Daniel's True Desire

by Grace Burrowes

  “Monday will be here all too soon, my lady. Will you have me one more time before we leave this bed?”

  * * *

  A visit to the Right Reverend Thomas Reimer was always a pleasant undertaking, though sometimes, Reimer could be pleasantly insightful too. Daniel extended a hand to his former mentor and was pulled into a camphor-scented hug in the foyer of the bishop’s home.

  “Hettie, dear, fetch us some sustenance,” Reimer said to the plump maid taking Daniel’s coat. “We’ll be in the garden, so young Reverend Banks can admire my experiments.”

  “Will you be calling me young Reverend Banks fifteen years from now?” Daniel asked, though it was lovely to still be “young Reverend Banks” to somebody.

  To not be young Reverend Banks was also lovely. A younger man would not have anticipated vows with Kirsten, placing misguided piety above Kirsten’s need for intimate, irrevocable reassurances of Daniel’s commitment to her.

  And above Daniel’s need for the same from her. Reimer was a great one for what he called practical piety. Daniel was increasingly respectful of the same notion.

  He’d waited a lifetime for love to feel this right, this comfortable with another. Wasting even a month of such a gift would have been…arrogant.

  “God willing, I will be calling you young Reverend Banks twenty-five years from now,” Reimer said. “Come see my irises, for they’ve outdone themselves this year.”

  Reimer was passionate about his botany, but the garden was also a place no servant would interrupt or overhear. Daniel had taken years to figure that out.

  The bishop’s residence was neither opulent nor mean, but simply a pleasant, commodious dwelling. No testament to theology here, not to the glory of God, not to the overstated humility of his bishop.

  Daniel had noticed that on his first visit.

  “You’re looking well, Daniel,” Reimer said as they passed through the house. “Your father would be pleased to see you in such good health.”

  “In such fine tailoring, you mean? These clothes belong to a prospective brother-in-law, and I would have insulted his family by refusing them—or so I tell myself when I behold a pink of the ton in the mirror.”

  The finery was a joke played on London Society, for George Haddonfield’s sartorial taste was exquisite and his clothes were only a little loose on Daniel. The borrowed plumage held a reassuring lesson as well: Daniel would not embarrass his wellborn beloved with his bumpkin vicar ways.

  Small talk was small talk, a sincere compliment to a lady’s parasol was a sincere compliment to a lady’s parasol, and when Daniel wore George’s evening finery, Polite Society paid him no more mind than they would a dowager duchess with her usual flirts.

  Daniel emerged with Reimer into a sunny back garden, larger than the front of the house suggested, for the greenery ran a good fifty yards deep. Walls on both sides bore espaliered hedges in a looping paisley design, and atop the walls, potted pansies turned blue, yellow, and white faces toward the sun.

  “Nothing wrong with cutting the occasional dash, Daniel,” Reimer said. “Even the flowers are permitted a moment of vanity, and we’re all happier for it. Come admire my purples, for I’ve never seen them as glorious.”

  Several shades of purple iris—lavender, periwinkle, and violet—absorbed the bishop’s interest until a tray had been set out on a table flanking a sundial.

  Reimer was a tall, gaunt, white-haired man, reminiscent of the saintly marble effigies Daniel had seen in many a cathedral. The bishop’s voice was sonorous and stately in the middle of a service, but on the church steps, Reimer was friendly and given to frequent laughter.

  How he and Daniel’s father had remained fast friends after their theological studies was puzzling.

  Reimer wound down the panegyric to his irises after he’d plucked a small specimen nearly the color of Kirsten’s eyes and tucked it into Daniel’s lapel. The scent was delicate and lovely, though Daniel would rather the flower had been left with her sisters to finish blooming in peace.

  “So tell me about your young lady, Daniel, and help me with this food or Hettie will scold me about waste into next week. A veritable Puritan, is Hettie.”

  Daniel took a seat on a wooden bench and prepared to nibble his way through a polite interrogation. The tray bore pale slices of cheddar, buttered white bread, forced strawberries, and thinly sliced ham.

