rose to close the door. He met Lady Mariel’s wide blue eyes. Secretly, he was pleased to see she was astonished at being alone with him unchaperoned. Perhaps she was not as immune to the pressures of society as she pretended.
“Will you pour, Lady Mariel?”
“Of course, Reverend.”
“My name is Ian,” he said as he took one of the warm biscuits from the plate on the painted tray.
She glanced up in surprise before returning her attention to her task. “I am aware of that. Sugar, Reverend?”
When he did not answer, she found her eyes captured by his again. With the sugar tongs in her hand, she sat motionless as a warmth she could not halt sifted through her, bringing a rose tint to her cheeks. His smile teased a similar reaction from her lips.
Breaking the bewitchment, she said far more serenely than she felt, “Sugar, Ian?”
“Two, Mariel. I trust I may call you that.”
“I am sure I have little choice,” she retorted with a touch of sarcasm. When he disdained the offer of cream, she handed him his cup. “You are incredibly difficult to deal with.”
He smiled as she poured her own tea. “That is odd. I was thinking exactly the same thing about you.”
With a laugh, she leaned back against the prickly horsehair upholstery. She raised her cup to her lips, but grimaced as the steam from the hot liquid billowed in her face. “You have the advantage over me. You must have heard of my recalcitrant nature.”
“Recalcitrant was not the word your adversaries used. Stubborn is the one I heard most.” He picked up a biscuit, lathered it with strawberry jam, and offered it to her. When she accepted it graciously, he continued, “The people around Foxbridge admire you very much, Mariel.”
“I know what they think of me, but I only want to help. With Uncle Wilford gone so much, it behooves me to assume those duties normally done by Lord Foxbridge.”
“And those are?”
“Helping out in the community, making sure that there is food for the hungry and shelter for the poor.” When she saw the twinkle in his eyes, she retorted, “It is important work!”
He smiled. “Undoubtedly. But I find it strange a woman with your remarkable temperament would be satisfied with such tame organizations.”
Mariel started to reply, then wondered if his words were meant to offend. “Remarkable temperament” could mean almost anything. She had come to beg his forgiveness, and he threw derogatory, incomprehensible comments in her face. When she rose, he did the same. He asked her what was wrong, but she ignored him as she walked toward the door. His hand on her arm kept her from reaching for the knob.
“Reverend Beckwith-Carter,” she stated with icy hauteur, “do not presume that your backward collar allows you to forget the manners of a gentleman.”
She gasped as he spun her to look at him. Her black skirt belled out in the movement. Anger transformed his face. She tried to pull her arm out of his grip, but he refused to release it.
“Reverend!”
Auburn brows accented the anger in his eyes. “I will act as a gentleman should when you show me you can be a lady.”
“How dare you?” She raised her hand, but halted it before it could strike his face. She could not imagine striking a minister. That was what she told herself, not wanting to admit his green gaze daunted her.
“Why are you trying to make everyone dislike you, Mariel?”
She swallowed harshly. Why could this man with a few words, cut to the quick of her soul? He did not know her, but revealed the secrets she could not admit to herself.
Slowly Ian released her arm. Viewing the bare emotion on her face, he could not ask more of her. More than anyone he had met in his life, Mariel needed to heal the pain within herself. He might not be the one to help her, for she did not fail to show him on every opportunity how little she wanted him to play a part in her life.
When she had arrived this afternoon, he had thought … He erased the intriguing image from his mind. As if a sudden lassitude had dropped on him, he sat again. He looked at her confused features.
“Forgive me, Mariel. I had no cause to speak to you like that.” His mouth tilted in a wry grin. “Sometimes I have this yearning to solve all the problems of the world. An egotism shared by too many clergymen.”
She stood uneasily by the door, torn between the urge to spit out angry words and leave, and the urge to stay and learn more about this surprising man. Her feet seemed nailed to the floor and her voice frozen in her throat. She knew there must be something she could say, but her normally facile mind could think of nothing. As each moment passed, her embarrassment grew. The hot flush along her face warned her she could not hide it.
The door opened abruptly into her back. She was jolted forward several steps. With a hurried apology, Mrs. Reed peeked into the room. When she saw Lady Mariel’s reddened cheeks and the reverend’s tight lips, she knew she had interrupted something important.
“Reverend, I knocked, but no one—”
He rose with the aid of his cane and waved aside her apology. “What is it, Mrs. Reed?”
