"Those children," Rachel said, frowning. "They help with the household chores a great deal. I have always noticed that they have very little else to do. Life in all its richness does pass them by, does it not?"

"Perhaps you will have more inspiration," David said. "In fact, I have quite decided that you are the angel I have been praying for every day since I came here."

Rachel looked up at him to find his eyes twinkling. He grinned outright when she smiled.

"Oh," she said, "you are making fun of me. But I shall have the last laugh, you know, when I suddenly sprout wings."

"And a halo," he said. "You must not forget the halo."

"After all," Rachel said gaily, "who needs ribbons? I might as well give them all away. How many children are there in this parish, David? Female ones, I mean."


***

"Perhaps Sir Herbert is something of a spendthrift," Rachel said. "But I must admit, Algie, that I had not heard before now that he has an addiction to gambling. Is it really true? 'Addiction' is a very strong word, you know. Are you sure that he does not just indulge in it as a pastime because he is still young and unsettled?"

"It all amounts, to the same thing, Rache," Algernon said. "Only time will tell if he will grow out of it or not. In the meantime, it would be safer not to encourage an attachment between him and Miss Barnes. She deserves better. Besides, I have not noticed that either one of them has any partiality for the other."

"Hm." Rachel looked thoughtful. She and Algernon were strolling arm in arm through the trees on their way back from the river to the house. They were a few minutes behind all the other guests, Algernon having stayed to give instructions to the servants. "You may be right, Algie. But I have so set my heart on helping her find a husband before she goes back home again. And he is a pleasant enough man. What do you think of Mr. Hart, then?"

"That he enjoys sighing over you, Rache," he said, "and imagines himself doomed to a tragic fate because you will not take him seriously. The man is well-named."

"Oh, dear," Rachel said. "I really do not do anything to entice him, you know."

Algernon gave her a sidelong look. "Rache," he said, "ensnaring men is the breath of life to you when you have nothing better to do with your time."

"Oh," she said, pulling her hand from his arm and coloring up indignantly. "What a dreadful thing to say. Are you implying that I am a flirt, my lord?"

"No, I am not," Algernon said, looking at her along the length of his nose. "And what is this 'my lord' business all of a sudden?"

Indignation left Rachel as fast as it had come. "Oh, don't look at me in that ridiculous lordly manner, Algie," she said. "You know that it does not awe me in the least. It merely makes you look silly. But you do not really think I am a flirt, do you? I do not mean to be, you know. I cannot seem to help the fact that gentlemen gather around me wherever I go."

"It's just your nature, Rache," he said in a consolatory manner.

Rachel's eyes looked troubled. She had stopped walking and was gazing up at him. "Algie," she said, "all I really want is you, you know. I would not care if I never set eyes on another man as long as we could be married and live here together. I just want to make you happy. You do believe that, do you not? I do love you."

"Rache," he said, laying a hand on her shoulder and giving it a comradely squeeze, "I thought we had agreed not to talk like this while all your guests are here. And don't take to heart what I have been saying. I have been teasing you. You are quite perfect the way you are, you know."

"Am I?" Rachel gazed up at him forlornly. "I think you had better be very strict with me when we are married, Algie. Don't let me flirt. You must beat me if necessary."

Algernon looked searchingly at her, his face unsmiling. "Don't talk this way, Rache," he said. "And what is troubling you now? What has brought on all this self-castigation?"

She shrugged and stared numbly at him for a moment. "I don't know," she said. "Sometimes I think I should not have gone to London at all. I was happy before I went."

"And you are not happy now?" he asked.

"Yes," she said fiercely. "I am very happy, Algie, because I am back here again and we are going to be betrothed soon. We are, are we not? But I have learned some things about myself, you see, and I am not sure that I like myself a great deal."

Algernon looked searchingly into her eyes for a few moments before pulling her against him and wrapping his arms comfortingly around her. "What a little goose you are, Rache," he said. "I like you even if you don't, you know."

"I wanted these weeks to be happy for Celia," she said. "I wanted to make sure that at least one of the gentlemen would see what a gem she really is. And look what happened this afternoon. You stepped in to escort her to the river because you wished to be kind, and I ended up flirting with three of the eligible gentlemen down by the river." She moved away from him and straightened her bonnet.

"You are not responsible for Miss Barnes, Rache," Algernon said. "She is older than you are and quite capable of ordering her own life, as far as I can see. Certainly she shows good taste in displaying no interest in any of those guests you invited. Jeremy is a friend of mine, I own, but not suited to your friend, Rache. Not by any means. Now, David perhaps would be a good match for her. You might try to throw those two together rather more often."

"No!" Rachel said sharply. "Can you not see, Algie, that they are not suited at all? They are far too similar in temperament. They would never share so much as a laugh."

"You are probably right," he said. "Miss Barnes has quite a sense of humor when one gets to know her. Perhaps she would live rather too dull a life with David. She needs someone who can bring her out of her shell and set her to talking. Can't say I know anyone who would be just right for her. But then she is not our problem, Rache. Indeed, I don't believe we have any right to be plotting and scheming about her future."

