you?”
His mouth drew into a crooked smile. “I’m not sure I know.”
“I believe you don’t,” she said, and desirous that he would not see the obvious proofs of the pleasure she took in this repartee, she turned her attention to the parson once more. Yet she could feel the enduring weight of his gaze, and, as it lingered, she grew increasingly conscious of her own folly. How wicked she was to encourage him! It seemed vanity was still alive and well in her, and she was ashamed. Straightening, she determined to pay more astute attention to the words she had come expressly to hear. She had come, after all, to receive some much needed spiritual uplifting, not to fraternise with the townspeople, or worse, to make fun of the new parson. He was very young and nice looking, the parson was, but that was hardly anything to laugh at. The gentleman beside her was handsome too, in his own elegantly roguish sort of way, his brown hair curling at the ends as if to suggest that beneath the refinement, there was something a little wild, after all. Yes, he was handsome. There was little point denying it. But neither was there any point in carrying on this futile banter. He was far above her. Impossibly far. Yet, even in his silence, she found his presence strangely comforting and disquieting all at once. And it was in the way he turned his grey-blue eyes upon her that both these qualities were displayed to their greatest effect. If he would only stop staring at her!
He was equally determined, it seemed, to persist in his aim, whatever it was. He sat quietly, very still and self-possessed as the quality are bred to do, and do without thinking, while it took everything in her to keep from fidgeting with the frogs on her cloak, or with the buttons on her gloves. He turned toward her again. She dared a glance, and the warning look she had intended to offer melted into a hesitant smile in the warmth of his enduring attentiveness. She felt the heat rise in her face. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sermon came to an abrupt end, and the congregation was invited, once more, to sing.
One hymn book existed between them, and he quickly took it up, holding it before her and standing as close as propriety would allow. She found she had to turn toward him slightly to keep her arm from brushing against his. In such a posture, it was quite convenient for him to watch her instead of the hymnal, making his occupation apparent when he faltered and fumbled the words.
She ought to feel ashamed. She knew it quite plainly. Yet she found herself thrilling at the compliment he paid her in his pointed attentions.
The hymn ending, they resumed their seats as the second sermon began. Though she tried, she could not hear the parson’s words. She could only think of the gentleman beside her as she wondered when and if he would speak to her again—and, against intention, hoping he would. But this was wrong. Very wrong. She tried harder still to listen. She heard the words Vanity and Pride. And these, in the wake of her selfish and ill-conceived wishes, rang as a death knell, a warning of the dangers she was once more welcoming with arms open wide.
She had forgotten herself. Wearing the costume familiar to her in her former life, she had too easily resumed former ways. She was misleading him and quite openly defying the proper rules of caste. Yet she could not deny the satisfaction of being admired for what she might have been had fate not stepped in to deny her her proper place. His manner toward her was respectful. But the moment he learned the true nature of her circumstances that would end and he would despise her as the charlatan she was.
He bent towards her to speak again. Feeling now the awkwardness of her predicament, the weight of her self-castigation, she closed her eyes against him and folded her hands in prayer, where she remained until the sermon had ended and all were invited to kneel.
* * *
Archer Hamilton, completely baffled
His mouth drew into a crooked smile. “I’m not sure I know.”
“I believe you don’t,” she said, and desirous that he would not see the obvious proofs of the pleasure she took in this repartee, she turned her attention to the parson once more. Yet she could feel the enduring weight of his gaze, and, as it lingered, she grew increasingly conscious of her own folly. How wicked she was to encourage him! It seemed vanity was still alive and well in her, and she was ashamed. Straightening, she determined to pay more astute attention to the words she had come expressly to hear. She had come, after all, to receive some much needed spiritual uplifting, not to fraternise with the townspeople, or worse, to make fun of the new parson. He was very young and nice looking, the parson was, but that was hardly anything to laugh at. The gentleman beside her was handsome too, in his own elegantly roguish sort of way, his brown hair curling at the ends as if to suggest that beneath the refinement, there was something a little wild, after all. Yes, he was handsome. There was little point denying it. But neither was there any point in carrying on this futile banter. He was far above her. Impossibly far. Yet, even in his silence, she found his presence strangely comforting and disquieting all at once. And it was in the way he turned his grey-blue eyes upon her that both these qualities were displayed to their greatest effect. If he would only stop staring at her!
He was equally determined, it seemed, to persist in his aim, whatever it was. He sat quietly, very still and self-possessed as the quality are bred to do, and do without thinking, while it took everything in her to keep from fidgeting with the frogs on her cloak, or with the buttons on her gloves. He turned toward her again. She dared a glance, and the warning look she had intended to offer melted into a hesitant smile in the warmth of his enduring attentiveness. She felt the heat rise in her face. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sermon came to an abrupt end, and the congregation was invited, once more, to sing.
One hymn book existed between them, and he quickly took it up, holding it before her and standing as close as propriety would allow. She found she had to turn toward him slightly to keep her arm from brushing against his. In such a posture, it was quite convenient for him to watch her instead of the hymnal, making his occupation apparent when he faltered and fumbled the words.
She ought to feel ashamed. She knew it quite plainly. Yet she found herself thrilling at the compliment he paid her in his pointed attentions.
The hymn ending, they resumed their seats as the second sermon began. Though she tried, she could not hear the parson’s words. She could only think of the gentleman beside her as she wondered when and if he would speak to her again—and, against intention, hoping he would. But this was wrong. Very wrong. She tried harder still to listen. She heard the words Vanity and Pride. And these, in the wake of her selfish and ill-conceived wishes, rang as a death knell, a warning of the dangers she was once more welcoming with arms open wide.
She had forgotten herself. Wearing the costume familiar to her in her former life, she had too easily resumed former ways. She was misleading him and quite openly defying the proper rules of caste. Yet she could not deny the satisfaction of being admired for what she might have been had fate not stepped in to deny her her proper place. His manner toward her was respectful. But the moment he learned the true nature of her circumstances that would end and he would despise her as the charlatan she was.
He bent towards her to speak again. Feeling now the awkwardness of her predicament, the weight of her self-castigation, she closed her eyes against him and folded her hands in prayer, where she remained until the sermon had ended and all were invited to kneel.
* * *
Archer Hamilton, completely baffled
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