“It is Mrs. Albion. She wants to talk to you about the new altar cloth she is making.”
“Have her wait in the parlor. I will be there shortly.” When the housekeeper nodded and closed the door, he looked at Mariel. “Will you stay while I deal with this?”
Unwilling to lose her chance to flee from this uncomfortable situation, she said quickly, “You are busy. I can return at a later date.”
“I won’t be lo
ng. Five minutes.”
“I can come back.”
He stepped closer to her. When he took her fingers in his hand, she looked from them to his mysterious eyes. The gentle stroke of his thumb across her palm sent strange sensations through her. He lifted her hand and sandwiched it tenderly between his own.
“Mariel, don’t leave when we are unsettled with one another. That happened yesterday. We are going to be working together while I am in Foxbridge. Must we argue all the time?”
“Probably.” She dimpled as her sense of humor reasserted itself. “I argue with everyone else I work with.”
“So I have heard.” He became serious as he asked again, “You will wait?”
“Yes.”
He squeezed her fingers gently. His face mirrored his reluctance as he released them. “It will take no longer than five minutes. Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.”
Mariel watched as he walked to the door. He moved so smoothly with his cane, she could forget it except for times when it hit the door with a hollow sound or when it brushed her skirt. She whirled about to look out the window past the sofa. Wrapping her arms around herself, she regarded the activities on the green.
Children chased a hoop and played with a ball. Two women with baskets of laundry resting on their hips talked soundlessly. A man staggered from the direction of the village pub, which bore the odd name of “Three Georges.” In front of the parsonage, she could see her automobile and a carriage she assumed belonged to Mrs. Albion.
She did not know the woman, although she was well acquainted with her husband, for he served with her on the school board. Mr. Albion fought every idea she expressed. He denounced her outlandish plans, as he was fond of calling them. To her thinking, he disliked everything she said simply because she was a woman. He made no effort to hide his opinion that women should stay in their homes and serve their husbands and raise children.
Thinking of the intractable Mr. Albion always brightened her spirits. She so enjoyed baiting him at the meetings, just the anticipation of the next time brought a wicked smile.
She wandered around the study, noting the changes Ian had made: only small things which evaded the casual eye. Photos of people she did not recognize rested on the fireplace mantel. New pieces of bric-a-brac shared the cluttered spaces on the few tables between the chairs.
By the desk, her dress brushed against pages hanging over the edge. She did not utter her curse, which would have been out of place in a parsonage. Bending, she scooped up the papers, which had fluttered in every direction, and sat in the nearest chair as she tried to put them in order.
Her eyes widened as her attention was caught by a phrase in the bold handwriting. Flipping the page, she saw a date on the top of it. This must be Ian’s sermon for the coming Sunday. She glanced at the crossed-out words and the insertions. Never had she thought about the work necessary to lecture a congregation on the need for a sinless life.
Although she knew she should not be reading it, his words captured her imagination. That he would be preaching a lesson from the Book of Ruth about the special love of a parent for a child deepened her interest. Since her early adolescence, she had been delighted by the romantic tale of a poor widow who finds, through her mother-in-law’s intervention, the man of her dreams.
Leaning back in the chair, she read through the first page. She smiled at a sally she knew would be enjoyed by the members of the church. Reverend Tanner never would have thought to lighten his dolorous lessons with levity. She put the first page on the table in front of her and searched for the next one. Concentrating on following the arrows moving sentences from one part of the page to the other, she paid no attention to the passing of time.
“Enjoying it?”
She whirled as if she had been caught in a crime. “Ian! I—I—” She tried to choke out a few coherent words. “The pages fell. I picked them up, and—and—”
With a laugh, he sat in the chair next to hers. “So what do you think?”
“What do I think?” she repeated witlessly.
“About my sermon?” He pointed to the pages. “What do you think of it?”
Lowering the page she had been reading, she met his eyes for the first time without rage or trepidation. In a serene voice, she said, “I think it is wonderful.”
“Do you?”
“Fishing for compliments, Ian? I wouldn’t have told that if I didn’t mean it!”
He leaned forward to fold his arms on the back of her chair. “You wouldn’t, would you?” Pointing to one of the most rewritten areas, he asked, “What did you think of this part?”
“You want my opinion on your sermon?”
In the exact tone she had used with him, he retorted, “I would not have asked you, if I did not want to know.” He smiled when she chuckled. “You are an intelligent woman, Mariel. You must be if you like my sermons.”
