“I told you that I am not marrying Michael.”
“Why won’t you go to church?” she asked.
“You know perfectly well why,” I said. “I am not welcome.”
“Instead of hiding yourself in shame, when will you hold yourhead up high and claim your rightful place in Castleberry?” she asked. “You blame everyone for not accepting you, but the truth is you hide yourself away so much that your absence fosters even more gossip.”
Darcy remained silent while he watched our exchange.
Panic gripped me. “I cannot go in there.”
“You can,” Lizzy urged. “The squire said we don’t support you. Let us show him and all of Castleberry that we do.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t face the disapproving looks I was bound to receive from a church full of people. “I cannot.”
“If you will not do it for yourself, then do it for Mr. Haddad.”
“My attending church will hurt Michael, not help him. Why are you asking me to provoke a scandal?”
Lizzy tried a different approach. “If your alliance has damaged the vicar’s reputation in any way, having Darcy and myself attend his service will help bolster his standing in this community.”
I wanted to assist and protect Michael in any way I could. “Then go on in,” I said. “I shall wait here.”
Lizzy remained right where she was. “I’m not attending the service without you, and neither is Darcy.”
For once, I looked to Darcy for help. “Please talk some sense into your wife.”
“Would that I could,” he said in a mild tone. “But once Lizzy gets something into her mind, she is difficult to dissuade.”
“Very well,” I snapped. “Do not blame me if the entire congregation walks out in protest.”
We alighted from the coach. Darcy offered his arm. “We are beside you.”
Dread filled me as I allowed Darcy to escort me into the church. Most people had already been seated. A hush came over the pews as I proceeded down the aisle. And then the whispering began.
“The audacity,” someone said.
“How can she show her face in church?” another remarked in a loud whisper that was clearly meant to be overheard.
But instead of making me cower, the comments fueled me. I lifted my chin and pulled back my shoulders. I wasn’t doing this just for Michael any longer. It was now for me as well. I wouldn’t allow these people to make me feel shame. I’d done that for years. But no longer. I was tired of lowering my head to satisfy these people. Whether they approved or not, I was part of this community. I had shared my flowers with many a young suitor and fed even more of the villagers.
Darcy led us to the front row, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to take the best seat. We arrived late enough that the service began almost as soon as we were seated. Squire Worsley’s eyes widened when he realized who’d joined him in the front pew, which had low walls around it, and he dipped his head in respectful acknowledgment to Darcy just as Michael began the service.
He approached the pulpit wearing a black cassock and a shorter white surplice over his black suit. I had never seen him in his robes. They made him seem larger than life and more out of my humble reach than ever.
He began with a call for confession and repentance, a rite I remembered from the days before I met Wickham. As a girl, I viewed church as mostly an opportunity to socialize, which, of course, I adored. It had been many years since I’d attended Sunday services.
“We ought, at all times, to humbly acknowledge our sins,” Michael began. I’d kept my head lowered, but his vibrant voice compelled me to look up to fully experience Michael in all of his glory. My anticipation grew, my breath coming in shorter spurts,as I waited for him to realize that I was in attendance. When our eyes finally met, his smile widened, and I felt the full force of his welcome. I envied the parishioners who were fortunate to hear his sermon every Sunday.
The congregation knelt, reading a prayer aloud that confessed our sins and asked for forgiveness. “We have erred and strayed from our ways,” Michael said.
As I recited the prayer, a powerful feeling came over me. I felt the full effects of the words. The realization dawned that I was deserving of forgiveness.
Michael was compelling as he led us through the service. He came even more alive, his voice, loud and clear, carrying throughout the church. He made eye contact with his audience, and his expression was not severe and dour. He smiled and was welcoming. We could all feel his joy, and it was infectious. In that moment, I vowed never to do anything that would rob Michael of his ability to do what he was clearly born to do.
The service went by quickly, a huge change from girlhood when the hours-long services seemed like they would never end. But with Michael, I could easily listen forever. Once the final prayers were recited and the service ended, Squire Worsley was the first to hurry over and introduce himself.
“Mr. Darcy, welcome to our humble church. You honor us with your presence.”
