Daniel's True Desire

by Grace Burrowes

  The pleasure of almost tupping a youthful rival’s scorned wife had already faded, and yet Bertrand remained fascinated by Olivia Banks and her determination to arrange the world to suit her preferences. Her years in the vicarage hadn’t been marked by real want, but clearly Olivia resented Banks simply because he’d offered for her.

  In her imagination, those years at Banks’s side were becoming a time of hardship, long-suffering, and ill usage.

  Banks was in for the shock of his handsome, holy life. Bertrand felt sorry for the vicar, until a decidedly unpleasant thought came wafting down on the afternoon sunbeams: bigamy was, in theory, still a hanging felony, but what was the penalty for a woman who lied about her own death, and was her accessory to that crime as vulnerable to prosecution as she was?

  * * *

  Kirsten wanted Daniel to toss up her skirts and make love to her amid the apple blossoms, but she’d learned a few things in recent weeks, one of which was the pleasure of anticipation.

  Of having something wonderful, dear, and delightful to look forward to.

  “You tempt me,” Daniel said, kissing her knuckles when she wanted to further explore the contour of his falls. “You tempt me to folly, because no sooner would I find my way past all your confounded female finery, no sooner would I indulge you in the pleasures you’re more than owed, than Matthias and Alfrydd would come bouncing back up the lane. I have the boy’s spectacles in my pocket, you see.”

  “My pleasure is foiled by a boy’s spectacles?” Kirsten asked.

  Daniel kept her hand in his and walked with her to the stone wall. “My dear, you deserve a more comfortable accommodation than a stone wall when first you indulge your passions.”

  Kirsten scooted up to sit on that wall. “When we make love, Mr. Banks, my goal will be to wrest from your grasp all manners, all consideration, all notions of gentlemanly deportment, for I have no intention of comporting myself like a lady.”

  Daniel took the place beside her, while a few yards away, the horses cropped grass and bees lazily sipped at pale blossoms. Kirsten would remember to keep a blanket rolled behind her saddle in future.

  “When we make love,” Daniel said, “I will comport myself like a husband enthralled with his prospective wife. Shall I procure a special license?”

  Fiend. “Vicars do not marry by special license, Daniel. Vicars marry with proper decorum. Besides, if we cry the banns starting tomorrow, we can be married within the month.”

  The stone wall was cool, even through Kirsten’s riding habit. Also hard, though the height…felt about right.

  “I’ll have Bishop Reimer down to marry us,” Daniel said, “unless you have another preference?”

  He assumed they’d have a village wedding, which suited Kirsten wonderfully. No St. George’s in Hanover Square, no lavish wedding breakfast, no forcing her sisters to endure all the comments Kirsten had endured at Nita’s wedding.

  A small ceremony, a buffet in the assembly rooms over the Queen’s Harebell, and…Daniel. Hers for the rest of her days—and nights.

  “As long as I end up married to you,” Kirsten said, “sooner rather than later, I care not who officiates. What will you do about Matthias?”

  Daniel’s glance was naughty, confirming that he could be naughty—a prospective wife liked to be assured of these things—and that he knew Kirsten was changing the subject in defense of her sanity.

  She wanted to touch him, wanted to lay him down in the soft grass within the sheltering wall of the blooming orchard and plunder his charms. She sent him a glance confirming the same.

  Being in love was such enormous fun.

  “Matthias is a puzzle,” Daniel said. “He’s a bright lad, and he’s trying, but I don’t know how much longer he’ll try. Latin is a language of details. How a verb or noun inflects is crucial, and Matthias can’t seem to keep it all straight. His figures are hit-or-miss, though he strikes me as the sort of boy who’d enjoy mathematics.”

  “Serious-minded,” Kirsten said, like a certain vicar, most of the time. “Does he do any better with French?”

  “His recitation is excellent, though we’re not past merci beaucoup, monsieur, or un, deux, trois…”

  Daniel’s French accent was casually perfect. “Will you speak French to me when we make love, Daniel?”

  Oh, Kirsten hadn’t meant to ask that.

