added.
“Do you miss it, Helena? Your life before . . .”
“The life of a soldier’s wife? Not really. Sometimes I miss John, though, even though he left me.” John was Helena’s husband, who had died at war on the Continent. She so rarely spoke of him, and when she did, Angela was never sure of what to say. So she simply placed her hand on Helena’s and kept silent.
“I confess,” Helena started, “it does feel different here with Lord Invalid. Having a man around and all.”
Angela laughed, and the sound echoed throughout the room. “Yes.”
“Is he still so awful?”
“No,” she answered, ducking her head so that Helena might not see her smile. That kiss had been the opposite of awful.
“Be careful, Angela. Men always hurt us in the end. But you already know that.”
Angela did indeed know that, as sure as she knew her own name. But at the moment, with Phillip’s kiss still burning on her lips, the pleasure a man could give a woman was far more vivid, visceral, and real than some foggy notion of eventual hurt.
Chapter 7
Contrary to all expectations, Angela was not racked with self-loathing after that kiss. Troubling as it may be, she did not hate Phillip because of it. And how could she feel guilty when she felt so . . . giddy?
There was nothing, she thought with a sigh, like a first kiss, even if it was one’s second first kiss. Angela was beyond pleased to have discovered this. That she had now experienced two first kisses, when she probably should have only had one, if any, did not dishearten her. She just felt lucky.
But it would be her last first kiss, she vowed. It had to be, because she wasn’t going to leave the abbey, and Phillip certainly couldn’t stay. Angela might be sad about that later, but at this moment, she was just too happy. Because there was nothing like a first kiss, and nothing in the world like a perfect first kiss that made a girl feel hopeful and more alive than ever.
Thus were her thoughts the following morning as she knelt in the chapel, along with the other nuns, with her head bowed and her hands folded in prayer, until the sound of a door slamming open gave her reason to lift her head and turn around.
Phillip leaned in the doorway to the chapel. There was a collective gasp from all the sisters and, a moment later, a collective exhale when it seemed that the chapel would not burst into flames or collapse upon them because a man, a very bad man, had entered.
The abbess, who had been leading the prayer, paused briefly and then returned to her task. She was going to ignore Phillip. A few other women did so, too, while others merely pretended to. Angela watched openly as he limped, slightly, down the aisle. He paused when he came to her pew, inconveniencing Helena, who merely arched one of her dark eyebrows at him as he shuffled past. Penelope, however, stared at him with wide eyes. There was the faintest blush on her cheeks when she moved aside so that Phillip could sit between her and Angela.
Angela was mortified. She thought of the advice not to feed stray dogs, for then they followed one everywhere. Twice now Phillip had sought her out.
Secretly, she was pleased. Just a little bit.
Phillip sat on the pew beside her. After a moment, he spoke to her in a whisper.
“Hasn’t anyone here heard of upholstery? These seats are deuced uncomfortable.”
“They’re not supposed to be comfortable.”
“Like those dresses of yours? I should like to see you in silks or satin. Or, really, I’d like to take some silk or satin dress off of you.”
“Hush.”
Phillip clasped his hands and bowed his head. But then he leaned in closer to her and whispered again.
“What are we praying for this morning?”
“For you to be quiet.”
He took the hint, but his silence did not end her distractions. Angela maintained the pose of prayer, but her thoughts were not at all on her soul or salvation. No, she was imagining wearing a satin gown.
“Do you miss it, Helena? Your life before . . .”
“The life of a soldier’s wife? Not really. Sometimes I miss John, though, even though he left me.” John was Helena’s husband, who had died at war on the Continent. She so rarely spoke of him, and when she did, Angela was never sure of what to say. So she simply placed her hand on Helena’s and kept silent.
“I confess,” Helena started, “it does feel different here with Lord Invalid. Having a man around and all.”
Angela laughed, and the sound echoed throughout the room. “Yes.”
“Is he still so awful?”
“No,” she answered, ducking her head so that Helena might not see her smile. That kiss had been the opposite of awful.
“Be careful, Angela. Men always hurt us in the end. But you already know that.”
Angela did indeed know that, as sure as she knew her own name. But at the moment, with Phillip’s kiss still burning on her lips, the pleasure a man could give a woman was far more vivid, visceral, and real than some foggy notion of eventual hurt.
Chapter 7
Contrary to all expectations, Angela was not racked with self-loathing after that kiss. Troubling as it may be, she did not hate Phillip because of it. And how could she feel guilty when she felt so . . . giddy?
There was nothing, she thought with a sigh, like a first kiss, even if it was one’s second first kiss. Angela was beyond pleased to have discovered this. That she had now experienced two first kisses, when she probably should have only had one, if any, did not dishearten her. She just felt lucky.
But it would be her last first kiss, she vowed. It had to be, because she wasn’t going to leave the abbey, and Phillip certainly couldn’t stay. Angela might be sad about that later, but at this moment, she was just too happy. Because there was nothing like a first kiss, and nothing in the world like a perfect first kiss that made a girl feel hopeful and more alive than ever.
Thus were her thoughts the following morning as she knelt in the chapel, along with the other nuns, with her head bowed and her hands folded in prayer, until the sound of a door slamming open gave her reason to lift her head and turn around.
Phillip leaned in the doorway to the chapel. There was a collective gasp from all the sisters and, a moment later, a collective exhale when it seemed that the chapel would not burst into flames or collapse upon them because a man, a very bad man, had entered.
The abbess, who had been leading the prayer, paused briefly and then returned to her task. She was going to ignore Phillip. A few other women did so, too, while others merely pretended to. Angela watched openly as he limped, slightly, down the aisle. He paused when he came to her pew, inconveniencing Helena, who merely arched one of her dark eyebrows at him as he shuffled past. Penelope, however, stared at him with wide eyes. There was the faintest blush on her cheeks when she moved aside so that Phillip could sit between her and Angela.
Angela was mortified. She thought of the advice not to feed stray dogs, for then they followed one everywhere. Twice now Phillip had sought her out.
Secretly, she was pleased. Just a little bit.
Phillip sat on the pew beside her. After a moment, he spoke to her in a whisper.
“Hasn’t anyone here heard of upholstery? These seats are deuced uncomfortable.”
“They’re not supposed to be comfortable.”
“Like those dresses of yours? I should like to see you in silks or satin. Or, really, I’d like to take some silk or satin dress off of you.”
“Hush.”
Phillip clasped his hands and bowed his head. But then he leaned in closer to her and whispered again.
“What are we praying for this morning?”
“For you to be quiet.”
He took the hint, but his silence did not end her distractions. Angela maintained the pose of prayer, but her thoughts were not at all on her soul or salvation. No, she was imagining wearing a satin gown.
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