Yes, it was when she had looked into his eyes that she had fallen in love with David Gower. The Reverend David Gower. Algie might have knocked her flat with a feather when he had said that, with some emphasis on the Reverend. Goodness, this was the man who was to take old Vicar Ferney's place? His was the face she would gaze at each Sunday for almost the rest of her life or at least until she married and was removed to a different home.

It was almost impossible to imagine. She could not picture him reading the Bible for a pastime, even on Sundays as Papa did. She could not imagine him composing and delivering lengthy sermons from the high stone pulpit of the village church. She certainly could not see him established in the solid but inelegant vicarage beside the church. The man was handsome and athletic, framed for elegant and idle pastimes.

He was a younger son, of course. Rachel had always pitied gentlemen who had had the misfortue to be born second or third in the family. Unless there was some independent fortune for them to inherit, they really had little choice but to seek careers for themselves in the church or the army. She wondered why David Gower had not chosen the latter. He seemed physically more suited to life as a soldier. Of course, as a soldier one also had to exert oneself and even face danger not infrequently. Life in the church offered more luxury and ease, especially if one had a generous patron.

Algie was his cousin. And Algie had the church living in his possession, Singleton Hall being his principal residence, whereas Oakland was not Papa's main seat, though it was his favorite and most frequent place of residence. The Reverend David Gower would have an easy life. Algie was always generous and could be expected to be even more so with his own cousin. The vicar would doubtless be a very frequent visitor at the Hall. Perhaps he would even live there.

Rachel had not intended to fall in love with a clergyman. Indeed she had not intended to fall in love with anyone. She had prattled horribly there on the pavement. She had even asked the new vicar if he would have the second waltz with her that evening. Had she really done that? Yes, she really had. Mortifying thought. She had never asked a man to dance with her or walk with her or drive with her. Where was the need, when gentlemen fell all over themselves and one another to be granted the privilege of engaging her in one of those activities? She sometimes asked Algie, of course, but that was a different matter entirely. They had been friends for as far back as she could remember. She had asked the Reverend Gower to dance with her!

David! What a beautiful name. She had always imagined the hero of the David-and-Goliath story as just such a handsome man. This man, of course, would hardly fit into that story with his height. But then the biblical David had grown into King David, had he not?

By the time the Edgeley carriage drew to a halt outside the house on Grosvenor Square and set down the two young ladies, Celia Barnes was wondering if all the late nights and fairly early mornings were finally catching up on her friend. Rachel had gone for almost ten whole minutes without uttering a single word. She had been sitting in the carriage, holding on to the leather strap, a glazed look in her eyes and an almost foolish half-smile on her lips.

"Do you think the Brussels lace will be just a little too fussy for this evening, Celia?" she asked anxiously as she turned to wait for the footman to help her friend out of the carriage. "I do not wish to appear overdressed."

Celia knew that Rachel was back in the land of the conscious again.

Chapter 2

David Gower was seated in Lord Rivers' very comfortable carriage later that evening on his way to the Simpson ball, his cousin opposite him. He was still feeling rather amused at the way Algie's feelings had been ruffled when he had teased him about the magnificent folds of his neckcloth.

"How many neckcloths did your poor valet wreck before he could come up with this piece of sheer artistry?" he had asked.

"Only four," Algie had replied, turning the whole upper part of his body in David's direction in order not to have his cheeks punctured by the sharp points of his shirt collar. "He was more careful than usual tonight."

David had shouted with laughter. "Perhaps if you could train yourself to sleep absolutely motionless on your back all through the night," he had said, "you could make the same creation serve for a whole week, Algie. It seems a shame to waste all that artistic effort on one evening's entertainment. Perhaps someone of some significance will be absent this evening and not even see it."

