I’d expected a pious man to reject any offering from a disreputable woman. “If you knew it was me, why have you not said anything?”
He smiled, and a dimple appeared in his right cheek. “You made it clear that you preferred not to be interfered with.”
He had the right of it. For the past several weeks, when I thought no one would be at the church, I surreptitiously left a basket of fresh produce from my garden. As an avid gardener, I harvested far more berries, cucumbers, and tomatoes than I could ever hope to eat, since my children were spending the summer with Lizzy and Darcy. Each week, I returned early the following morning to retrieve my empty basket, thoughtfully placed exactly where I’d left it, not far from the church door.
“Your donations have helped to feed hungry people in need. You could have sold that produce to improve your own situation,” he noted.
My cheeks burned. “Few people will want to purchase food tainted by scandal.”
“Food is food.” He quirked a smile, drawing my attention to his beautifully molded mouth. “And none of us is without sin.”
I could not imagine this angelic-seeming man doing anything sinful. “Not even you?” I could not resist asking.
He laughed outright. “Especiallynot me.”
The vibrant sound stirred something sinful in my belly. I was aghast at my carnal response. The way my body responded to a man of God surely confirmed my proclivity for improper behavior. After all, a handsome man had been the source of my downfall before.
In the early years of my marriage, I followed my husband’s unfortunate example, enjoying drink and cards and dancing with abandon, living beyond my means, cementing my disgraceful reputation, even though I abandoned all carousing by my twenty-fifth year, more than a decade ago.
“Some of us,” I said tartly, “particularly of the female persuasion, are held more accountable than others.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“Very.”
“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Michael. Michael Haddad.”
Michael Haddad. Why did the name sound vaguely familiar? “I’m Lydia Wickham.”
“I know who you are.”
My face burned. Naturally, he’d heard of my wretched past, which unfortunately followed me into the present.
“I can only imagine what you’ve been told.” Since Wickham died, more than one man assumed I’d eagerly entertain male companions when my children were away. “Believe what you will”—Idespised the defensive edge that crept into my tone—“but most of what you’ve heard is untrue.”
I usually didn’t bother to defend my soiled reputation. I’d grown accustomed to keeping to myself, spending hours in welcome solitude tending to my garden, especially as my children grew older and passed more time at Pemberley with Lizzy and Darcy. As the years went by, I became indifferent to the townspeople’s low opinion of the outrageous Mrs. Wickham. But not this time. Strangely, I couldn’t abide allowing the handsome young vicar to hold me in low regard.
He studied me. “I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t remember me.”
I blinked. “Remember you?”
“We have met.”
My gaze narrowed. “Truly?” He was not a forgettable man. “I think I would remember.”
“It was a long time ago. When we were children.”
My eyes rounded. “We were acquainted in Meryton?” The market village was near Longbourn, my father’s estate, where I grew up with my four sisters.
“We didn’t exactly know each other. It would be far more accurate to say I admired you from afar.”
“Me?” This splendid specimen once thought highly of me?
“Everyone knew of the five Bennet sisters of Longbourn. But you were the one who caught my attention. You were so lively and energetic.”
“That feels very long ago.”
“You are still much the same.”