  Daniel shifted off of their stone perch. “Oui, mam’selle. I can also regale you with passionate verse in Latin, if that would please you. My Greek isn’t as facile, but for you, I’ll learn to make love in Greek.”

  Kirsten adored that Daniel could tease her this way, no false piety, no shame about his flirtation. They were to be married, and they were already friends.

  Gratitude assailed her, because she’d found the man who understood her, who would be her partner in all things and permit her the same privilege in his life.

  “We should inspect the vicarage,” she said, scooting down from the wall. Daniel’s arm settled around her shoulders, as comfortable as a favorite quilt. “George says the work has come along at a great rate.”

  “I’ve stopped by a few times, but I didn’t want to hover. Then too, the boys keep me busy.”

  The scholars kept him happy. Daniel was a natural teacher, and all save Matthias were blossoming in his care.

  Kirsten strolled the bounds of the orchard with Daniel, discussing the boys, the fitting out of the vicarage, the Harrises’ new baby boy, who appeared to have a clubfoot.

  “I wish Nita were back from her travels with Mr. St. Michael,” Kirsten said when they’d made a full circuit of the orchard. “She’d know if there’s anything to be done for the child.”

  “You worry over the little ones,” Daniel said, kissing her temple. “Mostly all they need is love and decent nutrition. I wish I could give you children.”

  Kirsten turned into his embrace, assailed by a love so vast, so warm and safe and mighty, it needed a name other than simply love.

  “You give me yourself, Daniel, and you accept me in return, which is almost more joy than I can comprehend. I wish I could give you children too.”

  For a sad, sweet, exquisite moment, they held each other while the horses grazed and the occasional white petal drifted down from above.

  “Daniel, I want to make love with you now,” Kirsten said, leaning her forehead against his chest. “I want to cast off my clothes and scandalize the apple trees.”

  “You do a man’s vanity a power of good, my lady, but the afternoon is waning, and I should see you back to your brother’s. We will tell George our good news, and I’ll write to the earl before I dream of you tonight.”

  Brothers. Brothers must be dealt with. “Oh, very well, but tomorrow morning, I’m taking you on an inspection of the vicarage and we’re bringing a picnic, Mr. Banks.”

  Daniel whistled for his horse, who came over at a brisk walk, Kirsten’s mare following more slowly.

  “Not tomorrow morning,” he said, busying himself with Kirsten’s mare first. He tugged the girths tighter, untangled the reins from the bridle, and ran the stirrup down the leather, while Kirsten tried to reconcile herself to a vicar’s schedule.

  “You have calls to pay tomorrow morning?” she asked, stroking Beelzebub’s dark nose. As Daniel’s wife, she’d have to accommodate illness in the parish at all hours, squabbling spouses, injuries, and visits from the bishop and traveling clergy.

  Daniel would be her husband, but as a member of the clergy, his time was not his own. Nicholas, a belted earl with significant wealth, complained of the same condition, oddly enough.

  “I have no visits scheduled for tomorrow,” Daniel said. “I will plan lessons for the coming week, put the last touches on my sermon, write to Bishop Reimer concerning my marital good fortune, and spend some time with Ralph, who is learning Latin along with the boys.”

 
Daniel next turned to Beelzebub, who stood patiently while girth, reins, and stirrups were dealt with.

  “You have a busy day, then,” Kirsten said. “We can inspect the vicarage some other time.”

  Disappointment curled the edges of her joy brown, which was petty of her. She’d have years of Daniel’s company. What was an hour in an empty manse, more or less?

  Daniel boosted her into her saddle, then arranged her skirts over her boot.

  “We will visit the vicarage tomorrow afternoon, when the workers have left for their half day.” He rested his forehead against her thigh. “I will spend a restless night, my love, for you’ll haunt my dreams, I assure you.”

  “You want to see the vicarage after the workers have—? Oh.”

  Daniel looked up, his hand remaining on Kirsten’s thigh. “If that suits?”

  She reveled in the feel of that masculine hand on her person. This time tomorrow, Daniel would have touched her bare skin with his bare hands.

