Her mother frowned as she snipped a thread. “No man has asked you, have they? Most girls marry before twenty, and you are almost twenty-two. You are not plain, but you are not the sort to attract men. There’s something in your manner, Cecily, that men don’t take to. You question them and are not dutiful.” She leaned forward and patted Cecily’s hand. “But you have a cozy home here with me, don’t you? It would delight most girls to have such security. And when I die, this will be yours.”
Cecily turned away so her mother could not read her anguished expression. She walked to the door. Was her mother right about her? Harry didn’t seem to think so. She smiled, enjoying the memory of his arms around her, his kisses, his male scent, the rough tweed of his coat beneath her fingers. He was so tall and strong, yet so gentle. She’d loved him since the first night they met. He promised to write, and he would not lie to her. But once in London, where there were so many exciting young women, surely he would soon forget her?
“Cecily?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“Make another pot of tea. The maid has gone out, and this is cold.”
“All right, Mother.” She picked up the tray.
Cecily went to the kitchen and took the kettle off the range. Would her life remain bleak and uneventful until the end of her days?
She sniffed, wiped her eyes with a hand, and busied herself with the tea. At least she had tomorrow. Harry might invite her to go to the station with him to see him off.
Chapter Eight
St. Mary’s redsandstone church in Totnes had a tall tower and a carved Tudor door. Harry inspected the grotesque carvings above each door as he wandered the church’s perimeter, on the alert for Cecily. He identified cherubs, animals, birds. And even a monkey. The priory buildings beyond the graveyard looked as ancient as the church. When he’d walked up the hill, he found no sign of activity in the duke’s mansion. He feared it might be shut up as the duke’s estate was some miles away, but he had yet to knock.
Harry watched the street for Cecily, eager to share this with her, for without her, he would lose much of his enthusiasm. He took out his pocket watch again. Half past the hour. Might her mother detain her? He had been confident that such a determined girl would find a way. And sure enough, when he looked down the hill again, there she was, holding up her blue skirts with one hand, the other on her bonnet, striding shamelessly up the street.
With a grin, Harry went to meet her.That’s my girl, he thought. He marveled at how quickly he’d come to know her and to care deeply for her. She hadn’t said she felt the same, not in so many words, but he would bet his life on it. No words were needed. They belonged together. He would write to ask her if she wished to share his life and the future he planned for them. Soon.
She arrived a little breathless. “Have you been into the church?” she asked without preamble, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“Without you? Of course not. We’ll go to the mansion first.” They walked down the street and opened the gate, then up the path to the impressive front door. Harry seized the handsome brass knocker and banged it. The hollow sound echoed inside. A maid answered.
“The duke is not here,” she said briskly and shut the door on them.
“Let’s find the vicar.” He grew conscious of the time. There was a fair walk to the station, and Cecily must return to the shop before she was missed. No sense in angering her mother further.
They entered the empty church. Men’s voices came from the vestry, and moments later, the vicar and another gentleman came into the church.
“Pardon me for a moment, Your Grace,” the vicar said. “I shall see to the needs of these young people.” He smiled. “Is it a calling of the banns?”
Harry, his attention caught by the elegantly dressed man waiting beside the vicar, cleared his throat. “Ah, no, Vicar, it’s another matter entirely. And rather complicated, I fear.” He looked across at the gentleman. “Sir, may I inquire if you are the Duke of Somerset?”
The gentleman nodded. “I am.”
Harry bowed, and Cecily dropped into a curtsey beside him. “Then it is you we most particularly wish to see, Your Grace.”
“Why?” He glanced at Cecily and then with steely eyes, scrutinized Harry’s. “What is it about young man?”
“It’s rather long-winded, I’m afraid.”
The door of the church opened. Two ladies entered, their arms full of flowers.
“My office is at your disposal, Your Grace,” the vicar said.
The duke nodded. “Thank you, Vicar. Please join us.”
“It’s a strange story,” Harry began, once they took chairs in the small office. He continued with his truncated version of their findings and explained what they hoped could be done.
“You believe these bones are Lady Margaret Pomeroy’s?”
“I do, Your Grace.”
“I wonder why you are so sure. The remains of many souls might rest there.”
