A Vicarage Wedding

by Kate Hewitt

  “Life isn’t like that, Rachel.”

  His words twanged through her, because who could say that he wasn’t right? Hadn’t she learned that lesson over these last few weeks, as she tried to recover from Dan’s breaking it off? Life wasn’t like that. It wasn’t a soft-focus fairy tale with all the lavish trimmings; happy endings were rare and definitely not guaranteed, and sometimes you simply had to carve what you could out of the crappy materials you’d been given.

  “Maybe it isn’t,” she said finally, “but it can be. I still believe that.” She wanted to believe it. “And it’s worth taking the risk.”

  “Says you, who wouldn’t be taking it.” He sighed, and for a second she thought she had him, but then he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know I must seem harsh to you, but I can’t risk it.” He paused, regret briefly twisting his features. “I really am sorry, Rachel.”

  “It’s not me you should be saying sorry to,” Rachel said quietly, and Sam’s face closed right up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that… I understand where you’re coming from, Sam, or at least I’m trying to, but—”

  “I think this discussion is over,” Sam answered coolly. “I need to be back downstairs.”

  Rachel watched him go, wishing she’d handled the conversation better. More sensitively, perhaps, because she did understand where Sam was coming from, or at least as much as she could…but did he understand what was at stake for Nathan? He seemed like he didn’t even want to think about it.

  As he left the flat, she realised she was feeling more than just disappointed for Nathan’s sake. She was hurt for her own, because she’d thought… Oh heaven help her, she’d started to think he might have feelings for her. Friendly feelings, or even more than that. And she’d had them, too.

  Rachel sank onto the sofa, her head in her hands. How could she have been so stupid, so deluded? She’d told herself all along she just wanted to help, but right now she knew it was more than that. More than a neighbourly altruism or a teacher’s concern. She cared—about Nathan, and also about Sam. And right now she felt as if she were no more than an irritation to him, something that hurt far, far more than it should.

  By the time Sam arrived back at half past one in the morning Rachel was more than ready to escape to her own flat. His voice was brusque as he thanked her, his gaze avoiding hers.

  “And just so you know,” he said when her hand was on the doorknob, “I’ve arranged cover for the weekends, so you won’t have to watch Nathan any longer.”

  Rachel flinched, hurt even more by this coolly spoken statement. Was he trying to cut her out of his life completely? “I didn’t mind, you know,” she said quietly.

  “Well, all the same,” he answered. “It’s best this way.”

  Was it? Rachel left without saying anything more, because she didn’t trust herself to speak. She shouldn’t feel so hurt; she knew that. What had she and Sam shared, anyway? A couple of conversations? She was being an absolute ninny, reading way more into their brief friendship than had ever been there, probably because of the way things had ended with Dan. Like Esther had said, she was on the rebound—and she hadn’t even known it.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Miriam asked the next morning as Rachel lounged on the settee, unable to face an endless Saturday alone. “You look like the world’s caved in.”

  “I’m just tired,” Rachel mumbled.

  “You don’t look just tired.”

  “Who are you, Esther? What’s with the inquisition?”

  “I’d hardly call that an inquisition.” Miriam perched on the end of the sofa. Now that she was out of the first trimester, she was looking remarkably well, still slender but with a glow that only came from pregnancy. She was also eating everything in sight, with relish. “Seriously, Rach. What’s up?”

  “Nothing.” Rachel scooped Bailey up from the floor and buried her face in her fur. Sweet, uncomplicated, mostly housetrained puppy. Thank goodness she had Bailey.

  “Did something happen with Sam?”

  “Why do you ask that?” Her voice was muffled against Bailey’s fur.

  “Because that’s the only thing I can think of—”

  “The only thing I’ve got going on in my life, you mean?” Rachel returned with a sigh. She put Bailey down, unable to keep the sadness and disappointment she’d choked down for so long from finally spilling out. “Because I’m so sad and pathetic, the only possible thing of interest in my life is a fake friendship with our landlord who barely strings two sentences together when he sees me?”