  “Tomorrow afternoon suits. We can take a picnic luncheon and make our visit after work for the day has ended. You’d best get on your horse now, Daniel.”

  Lest Kirsten tackle him and scandalize the apple trees and the horses.

  Daniel kissed her knee, the wretch, then swung up on his great, black charger. “I’ll look forward to our next outing, my lady. Let’s be off. I’m eager to share our good news with your family.”

  Kirsten raced him cross-country to George’s estate, because she was eager too—and not simply to share their good news.

  * * *

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Fairly muttered.

  Letty looked up from a letter sent by Fairly’s sister, the Marchioness of Heathgate.

  “You’re muttering,” Letty said, glancing at the clock on the parlor’s mantel. Danny would soon come trotting up the lane on his pony, dusty, happy, and ready to be spoiled rotten.

  “You will recall we sent a fellow north,” Fairly said, tugging gold spectacles from his nose. “His task was to ascertain the whereabouts of Daniel’s wife.”

  We had done no such thing. Letty had asked for a favor, and Fairly had likely dispatched a regiment.

  “I assumed you’d recalled your investigator when Olivia died,” Letty said.

  Fairly occupied the escritoire that had been positioned by the window to take advantage of the natural light. His hair was brilliantly gold in the sunshine. So gold, Letty’s fingers itched to stroke its softness.

  “Between various errands, muddy roads, lame horses, and—I suspect—a comely daughter of a blacksmith, Mr. Darrow lingered in the north.”

  “Did Mr. Darrow learn anything of Olivia?” Letty asked.

  “That’s what doesn’t make sense. Olivia left the north before the New Year, not immediately prior to her death. Contrary to what Daniel believes, she apparently prevailed on her cousin’s hospitality in London for a good while before she died. ”

  Olivia had used Danny to extort from Letty sums that could not have been generated through decent employment. Just as bad, Olivia had lied to Daniel and betrayed his trust. Even in death, Olivia could apparently still cause trouble.

  “Olivia would hate being a poor relation,” Letty said. “Would have hated that, rather. She set great store by money.”

  Fairly sat back, making the curving guilt chair creak. “Why would a woman who set great store by money marry a country vicar?”

  Would that Daniel had asked that question before he’d spoken his vows. “Why would a young man whose looks and occupation could have earned him entrée into many fancy drawing rooms have settled for a dowerless village girl?”

  Fairly pinched the bridge of his nose. “The usual reasons?”

  “They were not smitten, but Daniel wanted to advance past the ranks of other young curates, and for that a wife was a necessity. Then too, Olivia was never very impressed with his looks, and he approved of her for that.”

  “I do not merely approve of you,” Fairly said, shoving to his feet and crossing to the sofa. “I love you. I am smitten by you, in love, besotted, arse over teakettle—”

  He knelt over Letty and swooped in for a kiss. His hair was warm from the sunshine, and his fingers as they traced her jaw smelled of ink.

  “I am besotted with you too,” Letty said, cuddling into her husband’s embrace. “This is not how one usually makes use of a sofa, Husband.”

  “I wish Danny would get here. Will you play bowls with us in the garden?”

  “Yes. I used to hate Olivia.”

  Fairly climbed off of Letty and drew her to her feet, straight into his arms. “I still do. She hurt you, Banks, the boy. I suspect her relations up north tossed her out and she was cast upon her cousin’s charity.”

  “At least she didn’t try to reunite with Daniel. You can hate her a little less for that.”

  “I’ll hate her a scintilla less when Banks is happily wed to Lady Kirsten. Danny says they’re quite in love.” Fairly tucked Letty under his arm and moved with her to the window, which had a fine view of the drive. “There’s the brilliant scholar now, cutting quite a dash on his pony.”

  Cantering up the drive, standing his stirrups, looking relaxed and confident—and much like Daniel.

  “He’s growing up,” Letty said. “I miss him terribly, but I also enjoy the quiet when he departs for Daniel’s household. Am I a bad mother?”