"So you have noticed that Celia is not as dull as she somehow appears in public," Rachel said, smiling at him in delight. "I am so glad, Algie. I might have known that you would appreciate her. Now, if we could only find another man like you for her."

"I wish I could find someone for David," Algernon said. "I don't like the thought of his living alone at the vicarage. It's a tomb of a place. He wouldn't hear of living at Singleton Hall, of course. Pride, I suppose. But he must live a dull and lonely life, Rache."

"I think his devotion to his faith brings him quite sufficient happiness," Rachel said. "Perhaps he does not even feel the need of a wife."

"He needs someone who shares his strange vision of life," Algernon said. "Someone who is as careless as he of material comforts. And someone with high spirits to prevent his from sinking into gloom. I wouldn't think there is such a woman, is there, Rache? You are likely right. David will probably never marry."

They emerged finally from the trees onto the lawn to see that the carriages were assembled on the terrace ready to take the Oakland party back to the house.

David Gower, having handed Celia into one of the barouches, turned to smile at Rachel and Algernon.

Yes, perhaps it would be possible, Rachel thought, to risk loving him. Perhaps she could learn to admire and respect him only. Perhaps she could learn lessons for her own life and happiness from his devotion to living his faith. Perhaps she could learn to be his dear friend.

Perhaps if she kept working at it and working at it, this very physical ache of love and longing would finally be dulled.

Chapter 9

rachel's days fell into a pattern much as they had done when she was in London. The mornings were hers in which to do almost as she pleased. Quite frequently Celia was up before noon, and usually some of the gentlemen were downstairs and looking for some activity. But generally the gentlemen found something to do together, riding out if the weather permitted, playing billiards or cards if it did not. And Celia preferred reading or writing letters to joining her friend outdoors. During the afternoons there was usually some group activity: a walk, a ride, a picnic, a drive to some place of interest. The evenings were occupied with music, charades, conversation, cards, and sometimes even dancing in the drawing room.

Time certainly did not drag by. Rachel could even convince herself that she was happy. And why should she not be? She was surrounded by friends and admirers. There was always someone with whom to talk. And there was Algernon, whom she saw every day. Her spirits always lifted when she saw him riding or walking across the fields from the direction of Singleton Hall or when he was announced. A house party certainly gave her every chance of continuing in the country the sort of life she had lived in town and the sort of life she had come to think of as right for a young lady. Yet here she had the chance too to do the sorts of things she had always enjoyed doing. And so some of the restless emptiness that had threatened her quiet moments in London did not come upon her so frequently.

The happiest part of her days, in fact, came to be the mornings, when she was free of the obligation to entertain. And as the days passed, she found more and more that she was drawn to the cottages of her father's tenants and laborers. She took food with her most of the time, but she did so only as an excuse to visit the children and the elderly people. She had never felt quite as comfortable in the few houses that had neither. She felt frivolous and useless when confronted solely with working people. She felt that she was keeping them from their work.

But she grew to love more than ever the older people, those whose working days were past. They were mostly lonely people with a great deal to say and almost no audience to whom to say it. Rachel became their audience as she had to a lesser extent before. Not just out of a sense of politeness or charity-she loved to hear their stories of the past, accounts of their almost heroic efforts to earn a living, to bring up a large family, and to maintain a dignity in the face of hardship. She always enjoyed especially their reminiscences of her grandparents and their family, who had lived at Oakland fairly frequently through the years.

Following her success with Mrs. Perkins, she suggested to several of these old people that she might read to them, and all were delighted at the notion of Lady Rachel Palmer reading from books just for them. She was soon in the habit of carrying around a Bible and a copy of The Pilgrim's Progress in the gig with her. Once she started reading the latter, she found she was committed to returning again and again so that she might continue reading the adventures of Christian on his way to the Celestial City.

She tried reading to the children and indeed found that they were enthralled at first and for short periods of time. She soon learned, though, that she could hold their attention much more easily by telling a story. She used the same book, The Pilgrim's Progress, and found that it could grip a child's imagination as deeply as it could an elderly person's.

The added attraction of these mornings was the hope of meeting David Gower, though Rachel tried not to admit the thought to herself. And finally he did come upon her one morning, sitting on the rather dusty grass outside one cottage telling four rapt children the adventures of Christian at Vanity Fair. She did not even see him approach and would not have realized he was standing behind her if the children had not begun giggling more than was normal at her exaggerated gestures and spirited imitations of the characters in the story. She looked behind her eventually and joined in the laughter.

"This particular rendition of the story is not for the ears of anyone past the age of twelve, sir," she said primly.

"A pity, Lady Rachel," he said with a grin. "It sounds vastly more entertaining than Mr. Bunyan's version. Do you realize that the picture of Vanity Fair you were creating resembles Bond Street to an uncanny degree?"

But his attention was caught before Rachel could answer, by a small child who was pulling persistently on the leg of his breeches.

"Reverend," the child said as soon as he looked down and smiled, "look." She held up a child's silk-lined basket, capable of holding perhaps two eggs.