Of only one thing was she certain. She was going to allow the pattern of her life to unfold without resistance. She was going to put her faith in a higher power than herself. David had been quite right. She had done much thinking about what he had said in the nursery at Singleton Hall. And he was right. There was nothing restricting or dreary about accepting and living a religious faith. She had already started to do both without even fully realizing the fact.

And she had told David the truth. Her mornings were the happiest part of her days. The happiest part of her life, in fact. There was meaning in doing things for others. It was only in giving that one could receive. Jesus Himself had said it. What she had given over the years and especially in the past few weeks was paltry in return for the happiness and the friendships she had gained.

So for the first time she had abandoned herself to life without fear. And she had hunted through the New Testament until she found the passage she was looking for: "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: and yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.... Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself."

And Rachel had known a measure of peace during the days of hectic activity that would culminate in the ball of that evening.

She was stooping down listening to one of the Perkins boys explain the significance of the crisscrossing trails marked out in the dust before him when David came out of the cottage. She stood up and held out a hand to him.

"Lord Cardwell told us yesterday about Lady Wexford," she said. "I am sorry, David. I liked her and I know she was someone very special to you."

He took her hand. "She and Lord Wexford were like grandparents to me," he said. "Generous and indulgent. Even though I have not seen her often since I grew up I shall miss her. Thank you, Rachel. May I walk along beside you? What I wish to say to you concerns my godmother." -

"Oh?" Rachel made no effort to persuade him to climb into the gig with her. There were too many bad memories of the last time they had ridden together. Instead, she walked beside him, leading the horse by the bit until David took her place.

"Shall we tether the horse to that tree," David suggested a few minutes later, when they were out of sight of the cottage, "and stroll out into the pasture? What I have to say is of some importance."

Rachel glanced at him in curiosity. They said nothing until they had climbed a stile into one of the pastures of the estate and strolled along one side in the shadow of a high hedge, where they were partly sheltered from the oppressive rays of the sun.

"I have the chance to change my life quite radically," David said, breaking the silence between them abruptly at last. "I am in a position to ask you to be my wife, Rachel."

Rachel stopped walking instantly and spun to face him. Her face looked stunned but her eyes widened. "David?" The word could scarcely force itself past her stiffened lips.

"It is true," he said, laughing at her expression. "I can marry you, Rachel, if you will have me, and provide you with the sort of life you are accustomed to." He took both her hands in his when she continued to stare at him.

"If I will have you?" she whispered then. Her face lit up and she snatched her hands away from his and threw her arms around his neck. "If I will have you? David! David, what a very foolish thing to say. You know I will have you under any circumstances you might name. I love you. Oh, how I love you."

David wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against him. "Rachel." He lowered his head and buried his face against the side of her neck. "Rachel, my love, how could I contemplate life without you? You are my life, my inspiration, my joy." There were tears glistening in his eyes when he lifted his head to look down into her eager face. "I love you."

The heat of the day was such that the touch of another body, even the chance brushing of hands, should have been an agony. But what is the heat of the most oppressive of days when compared with a love that at last is allowed an outlet? Rachel was somehow free of her bonnet, and somehow her hands and her body had found their way past the barrier of David's coat and waistcoat, and his mouth was over hers, all with never a thought between them of the discomforts of the day that continued to blaze around them.

And the only need that expressed itself was to draw closer and closer yet. His mouth opened over hers. One hand cupped the back of her head and held it firm while his tongue ravaged her mouth. She pressed her breasts and thighs against the firmness of his body and opened her mouth wider to his invasion. When his hands on her shoulders did remove her from him, it was only so that he might kiss her throat and slide his hands down to touch and caress her breasts. Rachel threw back her head and pushed her palms in circles over the firm muscles of his chest.

It was only when his hands came behind her hips and pulled her hard against him that they looked again into each other's eyes and knew a measure of reality again.

"Rachel," he said with a somewhat shaky laugh, "I want you so badly. But I would not dishonor you, love. I fear I have done so already. Forgive me." His hands were gentle on her shoulders as he put her from him. He bent and kissed her softly on the lips, his breathing still not quite under his control.

"I do not care," she said, the dreamy passion of her eyes giving place to a bright shining. "I am going to trust you with the whole of the rest of my life. I trust you now whatever happens. David. Oh, David, is it true? Have you finally seen that you will not be the ruin of my happiness? Oh, I do love you, and there can be no dishonor in showing each other that love."

"I had expected to have to make a long explanation," he said, drawing the backs of his fingers across her cheek. "I see that I underestimated the power of your feelings. You will marry me, then, Rachel? It is settled?"

"How could you have doubted for a moment that I would?" she said, turning her head and kissing his wrist. "I have never made a secret of my feelings for you. Will we continue to live here, or will you feel it better to move away? I shall not care. As long as I am with you, and as long as I can share your vision of life, I could live quite happily in a Gypsy caravan. I will not be a burden to you, David. I have found the purpose of my life through you."