  “Whoa.” Miriam held up one hand as if to stop Rachel’s tirade, but she was already petering out. “Where did that come from?”

  Rachel covered her face with her hands. “Nowhere,” she mumbled.

  “Come on, Rach.” Miriam moved closer to put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve seen me as a falling-apart wreck—”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Just that I want to help. I won’t be shocked. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Rachel declared with emphasis. “And maybe that’s the problem. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is going on.” She picked up the pillow she’d been clutching to her chest and hurled it at the wall; it bounced harmlessly, soundlessly, to the floor, which was far from satisfying.

  “Ah.” Miriam nodded slowly. “I think I’m starting to see.”

  “What could you possibly be starting to see?”

  “You care about Sam.”

  Rachel let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-moan. “I don’t,” she said, and she didn’t even convince herself. “I can’t.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  “Because…”

  “Because why?”

  “I barely know him, for starters.” Which was true, sort of—and yet he’d shared so much about his life. He’d comforted her when she’d cried. And she couldn’t deny the spark that leapt to life whenever she was close to him.

  “I think you know him well enough,” Miriam answered. “Although obviously I’m not one to talk.”

  “There are other reasons,” Rachel said stubbornly. She’d already confessed to herself that she cared about Sam last night, yet now she felt a deep-seated need to convince herself otherwise. Putting herself out there again, especially for a man as closed-off as Sam, was way too risky.

  “Such as?”

  “He’s not my type.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…”

  “Because he’s a rough sort of bloke, from the wrong side of the tracks?”

  “There’s no railway here, Miriam.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, but that’s not it.” Rachel sighed. “Maybe it would have been, once upon a time. I had an idea in my head of what Mr Husband would look like and it wasn’t Sam West, I’ll admit that. But Dan ticked all the boxes and our relationship clearly didn’t work, so I think I’ve learned my lesson there.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Look, Sam doesn’t care about me that way, okay? He’s made that clear. And after having had my life upended by a broken relationship mere months ago, I’m not quite ready to risk it all again. Loving someone hurts, and yet Dan seems to think I didn’t even love him.” She let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I just can’t win.”

  “Oh, Rach.” Miriam gave her a quick hug. “You have it bad, don’t you?”

  “Miriam.”

  “Sorry, but—”

  Rachel sighed. “The truth is, we had a row.”

  “About…?”

  “Nathan. But I can’t go into it.”

  Miriam nodded slowly. “I imagine Sam is a bit prickly where Nathan is concerned. Anyone would be.”

  “Yes, but…” Rachel sighed. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.” Which was why she was lying here on the sofa, moping and feeling miserable.

  “If you say so.” Miriam rose and reached for her bag. “As mu
ch as I’d like to stay and keep you company in your misery, I’ve got to go to work. The church bulletin needs photocopying.”

  “How is that all going?” Rachel asked, feeling guilty that she had not shown more of an interest in Miriam’s burgeoning life recently. “Do you like working for Simon?”

  “Simon is a dream. So kind and patient—honestly, the man is a saint.”

  “And the work itself?”

  “It’s not rocket science, but then I’m not a rocket scientist.” Miriam smiled breezily, but Rachel saw the worry that still lurked in her eyes. Still so much was uncertain. She was in the middle trimester and taking steps towards independence, but she still didn’t have much of a life plan. “I’d better go, though. You’ll be okay?”

  “Fine.” Rachel waved her off. “I’m not going to move from this sofa all day, except to take Bailey out. Netflix is calling my name.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  As the door clicked shut behind Miriam, Rachel tried not to feel lonely—and horribly, unbearably lonely at that. She had Bailey, after all. This was why she’d got a puppy, for moments like these. And in the past a whole day of Netflix would have been pure bliss, the perfect way to spend a rainy Saturday. Why wasn’t it now?

  It could be, Rachel decided, if she just put a little effort into it. She was going to have a great day today. An absolutely wonderful, relaxing day.