  “You are such a terrible mother,” Fairly said, “that though it broke your heart, you have twice left that boy in your brother’s care. I’m proud of you, my love, and your son is very happy.”

  Which was all that mattered.

  “I’m not any good at all when it comes to bowls,” Letty said, resting her head on Fairly’s shoulder. “Will you tell Daniel what Mr. Darrow learned?”

  “Likely not. Daniel would feel guilty that Olivia’s own family tired of her company. She’s gone to whatever reward awaited her, and Daniel has moved on to happier choices.”

  For which Letty was honestly grateful. Lady Kirsten Haddonfield would be a good stepmother to Danny and a good wife to Daniel.

  Letty kissed Fairly’s jaw. “Husband?”

  “Hmm?”

  Letty loved the smell of him, the shape and size of him, everything. His voice, his silences, his ruthless, loving heart.

  “I’ll soon start to wean the baby. I’d like to move on to some happier choices too. We need an heir for you.”

  “Don’t be—” Fairly was canny and possessed of a roaringly healthy and highly creative sexual appetite. “Letty? Are you sure?”

  She would always have regrets where Danny was concerned, but that was probably any parent’s lot. Regrets were about the past; her marriage to Fairly was about the present.

  And the future. “I’m sure, David. I love you. I’m sure about that too.”

  Letty loved kissing him too, which was why Danny found them quite entangled when he came barreling into the parlor a few minutes later.

  “I’m here! I’m—you’re kissing. Mr. Haddonfield kisses Mrs. Haddonfield too. Digby says that’s why we’re supposed to knock on doors, so we don’t catch anybody kissing who shouldn’t be.”

  The boy was putting on some height. Someday, he’d appreciate that business about knocking on doors.

  “We’re married,” Fairly said, turning loose of Letty. “One of the benefits of marriage is that you can kiss each other whenever you want to. Her ladyship has vowed to beat us both at bowls, Danny. Are you prepared to defend the honor of men throughout the realm with your stout right arm?”

  Danny went straight for the dish of chocolates on the desk, no stopping to hug the woman who loved him most in the whole world.

  “Yes, sir. As long as that doesn’t involve kissing.”

  * * *

  Daniel’s parish in Little Weldon had been neither more pious nor more
sinful than any other; hence, he’d often baptized a couple’s first child less than nine months after presiding over the couple’s wedding.

  Strictly speaking, an engaged couple was wiser to abstain from intimate relations, not because fornication was a sin—nowhere was fornication per se mentioned in the Commandments, after all—but because illness, injury, and other bad luck meant the groom might not consecrate his promise to marry the bride.

  Leaving an illegitimate child to answer for the couple’s eagerness.

  Fornication in anticipation of marriage was selfish for that reason, and selfishness was hardly a virtue. Whenever Daniel was asked by a bishop to debate the matter, he murmured agreement that fornication was a sin, a first cousin of sorts to adultery, though at some important legal and spiritual removes.

  Children were not an issue for Daniel and his intended, and thus theological platitudes—as was so often the case—served poorly in practical application.

  “The smell of new wood always makes me happy,” Kirsten said as she peered out the front window of the vicarage’s formal parlor. “I associate it with Nicholas’s birdhouses, and with my father. Papa learned to carve when he was soldiering in Canada.”

  The entire manse had donned new vestments. The earl had donated most of the old furniture to the parish, musty curtains had been thrown to the flames, and the premises had been scrubbed from top to bottom.

  “Shall we have a look about upstairs?” Daniel asked.

  “Please. We’ll have to decide how to house the boys, and you’ll want a study on the west side of the house.”

  To catch the afternoon light, because Daniel would teach the boys in the morning.

  “You will need a parlor as well,” he said. “A place of refuge from rotten boys, overly friendly parishioners, and sometimes even your husband.”

  Kirsten was across the room like a pony intent on a bucket of oats, arms around Daniel in a ferocious hug.

  “Not a refuge from you, Daniel. We shall be a refuge for each other, or you’ll have to recruit a different wife.”