That was when Algie's feelings had become ruffled. He had pretended to take offense, anyway. David would not have been feeling so cheerful if he thought he had seriously hurt his cousin. He turned his thoughts to the evening ahead. It had been a long time since he had attended anything quite so frivolous as a ball. And a London ball at that. He quite looked forward to the experience. He would be no match for the splendor of the other guests, of course. His gray knee breeches, silver waistcoat, and blue evening coat had served him for all formal occasions during the previous two years. And he had not even tried to coax his neckcloth into anything but the simplest of knots. His coat was not particularly tight across his shoulders. He knew for a fact that Algie's valet had had to summon a footman to help him squeeze Algie into his.

But he did not particularly care about his slightly unfashionable appearance. After being away from society for some time, he viewed with amusement the more extravagant and impractical trends of fashion. Why look as if one had been poured into one's coat when afterward one was quite incapable of moving? Why view the world languidly through a quizzing glass when one had perfectly good eyesight? Why wear corsets and make every indrawn breath a torture? And if he considered the ladies, he could feel even greater amusement. Tiny lacy parasols that did nothing to keep the sun away from the complexion. Saucy little bonnets that were certainly not designed to keep the elements away from the head. He could go on and on.

Take that little neighbor of Algie's, for example. She was very pretty and very charming, but altogether a little bundle of frivolity. Poor Algie if he did have a tendre for her. Algie had his frivolous side too, but there was far more to the man. He took his responsibilities as landlord seriously. And he was a kind, unassuming man despite the affectation of his dress when in town. David hoped there was more to Lady Rachel Palmer than met the eye. But he very much doubted it.

She certainly had her fair share of vanity. She loved to be noticed. Of course, one could hardly blame her. She was undoubtedly good to look at if one was content to let one's eyes go no farther than skin-deep. Very good to look at, in fact. But her mother should certainly have taught her that one did not solicit the hands of gentlemen as dancing partners on the public streets. Especially not those of strangers to whom one had just been introduced.

It struck him suddenly that if a wedding between Algie and Lady Rachel ever did take place, she would be the leading lady of his parish socially. He would have to learn to deal with her himself. It was not entirely a pleasant prospect. The other girl, now, was different. She had neither looks nor character to attract during a chance meeting, but there was a great deal more to her than met the eye. He had sensed that she might be worth getting to know. And he was to waltz with her this evening.

"I don't know about you," Algernon said as the carriage slowed to join the back of the line of conveyances approaching the entrance to the Simpson residence, "but I plan to disappear into the card room as soon as I may."

"But you have promised two dances," David reminded him.

"True," Algernon sighed. "And the Simpsons are usually niggardly with the waltzes. Bet there will be no more than three or four altogether. We can play cards between times, David, and still fulfill our obligations. Rache is a marvel. She can dance the night away and still look as fresh as a daisy on Bond Street the next morning." He chuckled. "She likes being twirled in the waltz, just as if one were turning corners every moment. You were best to remember that, m'boy."

David laughed and peered out through the window at the impressive sight of liveried footmen helping ball guests from their carriages onto the red carpet that had been laid out for the occasion.


* * *

Rachel was trying to stand very still. Why did it happen to her far more than to any other young girl that her gown needed repair during balls? This ball had not even started yet and she had caught the hem of her pink underdress on the edge of a chair and torn such a gash in it that she had had to retire to the withdrawing room for repairs to be made. A maid was busy with needle and thread while Rachel stood patiently talking to Celia.

"It really will not show," Celia told her. "Be thankful that it was not the lace that tore. The gown really does look glorious."

"Well, so does yours," Rachel assured her magnanimously. "I told you, did I not, that that dark blue shade would be fare more becoming than the light color you picked out?"

"Yes, I think you are right," Celia said, glancing at her reflection in a mirror, pleased. "You always are. You have a far better dress sense than I."

"It is a matter of common sense, really," Rachel said. "You have pale coloring, Celia, and light hair. It is perfectly obvious that your clothes must be in vivid colors. And of simple design. Those small flounces are just the thing. I do hope Algie will be on time tonight. He almost never is. The first waltz is the second set of the evening. I would hate to have to dance it with someone else. I do feel quite embarrassed about what happened this morning, by the way."