But maybe there can be some detours…
CHAPTER 13
Half a chain away from the market stood St. Alban’s Church, a modest cathedral built of honey-colored Cotswold stone. Its square tower was crowned with a weathered weathervane that creaked softly in the country breeze. The small graveyard to the back was surrounded by a natural fence of yew trees and low dry-stone walls draped in ivy.
“We are to be over there,” Cassian rested a hand on her waist and gently guided her to the left.
Adjoining the church, accessible by a cobbled path and an arched stone doorway, was the parish meeting hall. It was a whitewashed room with exposed beams, and as they stepped inside, a large hearth that, as it was summer, was banked.
They stepped into a small marketplace where one long wooden table, scarred with use, held baked pastries, small meat pies, handwoven baskets, and rounds of cheese.
“Your Grace,” a small woman in a nun’s habit curtsied. She wore the traditional black coif and wimple of her order, framing her face in quiet dignity. “We are so delighted to have you celebrate with us. May I be so brazen as to ask if this lovely lady is your wife?”
“She is, Mother Annais.” Cassian’s charming smile enveloped his face as he bowed. “My dear Cecilia, this is Mother Annais, the lovely soul who is the head of the children’s home. She has a lovely team of housemothers that wrangle their charges into place.”
“All thanks to your generous donations over the years, Your Grace,” the nun replied merrily.
“Please do not shift the attention to me,” Cassian waved a hand modestly. “In comparison to what you do, I am a tiny cog in the machinery of your house.”
While the two spoke, he saw how Cecilia looked between them, a tiny knot in her brows.
Taking the nun’s hand, Cassian spoke to Cecilia. Dropping his tone to conspiratorial, he said, “Here is a secret you do not know about Mother Annais. Before she became a nun, she was the daughter of a Viscount. She exchanged her carriage for a coif and her diamonds for duty.”
“You honor me, Your Grace,” she said.
“As do you,” Cassian replied in cheer. “Word around town is that you were more beautiful than you are today.”
A soft flush dusted the age spots that marked the nun’s cheeks. “Your Grace, please.”
Cecilia spoke up. “Mother Annais, are any of your wards here? I would like to meet them.”
Twisting to look over her shoulder, the nun said, “The two girls selling buns are some of the older girls in the home, and they will be coming later to sing at mass. Speaking of my girls, Your Grace, how is dear Abigail?”
He saw Cecilia’s head snap back in shock and how quickly she put two and two together. He was sure she was surprised he had hired an orphan to work in his house.
“She is my wife’s lady-maid,” Cassian answered. “And she is doing a wonderful job, as I knew she would. She had a wonderful mentor to look upon after all.”
“He is right,” Cecilia spoke up. “Abigail is a lovely girl.”
“I hope you two enjoy the festival, and Your Grace, I assume that the best time for you to meet the children is after mass,” the nun smiled. “If you will please excuse me, I must attend to the girls.”
As the older woman went off, Cecilia came to peer at him long enough that Cassian cocked a brow. “What? Did I suddenly spawn a second head?”
“You arecharming….”
This time, he stared at her as ifshehad two heads. “Which rake do you know is not charming? I’d think it’s written on page one ofA Scapegrace’s Guide of Seduction, Ruination and Mayhem.”
Cassian liberally rolled his eyes and crossed the room to a table covered with oak barrels. One was cut in half and was brimming with plump apples.
“Mr. Carter,” Cassian nodded to the cidermaker, a sturdy man with a complexion weathered by long days in the sun, “I assume the orchard is doing well?”
“Very, very well,” Thomas Carter placed his broad, callused hands on his rounded belly and laughed. “I have not seen such a yield in years. May I tempt you into a glass of my newest blend?”
“Please,” Cassian slid a coin across the table and waited as the man took a tankard, filled it, and did a high, showmanship pour.
The amber liquid poured into the glass without a single splatter and with a jolly laugh. “Here, Your Grace. Please, enjoy.”
Taking the glass, Cassian took a drink. Brows lifted, he said, “Is that citrus spice I taste?”
