Page 64 of Fair as a Star

Beryl blinked. “My goodness.” Winnifred had claimed Dr. Black was opposed to the aristocracy. Yet, here he was, the son of an actual earl. “And he’s confident his father will offer the living to you?”

“He is.”

A vicarage in Dorset. Beryl could already picture it in her mind. A place where she and Mark could be together, free from the unhappy associations of the past. The prospect thrilled her. Was it truly possible? To leave Shepton Worthy and its gossip behind? It would mean leaving Mama and Winnifred, too. But Mark was right. Dorset wasn’t far. There would be no difficulty in seeing her family.

Could this truly be what he wanted?

“What about Mr. Venable?” she asked. “His health is getting no better. He surely won’t last longer than a twelve-month. You’ve been waiting so long to become vicar here.” She could only think of one reason Mark would have changed his mind. The very notion of it made her bristle. “Is this because of Henry? Has he said you can’t have the living?”

“Not explicitly, no. He did reference it once. I was angry with him, but since then, I’ve been giving it a great deal of thought. Settling so close to Rivenhall Park, being dependent on my brother for my livelihood…it isn’t ideal. And it’s going to become less so when I marry.”

“Because of me.”

Mark didn’t deny it.

Her stomach twisted into a knot. “I won’t come between the two of you. Not any more than I already have.”

“Beryl—”

“If you married someone else—”

His grip on her hands tightened. “There is no one else. There is never going to be anyone else. Not if I live to be one hundred and five. Don’t you see? Henry doesn’t matter. Shepton Worthy doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we’re together. I would rather live with you at the edge of the world than be without you for another second.”

“You feel that way now, but—” Her insecurities briefly bubbled to the surface. “What if I can’t be a good wife to you? What if there are days when my melancholy is too much for you to bear? A vicar’s wife should be without fault. And I’m not. I’m flawed. Deeply flawed. In time, you might regret having married me.”

An expression of profound tenderness stole over his face. He squeezed her hands before letting them go. “I think we’re putting the cart before the horse.”

The loss of his touch left her oddly bereft. She folded her hands in her lap, her cheeks heating with burgeoning mortification. Here she was talking about her inadequacies as his wife, and he hadn’t even proposed to her. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m being precipitate.”

“We both are. Which brings me to the real reason I was hoping for a private moment with you today. I wanted to tell you”—Mark reached for his frock coat—“that when I was in Taunton, I learned something about mineralogy.”

Mineralogy?

Beryl feigned a polite interest. “Oh?”

“There was a gentleman there in the high street who knew everything about stones.” Mark withdrew something from the pocket of his frock coat. It was a small hinged box bound in pebbled leather.

Her interest was no longer feigned. “Was this gentleman, by chance, a jeweler?”

“He was.” Mark presented the box to her on the palm of his hand.

She took it with trembling fingers. “Am I to open it?”

“Please.”

Unhooking the brass clasp, she slowly raised the creaking lid. Inside, a ring sat on a bed of velvet. An engagement ring, she thought. But it wasn’t a diamond or a garnet on the band of polished gold. It was a faceted stone of a vibrant blue-green.

“It’s a beryl,” Mark said. “Like you.”

She touched the stone with her fingertips. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He admired it right along with her. “The gentleman at the jewelry shop was a veritable encyclopedia on the subject of beryls. He had every color you can imagine. Could recite chapter and verse on which was the most valuable and why.” He paused. “Were you aware that a flawless beryl is completely clear? Like glass?”

Her heart beat hard. “No. I didn’t know that.”

“Nor did I,” Mark said. “Apparently, it’s the imperfections—the impurities—that give a beryl its color.”

Her gaze met his.