Page 41 of One Night of Temptation
“I can imagine. You do so much to ease their plight.” Howley sipped his tea, then set the cup on the low table before him. “In fact, you are so focused on others that I daresay you forget about your own needs.”
Hugh braced himself for the inevitable, though he hadn’t expected the bishop to broach this topic so quickly. “I always put the needs of my parish before my own.”
“Yes, you are perhaps the most selfless rector I know.” Howley looked over at Tom, who’d taken a chair on the other side of the settee. “Don’t you think it’s time Mr. Tarleton took a wife?”
He meant to start with Tom? Hugh nearly laughed. Tom would not provide the bishop with the support he sought.
“I’m sure I couldn’t say,” Tom said mildly. “I’ve no experience with such matters.”
Howley pursed his lips briefly. “Of course not.” He returned his attention to Hugh. “I have found a lovely woman for you to wed. Her husband was a rector and passed away after a brief illness. She has two small children and is the perfect helpmate. Your match would be beneficial to you both. Why don’t you come for dinner next week?” It wasn’t a question but a strong suggestion.
How could Hugh possibly think of having dinner with a potential bride, let alone marrying her, when the only woman he could think about was Pen? Although, it wasn’t as if he was going to marry her either.
Why not? Because he didn’t think he should? Because she was the daughter of a marquess and he was a rector? Because he loathed Society, and she was the embodiment of it?
That wasn’t fair—she was not at all what he knew of Society. Maybe, just maybe, there was a slight chance…
Hugh spoke without thinking. “While I appreciate your concern, I have already met a woman I would like to wed.”
Howley blinked at him. “This is good news. I am delighted you are ready to settle down with a wife. Who is she?”
“I haven’t yet proposed.” His heart thudded a drumbeat in his chest. He’d only just decided to ask! In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d convinced himself. Yet, the more he thought of it, the more inevitable it seemed. Not just inevitable…right.
“I am sure she’ll accept.” Howley picked up his teacup. “Any woman would be thrilled to join with you. Who’s to say you won’t ascend within the clergy as I have?”
While that was possible, Hugh was not interested in ascension. He’d turned down a position at Oxford, something Howley had not. “I am quite content in my current position.”
“Your humility is your finest attribute,” Howley said without a hint of admiration. The man often spoke in even tones, which made it hard to discern his emotion. Of if he even possessed emotion. “I’m glad we’ve settled that matter—and I do hope it’s settled.” Howley gave him a pointed stare. “If you aren’t betrothed in the next fortnight, I shall arrange for you to meet Mrs. Young.”
Now Hugh had a timeframe. That was fine. If he wasn’t betrothed to Pen that very week, he likely never would be.
What was he going to do? Call on her in Mayfair? She was already betrothed.
He needed to think. Which he couldn’t do right now while the Bishop of London was sitting in his vestry.
“Let us discuss the matters of your parish,” the bishop said, replacing his cup on the table.
Hugh forced his brain to focus and managed to endure the remainder of the visitation without succumbing to the lure of thinking about Pen. But by the time Howley finally left, he was more than ready to spring into action.
The problem was that he didn’t know what action that should be.
Tom didn’t waste any time either. When they’d returned to the vestry to tidy up, he asked, “Were you serious about proposing marriage to someone?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” Hugh was completely out of his element.
“I’m trying to think of who it could be, but I’m afraid I don’t know.” Tom gave him a sheepish look. “I fear I should. However, the only woman who comes to mind is Lady Penelope and that seems rather absurd.”
Did it? Hugh paused in gathering the teacups from the table. “Why is it absurd?”
Tom straightened after picking up the tray of cakes. “You barely know her and spent just a small amount of time together. And she’s…” He closed his mouth and frowned slightly.
“The daughter of a marquess.” Hugh took the teacups into the small room off the vestry where he’d spent the night—or much of it anyway—with Pen. After setting them on the cabinet next to the washbasin, he turned to face Tom, who’d followed him.
“Itisher, isn’t it?” Tom asked softly. “You’ve been different since she was here. If I didn’t know better, I would have said you were lovesick.”
“And how would you know what that looks like?”
Tom chuckled. “I don’t know about when you were at school, but it happened to all of us. We’d ‘fall in love’ with the laundresses and bedmakers or someone in town. We were all starved for female company, particularly at that age.”
