“And you believe that the scandalous widow of Castleberry has turned her wiles on a defenseless man?”
“Mrs. Wickham. You do realize that the vicar has a modest income.”
“I hadn’t given it a thought.”
“Mr. Haddad supplements his rather meager salary by tutoring some of the village youth. Were he to align himself with you,respectable village families would naturally reconsider that arrangement, causing the loss of a vital source of revenue.”
My heart sank. The last thing I wanted was to hurt Michael. I should have known that happiness was not for me. One mistake at fifteen, a lifetime of ruin.
“It is well known that you are not welcome at your sister’s home of Pemberley for long periods of time. Her husband, Mr. Darcy, is the largest landowner in several counties and very respectable. Of course I, as well as all decent people, would follow his lead.”
I felt the sting of his words. They reminded me of my separation from my children. And of a family that took care of me financially but never publicly stood behind me.
The squire continued. “A promising man with as much appeal as Mr. Haddad should marry a respectable young woman of unblemished reputation. In other words, someone who is worthy of him. Surely you understand.”
“Perfectly.”
“Furthermore, I cannot be expected to employ a vicar whose standing in the community is lower than it should be. A vicar should set the moral standard rather than flouting it in the service of his baser desires.”
Disappointment panged through me. Michael thought wedding me would envelop me in a cloak of respectability. The squire made clear that the opposite was true; my questionable reputation would limit Michael’s future prospects. I swallowed against the soreness in my throat.
I could never ruin Michael’s life.
“I take your meaning very clearly.” I stood, no longer able to bear another second in this man’s company. “Thank you for coming. I am certain you can see yourself out.”
And then I fled to my bedchamber before the tears fell.
Michael returned the following day bearing a basket.
“That is not my basket,” I said, putting off the inevitable conversation that would end these delightful visits forever.
“No indeed,” he said cheerfully. “This is from my mother. I hope you are hungry. Arab mothers insist on feeding their loved ones well past the point of satiety.”
The unmistakable smell of fresh summer squash and seasoned lamb wafted over me. He came in and set the basket on the table. He wore a dark fitted suit, his typical somber vicar clothing, which I had come to find exceedingly attractive. His brown curls were ruffled as usual. He’d never looked more handsome. Disappointment welled up in my chest. How lovely it would have been to spend a lifetime with this man. After the squire’s visit, I realized how much I wanted a life with Michael.
What would it be like to have a husband who wanted to come home to his wife and actually did so? To have a life mate who shared his thoughts with me? I’d come to look forward to our conversations while we gardened. Wickham had never wanted to talk about anything beyond what I was serving for dinner.
“This is kousa mahshee,” Michael said with pride in his voice. “Do you have plates?”
I nodded and set out the plates and utensils. He carefully placed two stuffed yellow squashes on each plate and spooned the tomato sauce broth over them.
“It smells heavenly,” I said, hoping he did not note the catch in my voice.
“Come and sit,” he urged, pulling a chair out for me. I couldn’t remember the last time a man did that for me. Wickham, for all the fine manners he displayed on first acquaintance, dropped all pretense of chivalry once we married.
“Eat up,” he instructed. “I would not want to have to report back to Mama that my future wife doesn’t care for mahshee.
Alarm trilled through me. “You told your mother about me?”
“I couldn’t resist. I did not name you.” His dark eyes twinkled. “I told her you have not accepted my offer as of yet, but, because she thinks I am the catch of the county, she’s certain your answer will be yes.”
“Michael,” I began, “about that—”
“I insist that you eat first, and then we can discuss what I hope will be our life together.”
I marveled at his confidence in our future. Blinking back tears, I focused on my plate and tried a bite of the stuffed squash.
“Well?” he prompted, watching me carefully.
