shook his head. “That was pretty rotten, too. No, it took God’s grace to bless me the way He has with your sister’s love.”
Before Damien could say anything more, Jonah gestured quickly with his hand. “See the ladies standing by the fruit vendor?”
Damien’s gaze traveled to two women inspecting the fruit. One of them looked older, perhaps thirty, the other probably not more than nineteen or twenty. In their plain dark pelisses, they could have been servants out to make purchases, or young matrons doing their household shopping. “What of them?”
“What of ’em?” Jonah mimicked in mock scorn. “They’re a pair of pretty lasses who’d probably lap you up like a plum pudding if you so much as looked their way.”
When Damien became aware of what Jonah intended, his steps slowed, but Jonah hauled him forward by the elbow. The next thing he knew, Jonah was smiling and tipping his hat to the ladies in question. “Good day to ye, madam, miss. Have you ever seen such plump-looking grapes in all your life?”
He snatched up one of the fat black grapes and popped it into his mouth. “Sweet as honey.” He addressed the older woman, but included both in his smile. “Of course, hothouse grapes don’t come near to the taste of those grown outside in the warm sun and refreshing rain. When I lived in the country, I used to grow my own. Muscats, Rieslings, Gamays. You’ve never tasted a sweeter grape than those I harvested.”
“Oh, where did you cultivate grapes?” the older one asked with a simpering smile.
“I tilled the soil on a place in Surrey.”
Damien couldn’t help admiring how quickly Jonah had them entranced. He looked a well-set-up gentleman in his bottle-green cutaway coat and black pantaloons, nothing like the farm laborer he used to be. Although he didn’t lie, his words made the women assume he had been a landowner on some prosperous farm.
“Oh, yes, I grew apples and pears, too. I was only just telling my young friend, the parson here, that I haven’t seen a fruit nor a vegetable in London yet that beats anything I grew myself.”
The two women turned to notice Damien, who’d been standing slightly behind Jonah.
“Of course, he’s city bred, so he doesn’t know what it means to pick your own apple and feel the juice on your tongue at that first, crisp bite.”
Damien thought that was a bit much, considering the orchard in his backyard, but he kept silent, allowing Jonah to have his fun.
“Would you ladies like me to hail you a cab? You’ve an awful lot of parcels to carry,” Jonah asked.
“Oh, that would be most helpful,” the older said. “We live in Cheapside. It’s always hard to get a cab around here.”
“Come along then, here, let me help you with those. The preacher can take yours,” he said, turning to the younger lady.
As they began to move apart, the young girl suddenly looked down at Damien’s legs and her eyes grew round. Without a word, she handed Damien her basket, but when they began walking, she took her place beside her companion, on the farthest side away from Damien and Jonah.
Damien slowed his steps until he was walking just behind the group. Jonah continued chatting amiably with the older woman as if nothing had happened. Damien hoped he hadn’t noticed anything.
They reached the curb and in a few moments Jonah had procured them a hack from those waiting at a stand.
As the lumbering vehicle inched away down the crowded street, Jonah muttered under his breath, “Couple o’ low-class wenches. Weren’t worth your time, my boy.” He nudged Damien on the elbow and they crossed the street. “That girl was as sallow as whey. Plenty more where she came from!”
A block farther, Jonah hailed them a cab. The two climbed in and rode silently back toward the parsonage. Damien kept his eyes fixed out the window. Perhaps now his well-meaning friend would drop the subject of a wife for him.
Chapter Five
“L indsay, now that you have had some weeks’ acquaintance with Jerome Stokes, I want you to accept his proposal of marriage.”
Lindsay stared at her father. She’d just come in from an outing with Beatrice when her father had summoned her to his library. “Papa, it’s so sudden.” Her voice sounded faint and her heartbeat began to thud in dread. Although she’d expected the words, hearing them spoken made her fate seem all the more dire.
“Will you deny your father the joy of knowing you are in good hands, regardless of what happens to me?”
Instinctively, Lindsay reached out and clasped her father’s hands, unable to bear the thought of losing her father, too. “Oh, Papa, don’t talk as if something awful is going to happen to you.” His color was a bit pale, but Lindsay knew it was the lack of sunlight from all the hours he spent in his library.
“I have passed the age of five-and-forty. Many men never reach it. Few go many years beyond it.”
As she listened to him in dismay, he released her hands and rose slowly from the settee. “Thankfully, I am a healthy man. I’ve suffered few illnesses in my life, so there is no reason to suppose you will not have me for many years yet.”
He fixed his eye on her, his eyebrows drawn together. “That is not to say my time is guaranteed, my dear. Your mother would wish me to ensure that you are well provided with a good husband—”
“But, Papa,” she began with a nervous laugh, “I need more time.” Too long she’d avoided this conversation with her father, although he’d hinted at it since introducing her to Mr. Stokes. Was this going to be her test of faith? Obedience to her father, even if it cost her her very self-respect? Would refusing him threaten her father’s health?
“And if I can live to see a few grandchildren, I shall count myself truly a blessed man.”
“I’m only eighteen, Papa. It’s my first season.”
“Most young ladies with your beauty and fortune are married by the end of their first season.”
“May I not enjoy two seasons before having to settle down?”
“Who is to say you cannot enjoy countless seasons after you are officially betrothed? You will be a young leader of fashion then with no worries of having to escape the fortune hunters or dodge the otherwise unsuitable, or of remaining on the shelf.” He held her gaze coldly for a moment. “Of course, with your beauty, that fate would never befall you. But other young ladies, who wait too long, preferring to play coy, find themselves suddenly high and dry, the best picks of the season taken by their rivals—inferior in both looks and fortune—simply because they wanted to ‘enjoy’ their season with no thought to the future.”
He patted her on the cheek. “I would not have that happen to you, my dear. Nor would your mother ever forgive me. If she were here—” he sighed “—she would guide you and give you the same counsel I am giving you, of that I am certain. Your cousin Beatrice is but a poor substitute.”
“Beatrice has been very accommodating, I assure you, Papa.”
“Oh, to be sure. But she is not someone who can counsel you as
