They met up in her small parlor an hour later, where she was sitting writing down all she had learned about him in a little notebook.
"I think I'll go out into the garden for a while," he said, though it sounded like more of a question than a statement.
"All right, but don't forget your hat."
He raised his hand to stroke her shoulder, but rammed it back down to his side. "I won't. Thank you."
"Dinner will be ready soon."
"I know, I can smell it. Venison. I can't wait."
She was glad to be alone with her thoughts. He was such an overwhelming distraction at the moment, one she simply couldn't afford. He was so, well, larger than life, it was as if he filled the vicarage. As if he had filled her life in the few short days he had been there.
But there was more to life than Alexander; there had to be. He would leave, and she would be on her own once more. With her virtue and dignity intact.
After all, it wasn't as if she didn't have a full life without him being there. There was knitting, sewing, all sorts of other chores. There was a mountain of wool to be carded and spun into thread, and given to the local weavers. The sheep needed to be shorn, and with the wedding and everything, it had got pushed back quite a bit already.
She took a clean sheet of paper and made a list of the chores that needed to be tackled. Then she divided the list into things Alexander could do even without eyesight. It would not be easy, but he could help with the shearing, carding and spinning. He could milk a cow or sheep, and he could tend the garden. It might not be the sort of life he was accustomed to, but it was good honest work that her brother had no qualms about indulging in.
Jenny came bustling in an hour later and asked if she was ready for dinner.
"Yes, thanks. If you could just call Alexander?" she requested, marveling as she did so that it seemed so natural to share so many simple things with him, to have him by her side. She realized that though he was only out in the garden, she had missed him.
"Yes, of course."
She listened to his movements around the house with half her attention as he cleaned up in the bathroom and joined her at the dinner table. She took his hand to orient him at the table, and he tucked into the food with a good appetite.
"I'm sorry I was so reluctant about riding with you," he said as they ate. "I did rather well today, I thought. I wish I had let you talk me into it sooner."
"Let's see what else we can talk you into," she said with a laugh.
"Why, what did you have in mind?" he asked with a wary expression.
"Our flock of sheep need to be tended, shorn. We get milk for cheese, of course, but now the wool will be made into yarn, which I sell to the local weavers. If you're willing to help, I think we can get that chore taken care of before we head to Bath."
He nodded and smiled. "Very well. I doubt I'll be much use, but I'm willing to try."
Sarah could tell that he was very pleased to have been asked, and grinned back. Then she caught herself. She had to try to remember that he couldn't see her.
Secretly, Alexander was even more relieved at her mention of Bath. At least she was not planning to throw him out of her home any time soon. He had half-expected, half-dreaded it after his appalling behavior, his confession and admission.
But Sarah not only wanted him to stay, she was planning on several more weeks with him, a special trip in his company. It was almost too good to be true. So the least he could do to repay her for all her kindness and generosity was to tackle a few smelly sheep.
Hell, he would walk over hot coals to stay with such a heavenly woman. Though he would have to leave sooner or later, for the present, there was only now. And he was going to enjoy ever minute of it with her, even if he never could be her lover. Or her husband.
No. He shuddered.
Not now, not ever.
Not another hostage to fortune...
He swallowed hard, forcing the food down as the nightmares manifested themselves. They always hovered just on the edge of his consciousness. They weren't real. They couldn't be real.
He clutched his fork so tightly he could feel it bend. Sarah was real. And the vicarage. And the garden, the shovel, the sheep and horses. He had to just cling onto them for as long as he could. Never let her know how he felt about her. Never let her guess who he was, what he had done...
Chapter Fourteen
Sarah and Alexander commenced the shearing the very next morning. After a relaxing evening by the fire with her reading poetry to him, and him playing the pianoforte, and a peaceful night for the both of them, they awakened, bathed, and then put on some old brown cotton clothes.