His image became a little blurred as his words found their way into her heart. I don’t deserve such adoration, but I thank you for it, Father. “I know that, Vicar.” But then she held up her other hand, lest he get carried away and start making arrangements for the ceremony.
“I only have one request.” She thought for a second. “Two, actually.”
“Anything!” he grinned. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive.”
“The engagement should be long. Several months, at least … perhaps even a year.”
“That long?”
“We have daughters, Vicar. And I don’t know how yours reacted to our dear friends’, the Clays, rush into marriage, but mine consider it to be much more romantic than any fairy tale. I believe we should set an example for their sakes.”
His broad shoulders sagged a little with disappointment, but then he gave a reluctant nod. “You’re right, of course. I wouldn’t want Elizabeth getting caught up in the excitement and deciding to marry her curate, when I’m not totally sure of her commitment to him.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“Oh, well,” he sighed. “Reason must prevail. I believe you said you have two requests.”
“Yes. It would also seem reasonable, since you’re going to begin courting me, that you should kiss me now.”
Complete surprise altered his face. “Why … you’re an astonishing woman, Mrs. Hollis!”
“Does that mean you’d rather not kiss me?”
“It most certainly does not mean that!” He grinned and got to his feet, then took both of her hands and helped her to stand. His kiss was slow, thoughtful, and left her feeling just a bit light-headed as she took a step back with her hands still in his.
“That was rather nice,” she smiled. And it’s been a long time.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Why not another, Mrs. Hollis?”
“Now, Vicar Phelps,” she teased. “We’ve a whole year.”
“A whole year,” he sighed again.
They sat for a while longer—Julia in her chair and the vicar seated on its arm—perfectly content in each other’s presence. They conversed quietly about many things—their children, the future, and anything else that came to mind.
“You know,” he said after a period of comfortable silence had lapsed, “Napoleon Bonaparte once offered Madame Merieult a castle in exchange for her long red hair. He wanted to have it made into a wig to present to a Turkish sultan.”
Turning her head to look at him, Julia asked, “Well, did she?”
He touched a loose strand of her auburn hair. “Would you?”
“If my family were desperate, I suppose I would have no other choice.”
“Well, Madame Merieult was wealthy. So, in fact, she turned down the emperor’s request.”
Julia found herself a little relieved. “How do you know this?”
“It’s just something I read from a history book recently. I thought of you right away and was glad to learn that she kept her beautiful hair.”
“Why, Vicar,” Julia said, smiling. “You’re quite the romantic soul, aren’t you?”
He appeared to blush a little above his beard but returned her smile tenderly. “I’m afraid so. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. And I suppose that means you wish to kiss me again.”
His eyes sparkled as he leaned toward her. “I’m not the only romantic soul in this room, Mrs. Hollis.” When they had kissed, a little longer this time, he said, “You know, Christmas weddings are quite lovely. Wouldn’t seven months be enough time, considering the fact that I’ve been practically courting you since we first met?”
Suddenly a year did seem like a long time to Julia. “Very well,” she replied.
Raising an eyebrow, he said, “Truly?”
“Truly.”
“Do you think we could go find the children and tell them?”
It was so typically him to think of such a thing. As they walked together through the courtyard and toward the stables, Julia recalled how bleak her future and that of her children had seemed such a short time ago. But you brought us through that valley, Father. There would be other valleys, she knew instinctively, for life was not lived on a continuous plateau. And perhaps it was better that way—in spite of the pain they’d endured—for the mountaintop now seemed all the sweeter.
The Widow of Larkspur Inn Page 51
