“Oh, splendid.” She rubbed her hands together to create a bit of warmth. “At least they are still talking.”
“I wouldn’t call what they are doing ‘talking.’” He paled and flushed all at once. “I can’t honestly say what’s going on in there, but whatever it is, I don’t think we can interrupt without one or both of us being scarred for life.”
“Oh,” she said in sudden understanding. “Oh, my.”
“And no, I didn’t see. Thank God.” He laughed. “I only heard. I was too afraid to look.”
Sophia bit her bottom lip. “Clearly they need more time.”
“But who knows how much longer it will be?”
Disappointment cooled her ardor. That and the freezing weather. “How to pass the time?”
He pivoted on his heel, coming to stand side by side with her. Though he did not put his arm around her, warmth emanated from his coat where his sleeve touched hers. “With all the excitement, I’ve almost forgot that we have the third quest to complete. Sir Thomas still has that bee up his nose. Would you care to accompany me to the church?”
Sophia smiled and nodded. “Perhaps this will be the last one.”
The words inspired within her an unexpected sadness. She could not help but wish the game would go on forever.
Claxton set off for the stable. “I’ll bring the sledge around.”
In a silence broken only by the steady trod of the horse’s hooves and the
He should be satisfied. He’d won the return of her smile. They’d made love and would make love again. They even talked in pleasant terms about the future. But the pensiveness he’d glimpsed in Sophia at the cemetery troubled him. Had she agreed to the idea of future happiness only to appease him? If so, he would not press her further. He could not help but suspect she held some part of herself back. Could he blame her when he had done the same for so long?
Vane looked down at Sophia bundled up tight in the seat of the sledge, her gloved hands folded in her lap. He wished he knew what thoughts occupied that complicated little head of hers. Even though he knew he had no right to demand her unquestionable trust, he desired that prize no less, but he counseled himself to be patient. To simply enjoy this day together because it might possibly be their last before leaving this place and returning to their lives in London.
After the wide curve in the road, they arrived at the parish church, a place his mother had loved. He and his brother, not as much. Everything was just as he remembered—an impressive, Gothic structure with long windows, pointed arches, noble pilasters, and a spire that as a child he’d believed reached halfway to heaven.
“Let us go over our plan once more,” he said, assisting Sophia from the sledge.
In the spirit of subterfuge, Sophia glanced around to be certain they were not under observation. “I am to act as the distraction. The rector will be immediately suspicious of you because of the dreadful pranks you and your brother undertook when you were boys.”
“Correct,” Claxton said, chuckling rather subversively under his breath.
Claxton had also told her that in addition to Mr. Burridge being the rector, his mother had also, on occasion, retained the older man to be their tutor in various subjects. He and Haden had apparently been very naughty boys.
She recited the instructions he’d given earlier. “The key word to employ in distracting Mr. Burridge is
“Very good.”
Together they entered the narthex, a narrow room formed of shadow and stone, where Claxton removed his hat. Upon their entrance, a heavily bundled, quill-thin man paused in his work stacking hymnals to shamble forth on knobby legs to call to another man who hung Christmas greens near the altar.
“Is that mistletoe I see mingled in with the greens? No, no, no, we can’t have druid’s weed in the church. Take it all outside, and remove every bit of it.”
Seeing them, he came to meet them midway along the nave. With each step, his breath puffed out in a cloud, visible in the frigid cold of the cavernous space.
“Your Grace.” The elderly rector gave a curt bow and peered down his prominent nose at Claxton, quite an interesting feat considering he stood a full two feet shorter than the duke. “What an unexpected surprise. I had heard you were in residence. At last you’ve returned after all these years.”
Claxton, looking every part the elegant nobleman, answered with all cordiality. “Temporarily at least, snowbound here by this uncommon winter frost.”
“Incommodious weather indeed.” Mr. Burridge sniffed. “Preventing all but three of my parishioners from attending services yesterday morn, the remainder confined to their homes.”
“Mr. Burridge, may I introduce you to the Duchess of Claxton.” Claxton brought her forward and introductions were made.
“What a lovely church,” said Sophia, peering up into the barrel-vaulted ceiling. “So much
“Ah.” Gray eyebrows ascended Mr. Burridge’s wrinkled forehead. “You are a student of the arcane, then? Unlike his Grace, who as I recall, could never be persuaded to attend to his lessons.” His gaze narrowed on Claxton, as if fixing upon an old, familiar foe.
“No!” Sophia exclaimed in faux surprise. “Claxton, tell me that’s not true.”
Claxton manufactured a sheepish look.
Sophia returned her attention to the rector. “As for myself, I am fascinated by our glorious past.”
Mr. Burridge’s eyes brightened and his cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Then please, my lady, if you will allow me the honor of showing you the chapel’s most significant points of interest.”
Behind the rector’s head, Claxton nodded gleefully and gestured for her to continue.
Sophia bestowed an encouraging smile upon Mr. Burridge. “Nothing would delight me more.”
He gestured with a gloved hand. “Then let us begin in the nave with the font, which is cut from Turkish marble. Note the cherubim embellishment.”
It was too much to hope they would begin the tour with Sir Thomas, who according to Claxton’s prior description lay upon a stone table in the opposite direction, nearer to the narthex.
Instead they crept along for what seemed an eternity, pausing to examine every monument, coat of arms, statuary, and epitaph until Sophia thought she would faint from the effort of remaining so endlessly engaged.
Claxton’s attempts to wander away from them proved futile. On each occasion that he fell behind, Mr. Burridge insisted, quite firmly, that he return to the tour so as not to miss details he’d certainly not retained from their lessons during his childhood. After several failed efforts, Claxton followed dutifully behind, scowling sullenly, his hands clasped behind his back.
“You are certain I’m not boring you?” Mr. Burridge inquired for the thousandth time. A most attentive individual, the rector required constant nods, smiles, and assurances to ensure their progression.
“Not at all,” Sophia assured him, her throat parched from repeating similar niceties over and over again. “Why, each treasure is more interesting than the next.”
He sighed, pleased. “My thoughts precisely. It is so rare that I’m able to share these artifacts with someone who appreciates them as much as I do.”
Claxton, at last, came to stand beside her, so close she shivered from the heat he gave off. He touched her back and peered into her eyes.
“I do believe, my dear,” he said with deliberate intonation, “you will find the next statuary the most fascinating of all. Mr. Burridge?”
Mr. Burridge tilted his head as if he was unsure whether to trust Claxton’s sudden display of enthusiasm.
“Why, yes, I do agree,” he said, nodding slowly.
At last, they approached the sculpture Sophia believed to be Sir Thomas, who according to Claxton’s mother would have a bee up his nose. Whatever that meant, she could not wait to find out.
“This magnificent table monument fashioned of freestone dates from the sixteenth century. Upon it, as you
