He watched as Mary swirled the wine in her tumbler before taking a deep sniff. She acted like a wine connoisseur. He did not doubt that she had lived an exalted lifestyle with the Duke of Hampford’s family. Even if he were to receive a living, it would not be anything as extravagant as what she currently experienced. Would Mary regret leaving her position in a castle for a lowly rectory?
Sipping, Mary gave him another smile that set his heart ablaze. “Trust Harper to choose one of the better vintages.”
“The butler?”
“Yes,” she said in a light voice. “He must like you, for he serves the most basic of wines when the duke’s chaplain, Reverend Turpin, comes to dinner. Or even the local Reverend Robertson, a worthy man, if a rather dull one.”
Trevor sincerely hoped that Mary did not find him dull now that she had seen more of the world and mingled in aristocratic company. The lump in his throat seemed to grow and he could no longer ignore it. “F-forgive me, Mary. I have failed you.”
She shook her head, setting down her drink and clutching his hand with both of hers. “No, your uncle failedyou. I do not hold you at all to blame.”
“But it has been nearly four years and I am no closer to securing a living, and I cannot marry you without one.”
“Are you certain we have to wait? I have a thousand pounds as my dowry from my father, and I have earned nearly three hundred pounds as a governess.”
His jaw dropped. Governesses usually earned between ten and twenty pounds. Not even the highest upper servant earned one hundred pounds from their masters.
“And I have had almost no expenses since living with the Stringhams,” she continued. “I have saved everything that I could, and perhaps combining our fortunes, we could still marry.”
“What of children?”
Her countenance glowed. “Of course I want children.”
“As do I,” he said, nodding slowly as an unseen heaviness pressed against his chest. “But how are we to afford them? I live in a rented room; if we married, we would have to let a cottage in my curacy, and I am ashamed to admit that I earn half of what you do every year.”
He fancied he could see her mind working behind her bright eyes. Fifty pounds per annum would be enough for the pair, but if they were to have many children, it would be disastrous. And how could they possibly pay for their children’s education and help them make their way into the world. His own father had left enough money to pay for Trevor’s school, but nothing more. Not his university fees or enough to start a profession.
Mary picked up her glass and took another lingering sip. “We are drinking wine in a dungeon. Let us forget for a few days the reality of our situation. I simply wish to enjoy this holiday with you.”
Holding his glass up, he gently clinked it against hers. “To a holiday with you.”
Chapter 4
Perhaps it was the informality of the dungeon, but Mary did not feel as if they had been parted for nearly a year. She felt as close to Trevor as always and a little bit more in love when he made her laugh.
“How did she try to catch you this time?”
Trevor’s face was as red as the wine. “Miss Hendricks spent the entire evening in the privy waiting for me to come out and use it. She hoped to entrap me into a compromising position, and all that happened is that she caught a cold.”
Shaking her head, Mary was torn between feelings of indignancy and humor. “She deserved it.”
Leaning forward, Trevor kissed her on the cheek. Something he had only done once before: the night they became engaged. She’d torn off his coat that had caught fire and threw it into the hearth. Trevor told her that she’d saved his life and then brushed his lips softly against her cheek.
“By saying I will marry you or putting out the fire?” she had said.
Trevor took both of her hands and held them against his chest. “Both.”
“She did,” he agreed with a grin. “Happily, Miss Hendricks took quite a shine to the new doctor and he to her. I do not think I need fear trips to the privy any longer.”
“What a relief!”
Covering her mouth with her hands, Mary laughed until she cried as she realized that her words had a double meaning. Of all the ridiculous things a poor curate had to put up with! Trevor chuckled next to her, and she pictured how nice it would be if they could talk every night in front of a fire about their day. They could make each other laugh with their ridiculous stories and pick one another up after a particularly difficult experience. Two letters a month was not nearly enough. There were too many details lost in the writing.
“And I am proud to tell you that I have finally convinced the pub owners of Greenwick Grog to come to the Sabbath services.”
Mary lightly rapped her fingers on her skirt. “How?”
Trevor picked up the bottle of wine that was more than half empty. “I told Mr. Tubbs that I will buy a pint of his grog during the week, if he’ll drink my wine on Sundays.”