And now he was to have a holiday, back in his old life for a few weeks before leaving for his new parish with Algie. And it felt strange to be back. His old self seemed like someone from another life, and yet places and even many people looked familiar. He renewed several old acquaintances and watched with some ruefulness and some amusement as old friends became more aloof after a few days, puzzled at the change in him. He was no longer the riotous David Gower they had known.

Whereas several years before, he would have been eagerly seeking out some female or females of easy virtue with whom to amuse himself, now he looked around him at a different class of young woman. Not too high, of course. No lady of highest ton would be flattered by the attentions of a penniless clergyman. But nevertheless he thought it possible that he might meet someone of somewhat lower status who would be willing to share his life. It would not be an easy lot for any lady. He had almost nothing to offer. He had no money to start with, and he had no intention of even trying to build a comfortable fortune.

But David wanted to marry. Partly he felt it an obligation to do so. His father had always been loudly critical of the parson at home, arguing that as the man was a bachelor, he had no right to offer his advice on marriage and family life. No one should criticize the life of another until he had experienced that life or its kind for himself, the late Viscount Cardwell had said many times. And David agreed with him.

But getting married was not just a duty. It suited his inclination to wed. He had given up promiscuity two years before, entirely from personal choice, but his desire for women had not died. He needed a woman, someone with whom he could regularly and lawfully satisfy the cravings that had troubled him for all of two years. Now that he was to have a living of his own, he could finally think of taking a wife. He had very little to offer her, it was true, but he was to have his own church, his own vicarage, his own parish.