We sat in silence for several minutes, heads back as we stared upward, before my curiosity overwhelmed me. “Is it the chapel?” I finally asked.
“The chapel?” One brow lowered as he turned to meet my gaze.
“That quells your sarcasm and cutting insults?”
He laughed a deep-chested laugh that reverberated through the large room and seemed to vibrate through me as well. “Yes, perhaps that’s it. Perhaps my fear of offending God is greater than my desire to—how did you put it the other day?—‘mock and scorn those who do not share my fate.’”
“Is that what I said?” I asked in a small voice. Somehow, sitting there next to the duke, whose presence seemed to fill every room he entered, even one as spacious as this, I could not imagine myself saying such a thing.
“That and more.” He set his walking stick on the bench and turned toward me, eliminating some of the precious space between us. “And you did not speak. You shouted.”
“Well, I—”
He slid one of his hands down the back of the bench, almost touching my shoulder. I squirmed, my heart beating double its regular pace. “And yet here you are now, speechless. It seems the church has a calming effect on us both.”
My heart was anything but calm, and the pulse of blood throbbed in my neck. Doing my best to mask my reaction to his proximity, I nodded. “So it would appear.”
He dropped his arm down to his side, and the tension eased. “Perhaps if we went outside, things would be more interesting.”
I laughed softly. “Perhaps. But first you promised me a tour, and unless you want me trespassing in the future, I suggest you give it to me now.” I moved to stand and then realized how demanding I must sound. “If you please, Your Grace.”
Picking up his cane, he used the bench to ease himself up. “None of that. After the way you spoke to me the other day, your respectful use of address seems a mockery.”
I bit my lip, for what could I say to that?
“At least forgo my title and call me Halstead.” His expression was difficult to read.
I shook my head. “I am not sure I could.”
He came a step closer. “Even if I said please?”
My mouth dropped open as I marveled at this change in him. “I very well might faint if you said please, but I could not be so informal, Your Grace.” I was still the daughter of a sailor, after all.
He frowned, but the rays coming in the window lightened his eyes to a warm umber color.
I turned away, afraid of getting lost in them. “Where should we start?”
“Let’s begin in the south transept.”
We walked over to the font. I showed sufficient awe over its splendid marble and the cinquefoiled arcading on each side, and though he tried to conceal it, I could tell the duke was pleased. For the tour, at least, we were a well-matched pair. My curiosity met his love of architecture, art, and history, and we spent well over an hour examining the carved monuments and the numerous paintings adorning the chapel.
At times, as I asked questions, I felt him studying me, scrutinizing me as if I were a piece of the artwork that graced the walls. It made me blush and stumble over my words, yet he remained patient and undemanding. The mockery I expected was noticeably absent. His wit was no less sharp, but today it was applied to fascinating explanations and enthralling anecdotes. There was no time to ponder on this alteration in his temperament as he led me through the chapel’s many splendors. I could have listened to him for hours, and I timed my step to his, enjoying the leisurely manner of our tour.
“What is that?” I asked, stepping into one of the alcoves along the back wall, where there was a small pockmark in the ornamentation. I reached out my hand, feeling the unnatural circular groove that scarred the otherwise perfect trimming.
“We have the parliamentarians to thank for that. Shaldorn Castle came under siege during the civil war in the sixteen hundreds. Roecliffe Chapel was one of the casualties of their cannon shot. Sometimes loyalty comes at a cost.”
For a brief moment, I thought of my mother and what loyalty had cost her, but I pushed the thought away. I looked around at what I deemed perfection, trying to imagine the horrors of war taking place here. “Was it badly damaged?”
He nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. The chapel stood in a grave state of disrepair for many years. It wasn’t until my father inherited the dukedom that repairs were undertaken.” He looked upward, wonder filling his expression. “Perhaps that is why it holds such a place in my heart—I watched the entire restoration unfold as a boy.”
The tenderness in his voice revealed the slightest fracture in his hard-edged exterior, allowing me to imagine him as a young boy, watching the repairs with excitement and awe. “And why was this not repaired as well?”
He shook his head, touching the groove made by cannon shot. “I am not sure. Perhaps, in this out-of-the-way spot, it was just overlooked. But I like it as it is—it serves as a reminder of the chapel’s history.”
A smile stole across my face, his affection for the place catching hold of me.
As we concluded, the sun slipped out of sight. The room, so light just a moment before, filled with shadows. “Perhaps that is our cue,” I suggested.
“We’d best get back,” he agreed.
I followed him outside, feeling suddenly ill at ease as the evening’s cold breeze assaulted us. The chapel had seemed a haven of sorts, a safeguard against our baser natures, and now, outside, I was afraid we would return to the way we’d been before. Several bronzed leaves broke off a tree branch and swirled by.
The duke glanced at
