LITMIR.BIZ

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Hal agreed with a chuckle. “But it is a divine calling and not to be disrespected.” This comment was directed toward Lady Grace, who narrowed her eyes and sipped her wine.

      Lord Hal wrapped one arm about Mirabella’s shoulder, then stooped down, lifting Cecily with the other. Cecily relished his generous displays of affection. He was a kind man, never failing to demonstrate his love for his children. His attentions softened the pang of longing for her own father, who often had been distant and preoccupied.

      “Come now, sweetings, let’s remove to the solar and warm you both up. We shall send for some honeyed milk and bread and cheese,” he told them. “Twelfth Night is coming soon and I need to know what my best girls will be expecting!”

      As they quit the great hall Cecily peered over his shoulder where Lady Grace stood, head bowed over her cup of wine.

      “We have to set to making a match for Mirabella,” Grace told her husband in their bedchamber late that night. “She’ll be fourteen soon. It cannot be avoided any longer.”

      “Of course it can,” Hal returned as he removed his clothing and knelt before his prie-dieu. Grace’s gaze travelled up and down the well-muscled torso, taking in the sight of skin made raw by the hair shirt he wore underneath his fine doublets. She shuddered.

      “A betrothal, Hal,” she amended in gentle tones. Tears pooled in her eyes. She rolled onto her side, back to him. “Just a betrothal.” She would focus on that. Far better than the scars decorating what would have been an otherwise perfect specimen. “Brey’s future is secured,” she went on. “The little baroness will make a fine wife; add all her lands and ten thousand ducats a year into the bargain and you have one of the best catches in England. Which leaves us with Mirabella. An alliance must be made. We do not have to send her away for a long while. She could remain till she is seventeen, eighteen if she likes.”

      Hal crossed himself, then joined her in bed. “A worthy thought,” he said. “Meantime, you will indulge me with peace under my roof.” He rolled her toward him by the shoulder, appealing to her with his eyes. “Please.”

      Grace pursed her lips, scowling. She reached up, tentatively fingering one of the angry red sores. “When will you stop?”

      Hal looked past her at the bedside table where rested a decanter of wine. “When will you?”

      Grace flopped onto her back, staring up at the blue velvet canopy.

      We will remain thus trapped, she reflected. Each in our own twisted vices.

      The thought did not prevent her from leaning over and seising the decanter, however.

      She drank straight from it.

      She did not need a cup when no one was watching.

      Twelfth Night was ushered in with a feast that many celebrated nobles attended. The children were all allowed to sit at table, though Mirabella excused herself early so that she might devote the night of Epiphany to prayer.

      Cecily absorbed the event with delight, however. She had never been to such a gala. Though her parents had socialised with their peers, Cecily was restricted to the nursery. Now she was allowed to be in the thick of things, to drink in the colours and flavours of the evening. It surpassed the bustling excitement of market day in the nearby town of Sumerton and far exceeded a fair—Cecily never cared for the disorganised chaos of fairs. This was splendid—a perfectly choreographed feast. The table was laden with mincemeat pies, mutton, haunches of venison, a fat stuffed goose, brawn, eels, cheeses, bread, puddings, and tarts. The guests attendant were attired in their finest silks, velvets, furs, brocades, and jewels. It was a display of sensory pleasure and Cecily savoured every moment.

      She and Brey, as the only children present, were the centre of everything. She was dressed in a silver damask gown with a kirtle of white lace. Brey was dressed to match in a fine silver damask doublet with white hose. Both children’s slippers bore silver buckles encrusted with pearls and they were displayed for the adult guests to pet and admire. Together Brey and Cecily showed the spectators the latest steps they had learned while Lord and Lady Sumerton sat at the high table, their smiles wide with pride.

      After a fleet dance that left Cecily and Brey collapsing in each other’s arms breathless and giggling, Lord Hal rose. “What a delight to watch these children at their revels! And what a delight it shall be to watch them grow in the sacred union we have chosen for them.” He paused, casting fond eyes at the children who stood stock still before the assemblage. “Tonight we would like to announce the betrothal of my son, Lord Aubrey Pierce, to Baroness Cecily Burkhart.” He raised his cup. “To the future!”

      “The future!” echoed the guests.

      None was more surprised than Cecily herself.

      She stared at her intended with wide eyes, cocking her head, trying to imagine his features sculpted and angled with five, ten years of age added to his seven years. She could not.

      Brey offered a shy smile. “I guess this means we can hunt snakes together for the rest of our lives!” he cried then, as though finding a great deal of refuge in the thought.

      Cecily’s shoulders relaxed as she imagined traipsing through the vast forest of Sumerton alongside of cheerful, gentle Brey. “And we can pick berries, too,” she added.

      “And go hunting and hawking,” he said. “That will be fun.” He cast a sidelong glance at his parents. Lord Hal was leaning in to offer Grace a peck on the cheek. “What else do you think we have to do?” Brey asked.

      Cecily grimaced. “Certainly not that,” she said. “At least not till we’ve grown proper.”

      “Yes,” he agreed, sighing in relief. “Meantime, we shall look for snakes.”

      “Yes,” said Cecily. “I should like that.”

      At once the children were swarmed by well-wishers eager to congratulate them. They were hugged and pinched and kissed. Brey grimaced and wiped the kisses away. Both were soothed from the onslaught by sweetmeats.

      “What a commodity!” Cecily overheard one of the lords exclaiming to Lord Hal. “God’s body, man, I expect this child is one of the wealthiest heiresses in the kingdom. A fine suit—I rather wish I had snatched her up for one of my sons!”

      “Thank you, Lord Norfolk,” answered Lord Hal. “We are most pleased with the arrangement.”

      Cecily’s heart pounded. A commodity. An arrangement. When did a person become a commodity? She had never thought of herself that way. A commodity was a bolt of fabric, a fine jewel perhaps, but her? At once the heat of the room and stench of the different pomanders stifled Cecily. She suppressed the urge to gag as she removed herself from the assemblage. She needed a moment to think about her new estate.

      She cooled herself in the hall. She longed to remove her sleeves and run about bare armed but dared not. She did not want to be unladylike. She rolled them up instead. No one was watching, after all. She sank to the floor and leaned against the cool stone wall, closing her eyes, blinking back tears. She could not stave off the dark thoughts.

      She was betrothed. She wondered what her parents thought of the match. She supposed it was inevitable that she should, as the Pierces’ ward, marry their heir. It was custom. It was one of the main reasons why people took on wards.

      It was good business. She was a good commodity.

      “Lady Cecily.”

      Cecily started at the husky male voice, looking up to find Father Alec standing before her.

      “Are you well, little one?” he asked.

      Cecily nodded, brushing the tears aside with the back of her hand. “Do 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,”

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