  “We’re having ale with our comestibles,” Reimer said. “Perfect fare for a warm afternoon, and I’m weak when it comes to a good ale. Soon the summer ales will be available, and I do look forward to a good summer ale.”

  Reimer seemed to look forward to each day, a characteristic that had been mildly irksome previously, for Daniel hadn’t shared that gift, hadn’t understood it, beyond the stern conviction that life was a gift.

  Daniel understood that gift now. “You asked about my fiancée, Lady Kirsten.”

  “Eat,” Reimer said, gesturing at the tray. “And don’t stand on ceremony, my boy. Just us fellows here, after all.”

  Kirsten would like Reimer, and so would her brothers. Daniel piled up a substantial serving of bread, cheese, and ham, but held off on the strawberries, for there wasn’t room on his plate.

  “Lady Kirsten Haddonfield,” Reimer said, downing a swallow of ale. “Noted to be tart of tongue, comely, and disinclined to wed once addresses have been paid. You’ve set tongues wagging—all accord you great courage for tilting at the marital windmill with such a lady. But will she be content in a vicarage?”

  When Daniel’s father had railed against an engagement to Olivia, the tone had been disparaging and critical. Reimer sounded concerned and curious.

  And Daniel was no longer twenty years old.

  “Lady Kirsten had reasons for rejecting her previous suitors, sir. Good reasons. She is at heart nurturing and kind, though she doesn’t suffer fools.”

  “So don’t be a fool,” Reimer said with a wink. “Though where the ladies are concerned, that’s easier said than done for most of us. Try the ale, Daniel.”

  The ale was very fine, the day was very fine, life was very fine. A stab of longing for the company—and kisses—of Daniel’s very fine fiancée went through him. Riding away from her had been difficult; coming home to her would be lovely.

  “So you’ll marry Lady Kirsten,” Reimer said. “Shrewd of you. I married my Violet not six months after Maria died. It isn’t good for a man to be alone.”

  “Genesis, chapter two, verse eighteen. Though the Almighty apparently hasn’t attributed to women a similar inability to tolerate their own company.”

  Reimer burst into laughter. “Correct citation, young Reverend Banks. Also the damned truth. Don’t tell Hettie I’m using foul language.”

  Hettie was to all appearances a maid or a housekeeper, perhaps twenty years Reimer’s junior, but she was by no means youthful.

  “Your naughty talk is safe with me, sir. How is my replacement doing in Little Weldon?”

  They gossiped about church business for another twenty minutes as the food disappeared and a bee lazily inspected the strawberries.

  “Shall we walk for a bit, Daniel?” Reimer asked when the ale was gone and the tray had been cleared away. “Beautiful day for a change. No gardener worth the name laments when the coal fires are put out in London.”

  “Town always has a faint stench of brimstone to me,” Daniel said. “I prefer the fresh air of the countryside.”

  They made a circuit of the garden, Reimer pausing to inspect this bed of leafy, thorny roses or that patch of violets. For the first time in memory, Daniel felt a thread of impatience with the bishop, for Reimer had all but commanded Daniel’s appearance, and yet the encounter thus far had been merely social.

  “Are you in love with Lady Kirsten?” Reimer asked as they stopped by a bed of roses still weeks away from blooming.

  “Emphat
ically,” Daniel replied. “Top over tail, hopelessly, unreasonably. I had no idea it was possible to feel this way about a woman. I even love arguing with her.” Kirsten was so stunningly honest in their altercations, brangling with her was a revelation in both tactics and trust.

  “One wondered,” Reimer said as they passed under the shade of an apple tree. “That first wife of yours was a penance in the making.”

  Ah, so now they arrived to the real agenda.

  Fifteen

  A penance in the making. “My father used exactly that term,” Daniel said. He recalled his father’s appellation for Olivia because the words had been prophetic. Since becoming engaged, Daniel had started reading his father’s journals in the evening, and the very same words had appeared more than once in reference to Olivia.

  “I saw only a woman willing to share my lot in life,” Daniel went on, “one who would not expect me to pursue pretensions above my station. I did not see clearly.”

