Page 58 of Fair as a Star

Mark’s muscles tensed. “Why not? I thought—”

“I know. It’s what I want, too. But I’ve been free of Henry for less than a day. If you and I act too quickly, it will cause even more of a scandal in the village. We must tread carefully. Otherwise…I fear we’ll hurt him. And worse.”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. “What could be worse?”

“We’ll damage your position as curate at the very moment you’re about to be elevated to vicar.”

Mark’s spirits plummeted. A purely selfish part of him wanted to laugh. To say that he didn’t care about his position in the church. That he would marry her tomorrow if she would have him. To the devil with scandal—and with Henry. Mark had waited for her long enough.

But she was right, of course.

He couldn’t very well pay court to her the day after she’d jilted his brother. It would be callous. Thoughtless and cruel—both to Henry and to her. Had he been thinking clearly, he would have realized that for himself.

His chest tightened with misery as he reluctantly set her away from him. “How long?”

She looked as unhappy as he felt. “I don’t know. How long do you think would be appropriate?”

“Six months?” He could barely bring himself to suggest it. It would mean waiting all the way through Christmas and into the New Year.

It felt like an eternity.

“Six months.” She slid her hands into his. “Surely that won’t be too terrible? Not if we love each other.”

“I do love you.” He brought her hands to his lips. “And I shall wait for you forever if I have to. But,” he added, “that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Mark crossed the busy village green. The day of the Shepton Worthy summer fete had dawned bright with promise. Indeed, he was feeling extraordinarily optimistic. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and a rail journey to Taunton the previous day had proved particularly fruitful. He carried the evidence of that fact tucked safely away in the inner pocket of his coat. All that was left was to speak to Beryl.

He passed between two rows of stalls decorated with flowers and greenery. They were doing a steady business selling cakes and preserves, knitted goods, and needlework. Colorful banners were strung overhead, fluttering in the breeze, and in the distance musicians performed on a raised wooden platform. The notes of a raucous jig sounded through the air, punctuated by shouts and laughter.

Beryl’s stall was ahead. She was leaning out of it, speaking to one of the villagers as they examined her whitework. Her golden hair glinted in the sun.

Mark’s pulse quickened. He’d seen her only once since returning from Taunton. She’d been at the church yesterday afternoon, along with the other members of the ladies’ committee, finalizing plans for the fete.

There had been no chance to be private with her. No opportunity to kiss her or to hold her in his arms. To tell her again that he loved her. He’d begun to long for such intimate moments, brief though they must be.

“Rivenhall!” Simon Black emerged from the crowd. He was hatless, wearing a light sack coat with a pair of plaid trousers. His fair hair was combed into meticulous order. “How was Taunton?”

“Surprisingly agreeable,” Mark replied, stopping to greet him.

“Parish business, was it?”

Mark’s mouth tilted up at one corner. “Something like that.”

“I’m glad you’re back, at any rate. There’s been some gossip brewing about Miss Burnham’s betrothal to Sir Henry having been broken.”

“Has there.” It was inevitable, Mark supposed. There were no secrets in a small village, and if there were, people didn’t keep them long.

“Is it true?” Black asked.

“It is,” Mark admitted. “But there’s been no announcement to that effect.”

“You haven’t seen it then.”

“Seen what?”

“The wedding dress in the window at Malvern’s Emporium.”

Mark started. Good lord. Had Malvern displayed it already? Beryl had told Mark about the draper’s intentions, but Mark hadn’t expected the man to act so quickly. “When did he put it up?”