The Governess Club: Sara

She forced her lips into a small smile, the largest she could manage, hoping to soothe him. “It appears to have been a momentary thing.”

“Tell me truthfully, did anyone say something to upset you? I saw you speaking with Mrs. Glendoe and Mr. Grant during the last set. I know both of them can be trying.”

“No, nothing out of the ordinary,” she assured him. “It might have been the lobster patties, though.”

Mr. Pomeroy frowned, not looking convinced. “Mrs. Glendoe can be a bit of a trial, especially toward you. She appears to be vindictive where you are concerned.”

She glanced down at her hands, now neatly folded on her lap, the picture of serenity. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. “That is an unkind statement.” True, nevertheless.

He took a deep breath. “That is correct. Forgive me. Not for my statement, but for my lack of regret when it comes to defending you.”

Sara’s eyes flew up to his face. It was more serious than she had ever seen it, his jaw looking at though it were made from stone. “Excuse me?”

His jaw worked. “I don’t think it has been a secret these past few days, Miss Collins, but I have come to care for you as more than just a parishioner. It makes me uneasy to think that there are people who would seek to cause you distress and I fear it brings out the baser side of my nature. I wish to protect you from such people, if I may.”

Oh good heavens. It was happening. Now?

He continued speaking. “I had planned this to be more circumspect, but this . . . indignation I feel on your behalf makes my need to speak to you more urgent.”

Yes, now.

Mr. Pomeroy ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t expect to feel this nervous.”

“Nervous?” Her voice squeaked.

“Surely you know what I am about to ask you.”

“I do?” Her eyes moved frantically over the courtyard trying to find a means of escape, a way to prolong her purgatory before having to face this impossible decision. Not now, she couldn’t do this now. She tried to stand, but the vicar placed a hand on her shoulder, the gentle pressure keeping her on the bench.

“Miss Collins, our time apart was revealing and I feel as though I have woken up from a sleep where you are concerned. Even now, seeing you every day, I find myself counting the moments until I can see you again and wondering what you are doing when we are apart.”

“Mr. Pomeroy—” Their presence in the courtyard had been noted by some of the assembly attendees. Curious faces appeared at various windows. Sara could see their mouths moving and some hands gesturing.

He gave a nervous laugh. “The speech I had prepared has abandoned me completely. Ironic that I can speak from the pulpit with nary a whisper of nerves, but I daresay this conversation holds more importance to my personal life than any sermon I might deliver. I suppose the best way to do this is to just say it.”

Mr. Pomeroy knelt down on one knee and took her hand in his. He looked at her with earnest, chocolaty eyes and swallowed. “Miss Collins—Sara, if I may—would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

The crowd at the windows had grown, the news of Mr. Pomeroy’s position on his knee spreading to attract the more avid gossips and whoever else was in the vicinity. Faces now pressed against the windows, some flattening on the glass in their eagerness.

Oh good heavens. It was difficult enough to not have a clear head on the matter, but now to have an audience as a witness? The ants began to crawl in her throat.

Sara looked back down at Mr. Pomeroy, waiting patiently, eagerly. He had said he had not planned his proposal to happen this way and she believed him. It was more consideration than Nathan Grant would have shown her in a similar situation. The man might have promised her discretion about their week, but he has since shown his true colors.

Mr. Pomeroy was the opposite of Nathan Grant. He was kind, considerate and steady, traits Nathan had difficulty acknowledging even existed. Marrying the vicar would secure her future, giving her life security and purpose. It did not matter that his eyes were not a mesmerizing cold or that his hand felt limp in hers or that his lips did not promise endless moments of pleasure or that his body did not inspire thoughts of a day in bed.