While they laughed together, she did not think about the harsh words they had traded less than a quarter of an hour before. They discussed the sermon with the ease of longtime friends. If she startled him with her Biblical knowledge, or if she was surprised by his liberal attitudes to many things Reverend Tanner thought should never be changed, neither spoke of it.
Their heads bent closely together over the pages. Taking a pen from the desk, Ian marked her comments next to his words. When they were finished, he folded the crumpled papers and placed the sermon back on the blotter. The letter opener secured it, so it would not fly away again.
When he offered her another cup of tea to replace the one she had not tasted, she accepted happily. From the discussion of his sermon, it was an easy transition to her work in Foxbridge. He seemed very interested in her position on the school board and her ideas to better the school.
“It is not easy,” she concluded. “Many people resist anything that is new. Unfortunately, the other members share their opinion.”
“Nothing good comes easily. I—” He paused as he heard shouts from across the green. “School is out.”
“Already?” She looked at the small watch pinned to the bodice of her blouse. “Look at the time. Ian, I have taken your whole afternoon.”
“And I have made you late for your meeting.”
She shrugged. “I can get there very quickly in the automobile.” As inspiration struck her, she asked, “Would you like to go for a ride in it, or do you think the dignity of your office would be compromised?”
He laughed with young-hearted enthusiasm. “I suppose I should be concerned with my safety in such an infernally modern machine, but … why not?”
“I suggest you wear something other than your ministerial blacks. The dust is worse than a carriage.”
As he stood, he remembered her reason for coming into the village. “What about your meeting?”
She smiled mischievously. “The Ladies’ Aid Society will delight in my absence. I was going to demand a report on the fair last fall. The ones in charge are delaying because they used the funds inappropriately.”
“They stole them?” He could not hide his astonishment.
“Borrowed might be a kinder way to phrase it. You should not be so shocked, Ian. They will replace it, but they can’t do it all at once.” She glanced at his outstretched hand as he offered to help her to her feet, unsure if she wanted to touch him. Knowing she had no choice, she put her fingers on his palm.
He drew her slowly from the sofa. As he had done on the porch, he examined her face minutely. This time he acted as if he wanted to memorize her features. She found nothing to say as she was wrapped in a warm cocoon of unfamiliar feelings. Standing here with Ian made her happy.
Already, she discovered, he had created sensations within her she had not guessed she could feel. No one else could rile her so quickly or soothe her fears with a gentle smile. That she had known him only a day seemed the strangest thing of all. It was as if he had been a friend forever.
“Shall we go, Mariel?” he asked with what sounded like regret.<
br />
She wondered if she had done something wrong. She had done nothing. Perhaps she should have said something, but when she gazed into those everchanging eyes, she thought only of how fathomless they were, like the sea they resembled.
“Of course. Let me get my coat in the hall. Do you have something to wear?” She colored as she realized what an inappropriate question that was.
“Do you always blush so much?”
“No!”
He put a single finger to her cheek. “You should. Every emotion is lovely on you, Mariel. Even embarrassment.” With a smile, he moved toward the door. “I will get my coat and meet you on the porch.”
Overwhelmed by his compliment, and the way her heart leapt at it, she went into the hall. Mrs. Reed popped out of the parlor as Mariel was putting on her driving mackintosh. She wondered if the housekeeper had been eavesdropping on their conversation. Even as she told herself that was an unjustified thought, she soothed her conscience by reminding herself they had spoken of nothing unseemly.
“The biscuits were wonderful. Don’t tell Mrs. Puhle I told you that. She wants her kitchen at the Cloister to be the best in the shire.”
The housekeeper smiled at the joke they had shared often in the past. When she started to speak, unease bright on her face, she seemed to think better of it. She scurried toward the kitchen at the back of the house asIan’s uneven steps could be heard through the ceiling.
Staring after her, Mariel tried to guess what had caused Mrs. Reed to act so strangely. Certainly there could be nothing wrong with her calling on the new minister or offering him a ride in her automobile. As she did so often, Mariel decided she did not care what another thought. Surprisingly, today, she was enjoying Ian’s company and did not want the day to end so soon.
By the time Ian came onto the porch, Mariel was seated in the driver’s seat. She smiled as he eased himself onto the narrow seat. Inserting the ignition key, she released the brake. The car started with a sound not unlike a swarm of bees. Her passenger put his hand on the wrought iron decoration near the seat as the automobile lurched into motion.
Mariel Page 3