"You will not need to make any sacrifices for me," he said, framing her face with his hands. "We will be living in Richmond, and you will be able to continue with the sort of life you have been brought up to. Nothing need change except that you will be living in my home instead of your father's, and that you will be a wife."

Rachel's eyes had lost their sparkle. They looked wary now. "I don't understand," she said.

“My godmother left me everything," he said. "She was an extremely wealthy woman, Rachel."

Rachel stared at him, frowning. "And you are going to give up your way of life," she said, "because you have inherited a fortune?"

"I shall still work as a clergyman," he said. "But now I can afford to marry you, Rachel."

She shook her head slowly and he removed his hands. "No," she said. "You cannot do that, David. You will lose yourself if you move away to a different life from the one you have been leading here. Will you not? I don't like it. I wish she had not done it. Oh, it will spoil everything if you become nothing but a wealthy gentleman."

"I do not have to accept," he said. "I have sixty days in which to decide. Fifty-nine, to be exact. If I refuse to accept the conditions, the whole estate will go to certain charities. If I accept, I must live in Richmond and I must accept a post found for me by a bishop friend of my godmother's."

"Don't accept," Rachel said.

He stared blankly at her.

"If it were not for me," she said, looking directly into his eyes, "if I did not exist, what would you do, David?"

"I would refuse my inheritance," he said slowly.

"Then I refuse your offer, David," Rachel said quietly. "I thank you for the honor you have done me and for the sacrifice you are prepared to make for me. But I cannot marry you. My answer is final."

She stooped to pick up her bonnet from the grass, turned, and walked back the way they had come. David did not move from where he stood until long after he heard the horse and gig pass behind the hedge at his back.

Chapter 12

She was to have no time to brood over her raw feelings, Rachel discovered as soon as she returned home. The Marquess of Stanford had arrived in her absence, having discovered after all, he had explained to Lord and Lady Edgeley, that he was able to join the final couple of days of their house party. He was still in the salon where the butler had shown him on his arrival and where the earl and countess had gone to greet him. Rachel joined them there.

She was glad he had come, she thought as soon as she had made her curtsy and while he crossed the room to her, raised her hand to his lips, and smiled in that charming way of his. She had felt dismay when the butler had told her a couple of minutes before. Her life could not stand yet another complication. And indeed, she had all but forgotten about the marquess in the previous few weeks. Yet as soon as she set eyes on his figure, fashionable and elegant despite the dust of travel, she knew that perhaps he was just what she needed today.

She could not afford anyway to withdraw to her own room, as she wished to do, to lick her wounds and cry her heart out. Apart from the fact that she had friends to entertain for the afternoon, she had to be ready for Algie's ball during the evening. It would not do at all to appear there looking wan and puffy-eyed. She owed it to Algie if to no one else to be her usual self.

The presence of the marquess would help her overcome her black mood. She must appear at her very best for this gentleman who had come presumably to renew his offer for her. And everyone would know or guess his purpose. There had been enough gossip in London. It was to be expected that she would be in high spirits. Then in high spirits she would be! She smiled her brightest smile and inquired after the health of Lord Stanford's sister and the comfort of his journey.

Indeed, Rachel thought a couple of hours later, when she ran lightly downstairs after luncheon, her straw bonnet swinging from its ribbons in one hand, perhaps the marquess was the answer to all her problems. If she were to marry him, she would be taken far away to a new life. Algie would understand-he had said himself, in fact, that she must not rush into a betrothal with him lest she decide to accept Stanford's proposal in the autumn. He would not have to know or suspect the truth about David if she married Lord Stanford.

"Here I am," Rachel called gaily to the group waiting in the hallway. "Have I kept everyone waiting?"

The younger people had decided to walk across the hills to the Red Fox Inn. It would be the best direction to enable Lord Stanford to see the beauty of the surrounding countryside, all had agreed. Lord Rivers had no plans to call that afternoon, Rachel explained with some inner relief. He was busy with the preparations for his dinner and ball that evening.

It was a gay and noisy group that set out in pairs. Miss Lacey walked with Mr. Hart, who had been teased mercilessly in the previous few days as a dark horse. Celia walked with Lord Morrison. Rachel, of course, was with the Marquess of Stanford. Two other couples led the way. But they soon found the afternoon oppressively hot. It was sure to storm before the night was out, they all agreed.

The marquess drew Rachel to the back of the group, his footsteps lagging.

"You have boundless energy, ma'am," he said. "In town I thought perhaps it manifested itself only in dancing, but I see that you can outstride anyone over hill and dale even in the heat of summer."

"I am afraid it has always been a failing of mine to rush headlong into life's next episode," Rachel said. "I am only just learning how to enjoy the moment."

"Indeed," he said, "I have found myself with the same tendency in the past few weeks. I have never known Tunbridge so dull. I promised to stay away from you until the end of summer, Lady Rachel. I am afraid I have arrived rather early. I hope I have not offended you?"