  “And now she’s gone,” Reimer said. “I trust your new lady has shaken you free of any lingering guilt?”

  Daniel considered the pious reply—some platitude about every death being a loss and sorrow needing time to sort itself out—and he considered what he’d say if Kirsten were present.

  “My new lady is shaking me free of my anger, sir. Olivia was a disgrace as a wife, and I did nothing to merit her bad behavior. I presented my circumstances honestly when we courted, while she dissembled egregiously.”

  Lied, cheated, stole, misrepresented, betrayed, took advantage. Daniel no longer needed to dodge the truth, though it still stung. He’d lain down with Olivia and felt miserable when he couldn’t make her happy.

  “Give it time, Daniel, though your response answers a question that’s been plaguing me. Take these.” Reimer extracted a sheaf of folded papers bound with a black ribbon. “They’re your papa’s letters to me. Hettie is doing some spring-cleaning, and I’ve wondered when I might pass these along to you. I’ve held on to them because your father was full of vitriol regarding your late first wife.”

  “His journals are no more flattering where Olivia was concerned.” Though they indicated pride in Daniel for sticking to his commitments, on the very same pages as Papa had fretted that the church was a bad choice for Daniel.

  “He questioned your vocation,” Reimer said, as if divining Daniel’s thoughts.

  Papa had been wrong—Daniel was quite comfortable serving the church. But Papa had also been right.

  “Is there a question there, sir?” Daniel asked as the path emerged into the afternoon sunshine.

  “I did not question your vocation,” Reimer said, “but I’ve had the benefit of seeing how you bore up under the undeserved penance of your marriage. Is your fiancée in love with you?”

  What business was that of Reimer’s, and why wouldn’t he leave it alone?

  “Lady Kirsten has given me every indication that she fancies my company.”

  Bushy white brows rose over an ironic smile, like clouds over a cheery dawn.

  “Every indication? You young people and your frisky inclinations. I suppose it is spring, and you’re in love. An earl’s daughter is a shrewd choice of woman to fall in love with, young Daniel. She’ll bring connections to the marriage, wealth, a certain cachet.”

  That constant reference to Daniel’s youth had begun to grate, though perhaps it was supposed to.

  “None of which I seek,” Daniel said, stuffing his father’s letters in a pocket. “I value Lady Kirsten’s honesty, her forthright manner, her affection, her intellect, and her loyalty. She’s also quite fond of children, which helps when several boys will likely be living in at the vicarage, some of them for years.”

  Reimer left off twitching at a skein of espaliered ivy. “That reminds me. You have a boy.”

  Not a son, a boy. What had Reimer heard and from whom?

  “Danny. He’s with me in Haddondale after an extended visit with my sister and her husband.”

  “Your sister married Viscount Fairly, didn’t she? His lordship is quite well fixed.”

  His lordship was in love with Letty. “My sister and her husband are very fond of Danny, and he returns their affection.” Danny did now anyway.

  They approached the sundial, Reimer toddling along as if he had nothing much on his mind except his irises—or teasing Hettie about her housekeeping.

  “Your academic inclinations have always been superior,” Reimer observed, “and your successor in Little Weldon hears so much good about you, the man wonders why you haven’t been canonized. You handled this business with your late wife with a stoicism and decorum not many would have shown.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The sundial, if accurate, showed that Daniel could still walk to the earl’s club in Mayfair with ten minutes to spare before he and Nicholas were due to meet.

  “The dean of Aldchester Cathedral will retire in another year or two, Daniel. He’s a good sort, but slowing down. The position wants a younger fellow, one who will be with the place for more than his last few years of service. As it happens, the position of sub-dean will soon be vacant.”

  Possibilities floated on the benevolent afternoon sunshine. From sub-dean to dean, from dean to bishop, a typical progression for clergy who were hardworking, lucky, and ambitious.

  “Are you asking me if I’m interested in the position?” Because Daniel surely was. Having left Little Weldon behind, and not yet having set down roots among the flock in Haddondale, now was a perfect time to make an advantageous move such as Reimer suggested.

