LITMIR.BIZ

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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 mould 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 realise 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 grey winter days in embroidering, riding, and lessons. One favourite 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 travelled 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 pain of loss.

      Father Alec’s eyes revealed fondness as he cast them upon the child. “That we are.”

      “Yet I suppose no Christian is really orphaned. God is always our father,” Cecily added then, her face brightening with hope. “And He sends us people to look after us and help us, even though our parents were called to Him. Like the Pierces and you for me. That way we need never feel all alone.”

      Father Alec’s eyes softened with unshed tears. “No … we are never all alone.”

      Mirabella’s gaze darkened. She had spent hours discussing matters of faith with Father Alec and with unending patience he had indulged her, all while praising her intellect. Yet Cecily’s oversimplified generalisation, along with the mutual loss of their parents to the dreaded sweat, connected her to the priest in a way Mirabella’s devoutness and keen mind never could.

      She should not resent her for it. It was unchristian, uncharitable. She was above such things. Yet her gut wrenched and ached with unwelcome jealousy. Cecily was endearing; she was sweet without pretence. Her light permeated the darkest reaches of any room and any heart. Mirabella could not emit these qualities, not because she was not in possession of them but because she preferred her solitude. Her light was secret, sacred, preserved for God and a handful of others, one of them being Father Alec. To see his eyes light with admiration for another seized her with a sense of envy new to her.

      She blinked several times. She must not think this way. Cecily was to be a sister to her and to resent a sister was tantamount to resenting Brey or her mother and father.

      Besides, Cecily was just a little girl and everyone was sweet to little girls. Mirabella had no reason to fret.

      Grace needed another distraction. Curse Lent and its damnable deprivation! It was all observed with falsehood, as was most everything Catholic. It was a religion of pretence and ritual, meant to satisfy the illiterate multitudes grasping for visuals. Those with any intellect at all did not appreciate with awe the carefully calculated “miracles” the priests concocted to keep their parishioners in thrall. Grace was never impressed. As it was, whenever she attended mass she could not stop calculating the cost of the exquisite chalices, statues, and other artwork gracing the chapel. And the extravagance of the bishops and priests she had encountered had filled her with unholy envy of its own account.

      Grace had heard of Tyndale and Luther, and though she agreed with their various suggestions for reform, she was not a woman impassioned by conviction. Her beliefs were not fervent enough to pursue the New Learning any more than cling to the so-called True Faith. She valued her life, after all. Grace could admit with a dark chuckle that one of the only reasons she resented the wealth of the Church was because she wished to appropriate it.

      Thus the matter of the New Learning was only reflected upon during Lent as she wondered what these reformers would do with the season. She couldn’t imagine it being made any worse; however, given the reformers’ views on simplicity it likely would not be any better.

      So it was that Grace needed another diversion; the melancholy was lurking again in the shadows of her mind and brooding over religious and philosophical doctrine would not assuage it. Matters of religion became too heady for Grace and were best left to Father Alec to puzzle out with moony-eyed Mirabella. Meantime, Grace would plan an entertainment for May Day to usher in the spring.

      The girls would need gowns. Grace lay back in her bed, steepling her fingers beneath her chin in thought as she envisaged little Cecily and Brey in another matching ensemble. The two were a perfect pair! What a boon the little baroness was! Not only did she bring in a worthy dowry, but she was the presence of beauty and poise. And Brey loved her; they were together all the time, playing as children do. Grace could not refrain from emitting a naughty giggle as she imagined the games they would turn to when adolescence struck. No doubt theirs was fated to be a love match; Grace could see it.

      With this to lighten her heart, Grace summoned Mirabella and Cecily. She would invite them to participate in the planning process. Both girls needed to learn; after all, they would be running their own grand households someday and it would give them something to do during the interminable weeks of Lent.

      The girls entered her bedchamber, rosy cheeked and breathless from their revels outdoors. Grace offered a bright smile.

      “Is it a nice day?” she

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