Free Charming the Vicar's Daughter by Aileen Fish

“I am sorry, have I mistaken the level of your affection for me?”
    She jumped up and took a step toward him. “No, that is not what I meant at all. I am so pleased and so astonished all at once, I cannot find the words. Mr. Harrow, I would love nothing more than to be your wife.”
    His grin was quick and wide. “Do you mean it? You will be mine?”
    “Yes.”
    He grabbed her upper arms and swung her around, laughing loudly. Suddenly remembering where he was, he set her down and stepped back.
    Rebecca continued to laugh. “Yes, save the celebration until you’ve heard what the reverend has to say.”
    Taking both her hands in his, he grew serious again. “Do you think he will refuse me?”
    “I think not. He knows I care for you. He wants what is best for me and I believe he will see that is you.”
    Mr. Harrow’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Do you truly believe that? That I am what’s best for you?”
    “How can I not? You weren’t swayed by the way the others treat me.” She laughed suddenly, her entire body growing warm at the look she saw in his eyes. “You didn’t run the other way when the Widows League tried to force the issue.”
    “Yes, that begs a question. Why were the widows pushing so hard for us to be married? They hardly knew me. Is it my connection to Bridgethorpe?”
    “I cannot say for certain. They have wanted for me to find love ever since the incident with Rory.” The women wanted the best for her, she knew, and she loved them in spite of their meddlesome ways.
    He moved in closer, so close she felt his nervous breaths against her cheeks. His gaze danced from her eyes, to her lips, and back. “And have you? Found love, that is?”
    “I believe I have.” Her stomach quivered as she said it.
    “I cannot even say when I realized I loved you. From the beginning, the way you held yourself proud while the tongues wagged behind you drew my respect. You are unlike any woman I have met.”
    Her lips spread wider and she felt quite flirtatious. “For me, I would say it began when you danced with me at the assembly. No one under the age of forty years has done so since the gossip spread about Rory and me.”
    “Trey tells me the boys about the village were saying you’d been compromised. Yet you said your father refused to let you marry a Catholic.”
    “The refusal was correct, but I am innocent of the other. At least in that, Rory treated me with respect. Or he was found out before he could really shame me.” She bit out the last with a bitter taste. She had mentioned that name more times in recent weeks than in the months she knew the man. It was time to put him behind her.
    “Do you still love him?” Mr. Harrow seemed to be holding his breath, awaiting her answer.
    She shook her head. In her heart she was certain of that. “I believe I was so flattered by his attention I mistook the excitement for love. I was in a whirlwind of emotions. My mother’s death. This handsome young man with a musical voice enchanting me with his sweet, pretty words. I was crushed when he didn’t fight for my hand. I never heard from him again. As my heart healed, I realized what I’d felt was not love.”
    “He could not have loved you.” Mr. Harrow raised her hand to his lips and pressed a warm kiss against her skin. “I would fight legions for you.”
    Her eyes welled. She rose on her toes and kissed him, sweetly, chastely, but heat sparked between them and it became a passionate declaration. Hunger made her cling to him, needing more of something she couldn’t name.
    Mr. Harrow was first to reach his senses. He pulled away and released her hands. “I must go make it official, my love.”

    Banns were read in the reverend’s church that Sunday, and the two following. On the Friday that followed, a small group gathered to witness the wedding of Mr. Neil Harrow to Miss Rebecca Cookson.
    Neil’s parents came, and his mother was grateful that he’d given her plenty of