Page 74 of Temptations of a Wallflower
“No wonder the women of this parish adore you.” They had reached the base of the tree, and Sarah watched as Jeremy spread out the woolen blanket upon the ground.
“As it turns out,” he said with a small measure ofpride, “there are fewer husbands and wives living apart since I took on as vicar. Perhaps I’ve a little to do with that. But a very little.”
“You are modest, Vicar. But then, ‘Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.’ Matthew 25:12.” She sat herself down, spreading her skirts around her.
“Been studying your Bible?” he asked, stretching out on the ground.
“I’d make for a poor vicar’s wife if I didn’t know my way around some Scripture. Besides,” she added, “I have been going to church every Sunday since I was baptized. I should think I know a verse or two.”
“Not everyone is attentive during services.”
She rifled through the basket, producing a few meat pies, some apples, and a flagon of ale. Setting them out on the blanket, she said, “I imagine that there must be a bit of distraction at your own services.”
He frowned. “Am I so dull?”
“So handsome, rather.” She smiled. “I’ve seen the way the women of Rosemead look at you. Like a beam of God’s grace has come to earth. There’s been a few envious glares in my direction.” She handed him one of the pies and took another for herself.
“An exaggeration!” He broke off a corner of the pie and popped it into his mouth.
“You really cannot see it?”
“See what?”
“Oh, husband of mine,” she said with a sigh. “It is a good thing you are so blind to your own charms. Otherwise think of the trail of broken hearts and discarded underthings you’d leave in your wake.”
He gave a full-throated laugh. “What an imagination you have.”
He’d no idea of the depths of her imagination. But correcting him would send this ideal day into a dark spiral. “Suffice it to say that fortune has blessed me. And I will accept those blessings.” She took a bite of meat pie, then chased it down with a sip of cold ale. “How does your sermon on marriage progress?”
“The first draft is already finished.”
“Perhaps you were inspired.”
His gaze was heavy-lidded. “My inspiration has been plentiful as of late.”
Hers, too, but she could not say so. “Here’s to inspiration.” She raised the flagon, then drank.
He took the bottle from her and also took a sip. She enjoyed watching the strong column of his throat work as he swallowed. He’d undone his cravat, leaving a small glimpse of the golden flesh at the hollow of his throat. Though she knew precisely how that skin felt and tasted, she doubted she would ever grow tired of experiencing those sensations over and over.
“Tell me something of yourself, husband,” she murmured.
“What would you like to know?”
Her lips curved. “A secret. Something no one would know about you.”
He was silent for a long while, turning a thought over and over in his mind. As if in debate. But then, finally, he said, “I hadn’t planned on going into the Church. It wasn’t my idea.”
She felt her brows lift in surprise. “Whose idea was it?”
“My father’s.” Jeremy’s expression was distant. “Hechecked off the boxes. A son to be the heir.Check.A son in an esteemed profession like the law.Check.And one for the Church.Checkagain.” His finger made a little flicking motion, as though ticking off invisible boxes.
“You were the third son,” she noted. “You weren’t beholden to him.”
His expression grew sardonic. “Clearly, you haven’t met my father. He gets what he wants. Makes it impossible to refuse him.”
“Is he so persuasive?”
“Not with rhetoric, but with threats. He made it clear to me that if I didn’t become a priest, my finances would suffer and I wouldn’t be welcome in his home.”