  Twenty minutes later the doorbell rang.

  Chapter Twenty

  “JASPER.”

  Rachel stared at him, wishing she’d thought about how she looked before she’d answered the door. It was after ten in the morning and she was still in her ratty dressing gown; her hair was a bird’s nest and she hadn’t brushed her teeth that morning. She wouldn’t want anyone to see her like this, and certainty not the impressively turned-out Lord Hartleigh.

  “I say, have you just got up?” Jasper declared sunnily. “I’ve been up for hours. Always was an early riser.”

  “I’ve been up for hours too,” Rachel said a bit grumpily. “I just haven’t got round to getting dressed.” Or showering or brushing her teeth.

  “Well, get round to it, because I want to go out,” Jasper answered. “I’ve packed a picnic and I’ve got a perfect place to have it.”

  “A picnic?” Rachel was startled. “But it’s raining.”

  “One thing I’ve learned is you can’t wait for the sun to shine. And I mean that literally,” Jasper said with an easy smile. “So get dressed, showered, whatever. I’ll wait.” And with deliberate nonchalance, he sat down on the sofa, one leg swinging jauntily.

  Rachel stared at him, both disconcerted and nonplussed by this sudden turn of events. Jasper smiled, and something in her both lightened and eased. Why shouldn’t she go out? Jasper had gone to some trouble, and it certainly was better than moping around here by herself.

  “Give me ten minutes,” she said, and scurried towards her bedroom.

  Twenty minutes later, Rachel was dressed, with minimal make-up and hairstyling, and they were heading out of Thornthwaite in Jasper’s convertible, the top thankfully up as the depressing drizzle was fast on its way to turning into a veritable downpour.

  “So what prompted this picnic?” she asked as they headed up the hill, towards Windermere. “And where are we going?”

  “Oh, I thought you could use some cheering up,” Jasper answered. “And I could as well. As to where we’re going…that’s a secret.”

  Rachel eyed him uncertainly, unsure how to take his words. She needed cheering up? Yes, she was miserable, but how had Jasper known? And why did he need cheering up? And most importantly, was this meant to be some sort of date? She wasn’t about to ask.

  “A picnic in the rain,” she said instead, determined to keep things light. “Sounds like a fab way to be cheered up.”

  Jasper glanced at her. “Are you being serious?”

  “Actually, yes.” She smiled at him. “Definitely.”

  When you were determined to have a good time, Rachel reflected, it became instantly harder to do just that. There was no reason why she couldn’t enjoy herself—Jasper was excellent company, amusing, interesting, and yes, attractive. As they climbed the twisting roads through the fells, the sun broke through the clouds; perhaps they wouldn’t have to have a picnic in the rain, after all.

  Jasper drove through the picturesque, narrow streets of Ambleside before emerging on the far side, in the wild and lonely valley of Scandale. Rachel gazed out the window at the dramatic sweep of fells, interspersed with clumps of woodland and bisected by ancient, drystone walls. It was both bleak and beautiful, fragile sunlight tinting the whole world gold.

  “I hope you don’t mind a bit of a walk,” Jasper remarked as he parked the convertible in a lay-by off the narrow track. “I’ve been promised a view, and by George, I’m going to get it.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Good.” He handed her a folded-up picnic blanket and hoisted a rustic-looking wicker hamper, giving her one of his jaunty smiles. Rachel decided to stop worrying whether this was a date or not and just enjoy the afternoon—the fells, the watery sunlight, the good company.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes along the road before heading up into the fells, the tufty ground strewn with rocks and stretching up and up to an impossible horizon. Although she’d lived her whole life in Cumbria, Rachel wasn’t much of a hiker. She preferred looking at fells as opposed to climbing them, and perhaps Jasper sensed this, because he glanced behind with a quick, reassuring smile.

  “Not much longer.”

