bare under her dress.
“He won’t care. I told him a little about your situation.”
“You told him about me?” Faith pulled the edges of the cloak together. “He will imagine the worst.”
“Probably, which is why I offered to bring you to meet him. It will set his mind at rest.”
“You offered to bring me to meet him? For heaven’s sake, why? And why did you not warn me?” Faith turned and headed determinedly back toward the inn.
He took two steps and grabbed her around the waist. “Where are you going?”
“To the inn.”
“You don’t have time to bathe and change and be back in time. Besides, he won’t care what you look like. He’s a priest.”
She glared at him over her shoulder. “I wasn’t planning to be back in time. I’m not going to meet him at all. I refuse to have some—some priest condemn me! I’ve had quite enough of that over the past few days! Oh, will you let me go?” She struggled angrily against the iron band that imprisoned her.
“He’s expecting us. He promised us tea.”
“I don’t care! I’m not going!”
Nicholas Blacklock turned her in his arms, still keeping a firm grip on her. “Stop making a fuss! You are coming with me, and that’s final.” Before she had time to argue any further, he said, “If he is the slightest bit rude to you, I will have you out of there in a jiffy. He won’t be. He is a gentle, kindly old man, and I promised him I would bring you. Now come on!” He headed toward the church, propelling her ruthlessly on.
Faith dragged her heels rebelliously, but he simply hitched her off the ground and kept walking.
It was a small stone house next to a large bluestone church. Faith felt trapped, anxious, and furious with the big blockhead beside her. As Nicholas knocked on the door, Faith felt her fury drain away. Dread took its place.
A thin, elderly woman dressed in severe dusty black opened the door. The priest’s housekeeper, smelling of lavender with a hint of camphor, nodded briefly to Mr. Blacklock.
She looked Faith up and down with a sour expression on her face. Obviously, she knew their story, too. Her long-nosed stare took in Faith’s bright gold hair, the bruised cheek, the tattered emerald silk dress with the low neckline. She sniffed. It was as good as a slap in the face.
Faith swallowed and stiffened her backbone. She knew exactly what the woman was thinking, what the priest would think, too. Faith was a harlot, escaping from the wages of sin by deceiving a poor fool. It was a look she would have to get used to.
Sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me, she repeated over and over in her mind. Grandpapa had used his stick. She’d survived him by hiding from his anger. She was not going to be a coward anymore. She would not hide. She would not let anyone make her ashamed of something she could not help. She could survive any amount of scorn and contempt.
She hoped.
She squared her shoulders and stepped into the priest’s house.
Chapter Five
Teach me to feel another’s woe,
To hide the fault I see,
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
A LEXANDER P OPE
T HE WOMAN INTRODUCED HERSELF AS M ARTHE AND USHERED them into the parlor. Monsieur le Curé jumped out of his chair to greet them. He was spare and elderly, with a bald pate and shrewd brown eyes.
When they were all seated, he regarded Faith with a solemn expression. She braced herself. Sticks and stones.
“ Eh bien , mademoiselle, you are to marry this fine fellow in the morning, yes?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“He has told me a little of your story. A lucky coincidence that you met, no?”
“Very lucky, monsieur.” She had no intention of justifying herself.
Marthe arrived with a pot of tea and a plate of small cats’ tongues biscuits. “Ah, bon ,” said Monsieur le Curé as she set down the tray. “ Le thé . The English are fond of le thé , are you not? Mademoiselle, would you care to pour, please?”
Faith
“He won’t care. I told him a little about your situation.”
“You told him about me?” Faith pulled the edges of the cloak together. “He will imagine the worst.”
“Probably, which is why I offered to bring you to meet him. It will set his mind at rest.”
“You offered to bring me to meet him? For heaven’s sake, why? And why did you not warn me?” Faith turned and headed determinedly back toward the inn.
He took two steps and grabbed her around the waist. “Where are you going?”
“To the inn.”
“You don’t have time to bathe and change and be back in time. Besides, he won’t care what you look like. He’s a priest.”
She glared at him over her shoulder. “I wasn’t planning to be back in time. I’m not going to meet him at all. I refuse to have some—some priest condemn me! I’ve had quite enough of that over the past few days! Oh, will you let me go?” She struggled angrily against the iron band that imprisoned her.
“He’s expecting us. He promised us tea.”
“I don’t care! I’m not going!”
Nicholas Blacklock turned her in his arms, still keeping a firm grip on her. “Stop making a fuss! You are coming with me, and that’s final.” Before she had time to argue any further, he said, “If he is the slightest bit rude to you, I will have you out of there in a jiffy. He won’t be. He is a gentle, kindly old man, and I promised him I would bring you. Now come on!” He headed toward the church, propelling her ruthlessly on.
Faith dragged her heels rebelliously, but he simply hitched her off the ground and kept walking.
It was a small stone house next to a large bluestone church. Faith felt trapped, anxious, and furious with the big blockhead beside her. As Nicholas knocked on the door, Faith felt her fury drain away. Dread took its place.
A thin, elderly woman dressed in severe dusty black opened the door. The priest’s housekeeper, smelling of lavender with a hint of camphor, nodded briefly to Mr. Blacklock.
She looked Faith up and down with a sour expression on her face. Obviously, she knew their story, too. Her long-nosed stare took in Faith’s bright gold hair, the bruised cheek, the tattered emerald silk dress with the low neckline. She sniffed. It was as good as a slap in the face.
Faith swallowed and stiffened her backbone. She knew exactly what the woman was thinking, what the priest would think, too. Faith was a harlot, escaping from the wages of sin by deceiving a poor fool. It was a look she would have to get used to.
Sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me, she repeated over and over in her mind. Grandpapa had used his stick. She’d survived him by hiding from his anger. She was not going to be a coward anymore. She would not hide. She would not let anyone make her ashamed of something she could not help. She could survive any amount of scorn and contempt.
She hoped.
She squared her shoulders and stepped into the priest’s house.
Chapter Five
Teach me to feel another’s woe,
To hide the fault I see,
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
A LEXANDER P OPE
T HE WOMAN INTRODUCED HERSELF AS M ARTHE AND USHERED them into the parlor. Monsieur le Curé jumped out of his chair to greet them. He was spare and elderly, with a bald pate and shrewd brown eyes.
When they were all seated, he regarded Faith with a solemn expression. She braced herself. Sticks and stones.
“ Eh bien , mademoiselle, you are to marry this fine fellow in the morning, yes?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“He has told me a little of your story. A lucky coincidence that you met, no?”
“Very lucky, monsieur.” She had no intention of justifying herself.
Marthe arrived with a pot of tea and a plate of small cats’ tongues biscuits. “Ah, bon ,” said Monsieur le Curé as she set down the tray. “ Le thé . The English are fond of le thé , are you not? Mademoiselle, would you care to pour, please?”
Faith
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