Page 73 of Temptations of a Wallflower
“The timing could not be better,” he said. “I’ve just finished. A record time for me.”
She stepped forward. “Wonderful!”
He looked slightly bashful. “Will you read it later, after I’ve reviewed it again, and give me your thoughts?”
The fact that he trusted her opinion with so important a task staggered her. “Of course.”
He looked her up and down, wolfish. “What were you saying about some noontime exploration?”
“Sustenance first,” she said, raising a finger. There was a rap on the study door, and Sarah went to answer it. As she hoped, Mrs. Holland was there, with a full picnic basket, which she handed to Sarah.
“A lovely day for it, my lady,” the housekeeper said with a wink before heading back to the kitchen.
Sarah turned back to Jeremy.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“A woven container that holds comestibles,” she answered pertly.
“I know it’s a picnic basket,” he said with amused exasperation. “But what are you doing with it?”
“Isn’t that obvious, my erudite and very observant husband? You and I are going to take some refreshment outside. The day is fine, and we’ve both been cooped up too long within these walls.”
“Sounds pagan,” he answered, stepping forward. “Don’t know if my parishioners would approve.”
“Fortunately,” she replied, “none of them are joining us. Come.” She held out her hand. “Let’s you and I be pagan together.”
After Jeremy grabbed a wide-brimmed straw hat, he and Sarah walked out of the vicarage hand in hand. She’d heard from Mrs. Holland that a tree-encircled meadow lay a small distance beyond the house. With a blanket tucked under Jeremy’s arm, and her carrying the picnic basket, they wended their way along a barely used bridle path toward the meadow.
It was blissfully quiet and still, only the droning of the bees and sounds of the wind ruffling the tall grasses to be heard. A soft golden sun shone down over the barley waving slightly in the breeze. The last of the wildflowers dotted color here and there, like drops of paint from a paintbrush onto a canvas.
“London could never compare with this,” she said as they walked, swinging their joined hands.
“It might not have the energy or pace of the city,” Jeremy agreed, “but it’s hard to find fault with the country on a day like today.” He grinned at her. “Or with such company by my side.”
“Ah, but you’ve picked up the flattering ways of the city,” she chided with amusement.
“I am the perfect courtier.” He stopped and made an old-fashioned bow. “They’ll talk of me as far away as Paris.”
“But I hope you remain here in England,” she said. “With me.”
His expression sobered. “Always. You tempt me so.”
Though she wanted to pull him close for a kiss, shecontinued on toward their destination. A thought had been brewing ever since she had finished writing, and she was intent to see her goal fulfilled.
They set an easy pace, climbing the stile of a fence, then wending along past a little creek before crossing a narrow footbridge. They breached a bank of trees, and there it was, the promised meadow. It wasn’t especially large, but it sloped gently downward in a carpet of late grasses. A handsome old oak stood nearly at the center of the field, spreading speckled shade upon the ground.
“There.” She pointed to the tree. “That’s where we’ll have our picnic.”
“I do as commanded,” he answered.
She sent him a cheeky smile as they walked toward the oak. “Married only a few days, and already he’s learned the wisest course of action.”
“Don’t forget,” he replied, “that I’ve counseled many a wedded couple here in the village. I’ve heard every sort of complaint there is. Most every grievance could be addressed by simply doing as the woman desires.”
She laughed. “Is there no room for compromise? Surely the wife must accede to her husband’s wishes every now and then.”
“It’s a peaceful household that bends to the whims of womankind,” he answered. “‘Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it,’” he quoted. “Ephesians 5:25.”