  And so it wasn’t—another five minutes and the promised view came in sight—High Sweden Bridge, an old stone bridge for packhorses from the 1700s that was, Rachel knew from reading Cumbria Life, considered the most romantic spot in the Lake District. Hmm.

  “It’s lovely,” she said as she spread a blanket above the bridge, which Cumbria Life had assured her was the best place to propose in the whole county. Surely Jasper wasn’t going to do that.

  “Isn’t it? I read about this bridge, and I wanted to see it for myself.” There was the tiniest of pauses before he added in an offhand manner, “I’m glad to see it with you.”

  “It is a lovely spot,” Rachel said again. She sat down on the blanket while Jasper began unloading the picnic—strawberries and cream, gourmet cheeses and deli meats, and a crusty baguette. Finally, clearly the pièce de résistance, he brandished a bottle.

  “Champagne…?” Rachel said weakly, and he smiled and shook his head.

  “Ah, no. As I recall, you aren’t partial to champagne. Prosecco.” He popped the cork while Rachel tried not to let her heart sink.

  This was all so perfect. It was exactly the kind of fantasy scenario she’d once envisioned, when she’d been busy embroidering her life with daydreams. The beautiful spot, the picnic, even the man. Why shouldn’t she be interested in Jasper Edgington-Jones? Why shouldn’t she fall in love with him, even? She could recapture all those fairy-tale hopes she’d been so determined to turn into reality.

  Except she knew now that she couldn’t, and she didn’t even want to try. She’d moved past that, had started to see how fragile and flimsy they really were. And more importantly, she was starting to realise what—and whom—she really wanted.

  “Here we are,” Jasper said as he handed her a plastic flute of Prosecco and then hefted his own. “To new starts and beautiful places.”

  “Hear, hear,” Rachel said and clinked her glass with his. They both drank, and she tried to avoid his intent-looking gaze. She shouldn’t have come. She should have realised what a picnic in the fells meant, what Jasper had planned.

  “So.” He stretched out next to her, resting on one forearm. “Have you been here before?”

  “No, although I’ve read about it. It’s a beautiful spot. Hard to believe that bridge is still standing.”

  “It’s stronger than it looks, I suppose.” He gave her a half-sincere, half-amused look, classic Jasper. “Would i
t be utterly naff to say you are, as well?”

  “Still standing?” Rachel joked. “Or stronger than I look?”

  “Both.” Now he looked really serious, the amusement gone like the mask it so obviously was.

  “Jasper…” Rachel had no idea what she was going to say.

  “I admire you, Rachel. You’ve had some hard knocks in life, but you’re still smiling.”

  “Am I?” She hadn’t been smiling that morning. She’d been as grumpy as anything.

  “As far as I can tell you are.” He cocked his head. “That takes some strength, you know.”

  “I suppose so.” She didn’t feel like a very strong person. She felt as if she’d crumbled at the first test, collapsed at the first hurdle. She looked away from Jasper’s intent gaze. She was so not ready for this kind of conversation with him. “What about you?” she tried. “You’ve had a setback of sorts, haven’t you, with your work? And yet you’re here, looking as bright-eyed as ever.”

  “Ah, but it’s all a mask.”

  Rachel couldn’t tell from his wry tone if he was joking or not. “Is it?” she asked seriously.

  “Of course it is.” Still so light, too light. She couldn’t tell whether Jasper wanted her to press or not.

  With a smile he reached for the baguette and broke off a piece. “How about some food?”

  “Now that sounds like a plan.”

  Jasper kept the conversation witty and light from then on, much to Rachel’s relief. Still she couldn’t quite relax enough to enjoy herself, which annoyed her. Jasper had planned everything so well, thought of every touch. There was no reason for her not to be completely and utterly charmed, and yet she wasn’t.

  Was this how Dan had felt?

  The question slid slyly into her mind, shocking her with its power. Had Dan done everything right, been thoughtful in every word and gesture, and yet he had still sensed something was missing. Looking back, Rachel knew she had too, but she’d stubbornly ignored the absence. Convinced herself it didn’t matter.