  And cathedrals had schools, not merely a half-dozen boys living in, but rather, an entire academic establishment, a chance to provide a good start, both morally and academically, to many, many boys.

  “I’m not asking if you’re interested yet,” Reimer said, taking a seat on the bench flanking the sundial. “Your upcoming nuptials should be your focus for the present, but if not the sub-dean position, then a position on the staff of a bishop is not out of the question, Daniel. Ambition is a fine thing in a clergyman, provided it doesn’t come at the cost of his vocation. Your vocation has been tested and found genuine, and this has been remarked.”

  How gratifyingly ironic that Olivia’s misbehavior should become the very impetus for Daniel’s advancement in the church.

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll keep this conversation in mind.” And Daniel would discuss it with Kirsten, who would make a very fine bishop’s wife indeed. Lady Kirsten, rather.

  A sense of life coming full circle, of virtue rewarded and faith justified, filled Daniel in the quiet, fragrant garden. Life had tested him, and he’d held to his principles and was thus presented with a chance to advance. With Kirsten, he could be happy in any obscure little parish, but she’d approve of a chance for Daniel to operate in a wider church circle.

  “Keep this discussion in mind. Pray about it,” Reimer said with another wink, “and tend to taking a wife. See yourself out, Daniel, and let Hettie know she may now harangue me about whatever transgression I’ve committed most recently, or the ones I’m about to commit. The woman’s a domestic tyrant.”

  “Yes, sir, and good day.” Daniel conveyed a version of Reimer’s message when Hettie passed him his hat, coat, gloves, and walking stick—in London, gentlemen carried walking sticks. Daniel was already down the front steps when he recalled that Reimer lacked specific directions to Belle Maison.

  The garden had a side gate. Daniel took himself around the house in that direction but stopped before intruding on Reimer’s flowers, for the bishop and his housekeeper were ensconced on the bench by the sundial.

  And they were holding hands.

  * * *

  “They miss him, your ladyship,” Ralph said, as he and Kirsten tidied up the schoolroom at the end of the day. The tables and chairs had to be in straight rows, the slates cleaned, and the various books and maps organized.


  An orderly classroom made for an orderly mind, according to Vicar Banks. Kirsten’s prospective husband wasn’t half so insistent on order in the bedroom.

  “I miss him,” Kirsten said, picking up Matthias’s slate. The boy’s penmanship was atrocious, but then Kirsten’s father’s had been too. “The boys miss him, and the ponies are in an utter decline.”

  “Mr. George Haddonfield said much the same thing, but soon Vicar will be back, and all will be set to rights.”

  The week so far had been half a holiday for the boys, with extra cricket games, riding lessons, and a daily botany lesson conducted by George Haddonfield, mostly based on information in a book Beckman had sent along years ago to the old earl. For tomorrow, Kirsten had organized a trip to the lending library, simply so the boys would know how a lending library worked.

  And not be so fidgety for the balance of the day.

  “It’s Danny’s turn to say grace tonight,” Kirsten said, wiping Matthias’s slate clean. “Fred has breakfast tomorrow.”

  “Right, your ladyship. Master Matthias is struggling a bit, ain’t he?”

  “Isn’t he.” Kirsten corrected Ralph at the footman’s blushing request, for Ralph was learning as much in the schoolroom as the boys. “More than a bit. Mr. Banks hasn’t figured out why. Matthias is quite bright, he reasons well, and he’s well-spoken.”

  “Slow in some things, quick in others,” Ralph said, closing the French doors. “Like most of us.”

  “You can leave those open, Ralph. The nights are mild enough that fresh air in the morning is welcome.”

  The room was set to rights, and yet it lacked Daniel’s telling eye for a scholarly space. Had it been used as a parlor, Kirsten would have known which touches to add, which small items to put in another room, or where a vase of flowers would look best.

  “Vicar will be back soon, your ladyship,” Ralph said. “And you’ll be exchanging your vows, and that will be a fine thing all around.”

  “Thank you, Ralph. Has Mr. Banks spoken to you about accompanying us to the vicarage?”