you expect the Pierces like me?” she asked.
“I expect the Pierces love you,” answered Father Alec. He paused a moment, then sat beside her. “Why do you ask?”
“I expect they like me a great deal more for the money and the lands,” she said, scowling at her slippers. “And the title, of course.”
The priest drew in a breath. “Well, Lady Cecily, I will not lie to you. I am certain your assets made you quite attractive as they thought of securing Brey’s future. But even had your parents lived it is likely you would have been made a ward to someone and allied to their son in marriage.” He sighed. “Someday you will have children, Lady Cecily, and you will want to secure for them the best future possible as well. There are obvious benefits of your wealth that please the Pierces no doubt, but look what else they’re gaining! They will have a beautiful, bright, and sensitive daughter-in-law.” He reached out, seizing her chin between thumb and forefinger. “For all you may be bringing to them, you, Lady Cecily, your soul, your self, are irreplaceably priceless and they know that.”
Cecily brightened at the thought.
“This, Lady Cecily, is an opportunity,” Father Alec continued. “You are very young and it may be hard to see now, but you have the chance to shape Brey’s whole life, to mold him”—he offered a brief chuckle—“to train him, if you will, into your ideal husband. You have more influence than you know. What’s more, Lady Cecily, is that you are not going to marry a stranger. You are going to grow up as friends . Few realize how special and rare that is to find in a marriage.” He smiled. “Do you like the Pierces, Lady Cecily?”
Cecily offered a fervent nod. They were the only people she could call family now and they were easy to like. Easy to love.
“Do you like Brey?” he asked.
She nodded again. Indeed, Brey was as sweet a boy as one could find.
“Then I think you have a better start than most,” he told her, taking her hand in his. He rose. “Come now! You’ll be missed!”
Cecily rose and followed him back to the celebration.
She would dismiss her uncharitable thoughts and be what Father Alec said: irreplaceably priceless.
Lent sobered Sumerton, and though there was still a modest amount of entertaining, it was nothing compared to the rest of the year’s revels. Mirabella enjoyed Lent; in its deprivation of physical pleasures she found solace. Quietude. She spent hours in prayer and meditation, enveloping herself in the rare peace her home afforded during this fleeting time of year.
When not absorbed in her devotions, Mirabella passed the gray winter days in embroidering, riding, and lessons. One favorite pastime for all of the children became listening to Father Alec’s tales of his travels through Europe.
“After Cambridge I wanted to see a bit of the world,” he told them one afternoon. “So I traveled abroad. I was given a letter of introduction to study under the great Erasmus; it was he who recommended me to your parents.” He nodded toward Mirabella and Brey.
“What else did you do?” asked Brey, his tone fringed with impatience.
Father Alec offered a conspiratorial smile. “I camped with Gypsies, I preached to bandits and vagabonds—I was held at knifepoint on more than a few occasions.” He chuckled. “I met greatness in humility and humility in greatness.”
“Wasn’t your family terribly worried?” Cecily asked him.
Father Alec’s face softened. His hazel eyes grew distant. “My family was gone by then, victims of the sweat.” He offered a sad smile.
Mirabella reached out, laying a hand over his. “It was God’s will,” she said, her green eyes grave with conviction.
Father Alec withdrew his hand. “Yes ... thank you, Lady Mirabella.”
Mirabella offered her sweetest smile, her heart clenching.
“Then we are orphaned together,” commented Cecily, raising saddened eyes to the priest, eyes made wistful with the
“I expect the Pierces love you,” answered Father Alec. He paused a moment, then sat beside her. “Why do you ask?”
“I expect they like me a great deal more for the money and the lands,” she said, scowling at her slippers. “And the title, of course.”
The priest drew in a breath. “Well, Lady Cecily, I will not lie to you. I am certain your assets made you quite attractive as they thought of securing Brey’s future. But even had your parents lived it is likely you would have been made a ward to someone and allied to their son in marriage.” He sighed. “Someday you will have children, Lady Cecily, and you will want to secure for them the best future possible as well. There are obvious benefits of your wealth that please the Pierces no doubt, but look what else they’re gaining! They will have a beautiful, bright, and sensitive daughter-in-law.” He reached out, seizing her chin between thumb and forefinger. “For all you may be bringing to them, you, Lady Cecily, your soul, your self, are irreplaceably priceless and they know that.”
Cecily brightened at the thought.
“This, Lady Cecily, is an opportunity,” Father Alec continued. “You are very young and it may be hard to see now, but you have the chance to shape Brey’s whole life, to mold him”—he offered a brief chuckle—“to train him, if you will, into your ideal husband. You have more influence than you know. What’s more, Lady Cecily, is that you are not going to marry a stranger. You are going to grow up as friends . Few realize how special and rare that is to find in a marriage.” He smiled. “Do you like the Pierces, Lady Cecily?”
Cecily offered a fervent nod. They were the only people she could call family now and they were easy to like. Easy to love.
“Do you like Brey?” he asked.
She nodded again. Indeed, Brey was as sweet a boy as one could find.
“Then I think you have a better start than most,” he told her, taking her hand in his. He rose. “Come now! You’ll be missed!”
Cecily rose and followed him back to the celebration.
She would dismiss her uncharitable thoughts and be what Father Alec said: irreplaceably priceless.
Lent sobered Sumerton, and though there was still a modest amount of entertaining, it was nothing compared to the rest of the year’s revels. Mirabella enjoyed Lent; in its deprivation of physical pleasures she found solace. Quietude. She spent hours in prayer and meditation, enveloping herself in the rare peace her home afforded during this fleeting time of year.
When not absorbed in her devotions, Mirabella passed the gray winter days in embroidering, riding, and lessons. One favorite pastime for all of the children became listening to Father Alec’s tales of his travels through Europe.
“After Cambridge I wanted to see a bit of the world,” he told them one afternoon. “So I traveled abroad. I was given a letter of introduction to study under the great Erasmus; it was he who recommended me to your parents.” He nodded toward Mirabella and Brey.
“What else did you do?” asked Brey, his tone fringed with impatience.
Father Alec offered a conspiratorial smile. “I camped with Gypsies, I preached to bandits and vagabonds—I was held at knifepoint on more than a few occasions.” He chuckled. “I met greatness in humility and humility in greatness.”
“Wasn’t your family terribly worried?” Cecily asked him.
Father Alec’s face softened. His hazel eyes grew distant. “My family was gone by then, victims of the sweat.” He offered a sad smile.
Mirabella reached out, laying a hand over his. “It was God’s will,” she said, her green eyes grave with conviction.
Father Alec withdrew his hand. “Yes ... thank you, Lady Mirabella.”
Mirabella offered her sweetest smile, her heart clenching.
“Then we are orphaned together,” commented Cecily, raising saddened eyes to the priest, eyes made wistful with the
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