He didn’t respond.
“I didn’t go last week—”
“Because of me.”
“Yes. The Heywoods wouldn’t understand another excuse. And they would like me to attend supper at Wakesfield tonight.”
“Do they always tell you what to do?”
“Of course not,” she said, linking her hands behind her back. “It is simply that I always attend services with them, and I always have a Sunday meal with them. I would ask you to attend, but you would have to create a whole life for ‘Mr. Sanderson,’ and soon enough, they would know you don’t live in the garrison. I just can’t risk them getting involved in this—this—”
“Scandal?” he asked wryly.
She stiffened.
“Do not worry. I don’t wish to make our situation any more complicated than it already is. And as for church, I seldom go.”
Roselyn hesitated, then couldn’t resist asking, “Are you Catholic?”
He looked down at her, and though his smile had returned, it was wary. “Why? Think you to curry favor by revealing all my secrets?”
She blushed. “Of course not. But your mother is from Spain. Surely it must be difficult to be caught between two religions.”
Spencer didn’t choose to answer immediately, watching instead where he placed the cane. He was tired from not sleeping well, and the exertion of regaining his strength. He’d spent almost two years choosing each word carefully, constantly on his guard to keep himself alive. His exhaustion was so deep, he couldn’t even trust himself on the subject of religion.
But he glanced down again at Roselyn. Her hair was wild and windblown this morn, and he knew she had come out of worry for him—either worry he’d escape, or worry he’d hurt himself. Suddenly, her questions did not seem such an intrusion.
“My mother is Catholic,” he admitted slowly. “I was raised with the religion in secret. My father loved her so dearly that he could not deny her this. But in my adulthood, would my mother consider me a Catholic? Most likely not.”
He watched a brief, wistful look cross her features. “Your mother sounds like a woman I would like to meet.”
“Why?”
“From what you’ve said, she seems to have such integrity, such bravery. She didn’t care what it cost her, as long as she had her family to love.”
Spencer looked toward Wakesfield in the distance. “I’m not sure if that was more foolish than brave. Surely your mother was much more practical than mine.”
“Practical? Is that what one would wish for in a mother? My mother’s motivations are greed and ambition, and if you consider those ‘practical,’ then that word suits her.”
“Surely she and your father thought of your welfare when they negotiated with my family.”
Her eyes seemed a vast gray emptiness, forlorn with long-accepted knowledge. “No, that wasn’t a concern. Obedience was all that mattered, and I…didn’t obey.”
He remembered his own parents’ reaction to his many scandals. They hadn’t needed to become angry; their sad disappointment was worse than any lashing. He would probably have to commit murder before his mother would disown him.
“Someone’s watching us,” Roselyn suddenly said in a low voice.
Spencer’s first reaction was an instinctive need to hide. Had Shaw sent another henchman? He calmed his racing heart and looked out across the meadow. Far in the distance, he saw someone herding a flock of sheep. He murmured, “Do you know this person?”
“ ’Tis Abigail with her family’s sheep.”
Roselyn surprised him by waving at the girl, who cheerfully waved back.
“Is she coming our way?” he asked.
“No, she’s heading for the village.” Roselyn looked up at him. “I had to wave, or she’d know something was wrong.”
“Of course. But you seem worried.”
