Page 14 of Fair as a Star

Garbed in a full-skirted white cotton day dress, she was sitting near the river, her arms folded over her updrawn knees, and her forehead resting on her forearms. Her shoulders shook with the strength of her quiet sobs.

His heart clenched hard.

He hadn’t seen her since church on Sunday, nearly three days ago. He was beginning to suspect she was avoiding him. An uneasy thought. She’d have only one reason to do so. A reason that, when contemplated, made Mark’s neck grow hot beneath his collar in a mortified blush.

Had Henry said something?

Mark doubted it. And yet…Beryl hadn’t sought him out. Hadn’t offered to call on sick parishioners with him, or to assist with preparations for the summer fete. Even in church, she’d studiously evaded his gaze.

Mark had noticed her particularly, just as he always did, his eyes gravitating to her against his will. She’d been seated near the front—along with her mother, sister, and aunt—in the row behind the pew reserved for the Rivenhall family. Nothing had seemed to be wrong with her then. She’d sat and stood in time with the rest of the congregation, had sung the hymns and recited the prayers. And yet he hadn’t been able to rid himself of the feeling that something was wrong.

And something was wrong, if her tears were any indication.

For an instant, he felt an overwhelming sense of powerlessness. What in the world could he do to help her? This person for whom he cared so very much? It was gone as quickly as it came. His own feelings for her didn’t matter. He was a curate, and she was a member of his church. He knew what must be done.

Emerging from the woods, he crossed the grass and sank down on the riverbank at her side, dropping his hat, coat, and the books he’d been carrying down next to him in a disorganized heap.

She lifted her head with a start. Her blue-green eyes were swollen. “Mark.” She hastily wiped at her cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

“I often come this way when I walk home.” He withdrew his white linen handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and offered it to her. It was clean and freshly pressed, courtesy of Mrs. Phillips, the kindly housekeeper at the vicarage.

Beryl took it without looking at him and used it to dry her tears. Her slender fingers were trembling. “I believed I had privacy. I wouldn’t have come here otherwise.”

“Forgive the intrusion. I saw you through the trees, and…I thought you might need a friend.” He let the silence between them lengthen, waiting as she finished blotting her eyes. The delicate scent of her teased at his senses. Sunshine and elderflower. It was wild and honey sweet, and so achingly familiar that it made his heart hurt. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like something has upset you very much. I’d like to help if I can.”

She looked away from him to stare out at the river. Her hair was falling loose from the simple chignon she wore at her nape. Wispy golden strands clung to her damp face.

“You can talk to me,” he said. “You do know that, don’t you?”

Fresh tears pooled in her eyes. “What is there to say? You already know everything.”

A jolt of apprehension narrowed his gaze. “Everything about what?”

“About why I left Shepton Worthy last year.” A stray tear rolled down her cheek, glittering in the sunlight. She dashed it away. “And you needn’t pretend ignorance. My mother already admitted that she told Mr. Venable. I can only assume he relayed it all to you the first chance he got.”

“You assume wrong.”

She cast him an uncertain glance. “What has he told you, then? If not the whole of it—”

“None of it. Nothing about you.” Mark hadn’t been taken into the antiquated vicar’s confidence in ages. It was nothing personal. Venable was simply too busy nursing his own physical ailments to give any thought to the health of his congregation. “I thought… That is, everyone understood that your aunt insisted you accompany her. That there was no way you could refuse without causing a rift in the family.”

“Everyone understood? Not everyone, surely.”

Mark inwardly winced. There had been gossip. Cruel whispers about Beryl having gone away to have a child. No one had dared repeat such rumors to his face, but hearing them secondhand had been bad enough. He’d been outraged, of course. Outraged and…bemused.

Beryl and Jack?

The very idea was too ludicrous to consider. Jack hadn’t set foot in England in years. Which made it a ridiculous rumor, as well as a malicious one. Anyone with half a brain in their head would know there was no substance to it.

“You know how villages can be,” Mark said.

“Yes. I’d expected there would be talk. But that it should be so sordid…” Her voice cracked. “And it’s all my fault. If only I’d been…”

“What?”