Felix bowed; a gesture executed with enough irony to be disrespectful. “There is little reason to dawdle, Reverend Mother, when the matter is so urgent.”
“I presume you have reached a satisfactory arrangement.”
He smiled with his very white teeth. “More than satisfactory. Lady Rose has agreed to become my wife and serve as guardian to this child. In return, I will ensure St. Clement’s receives a most generous donation.”
A ripple passed through the novices in the hallway.
Mother Superior’s mouth pinched, then relaxed. “The Order is grateful for your support.” Rose waited for her to say more, to protest, but instead the old woman looked straight at her, then at Lizzie. “I hope you know what you are doing, girl.”
Rose’s heart thudded. For a moment, she wanted to say,no, I don’t. Instead, she squared her shoulders and forced herself to meet the challenge. “I am doing what Julia asked of me.”
Mother Superior nodded, a hint of respect in the motion.
The duke reached into his coat, producing a folded slip of vellum and placing it on the desk. “Thearrangement. You’ll find the schedule of contributions from my estate to be to your liking.”
Mother Superior nearly let a smile show on her face, then took it and tucked it away. “You may collect your things, Rose.”
She felt a heavy weight settle on her shoulders as she realized she owned nothing of consequence: one Bible, a brush, a box of letters.
She thought of Julia, of every woman who’d ever been rendered disposable by men with titles and fortunes. Then, she thought of Lizzie, whose fate now depended entirely on the brittle truce between Rose and the man who abandoned her mother.
Rose nodded, unable to trust her own voice.
The duke placed a hand near her elbow. Not touching, exactly, but the implied claim of it was unmistakable. She bristled, but allowed herself to be led down the corridor, past a gaggle of eavesdropping nuns.
“She’ll never last a week,” Sister Victoria muttered, enough for Rose to catch.
She steeled her face and turned with Lizzie balanced expertly in one arm, and fixed the girl with the kind of glare that could peel paint. “I’ve lasted longer in worse places,” she said.
The corridor went silent.
The duke did not look at her, but, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the ghost of a grin tug at his mouth. Rose ducked her head and shuffled out of his way. Her world shrank to the gritty cold of the hallway, the uneven bob of Lizzie against her shoulder, and the knowledge that every novice in the corridor watched her narrowed eyes.
She walked faster, shoes scuffing the flagstones, until the chatter of the main corridor fell behind her and she passed into the bare, candle-lit dormitory wing.
Slipping into her cell, she shut the door with a careful click, pressing her spine to the ancient wood. The sudden hush nearly crushed her, Lizzie’s breathing becoming the only thing that rooted her in the moment.
Rose’s hands started shaking the instant she let herself stop moving. She exhaled a slow, uneven breath, then set the baby into the makeshift cradle wedged between her cot and the wall.
She tucked her Bible into her habit’s pocket, then wrapped Lizzie in the blue wool blanket she’d hidden from laundry rotation for being softer than the others. She tucked Julia’s letter against her palm, the stain of tears and ink already darkening the edge.
Rose stared at the empty cell for a moment too long, almost wishing she had some sort of fondness for the place, then gathered Lizzie up and shut the door behind her.
She looked down at the baby, who blinked up at her, unfocused but content, and Rose felt an answering surge of something fiercely protective and raw that she’d never felt before. She could not put a name to it, but the weight of her newfound responsibility was palpable.
She stepped down the hallway toward the main doors, finding the duke in the cloister’s inner arch, his face half-shadowed by the chapel’s dim interior, one eyebrow raised in what might have been impatience or concern.
He didn’t greet her, did not bow or gesture or make any sort of show. He simply watched as she approached, his eyes moving between the baby and her. For a moment, the world shrank to just the three of them. Then, he opened the main doors with a flourish, the wind rushing in and swirling the flames of candles around her.
They crossed the threshold, Rose pausing at the stone step. She looked back, taking in her most recent home, remembering the endless cleaning, the prayers muttered through chapped lips, and the nights awake listening for kindness that never came.
She closed her eyes, one last time, and then stepped forward.
The carriage was already waiting, a sleek beast of black lacquer and polished brass, the Carden arms emblazoned in cruel relief. The driver tipped his hat, and the duke helped Rose in with a gentleness she suspected was performative but which she accepted anyway.
Inside, the air smelled of cedar. The seats seemed impossibly soft after years of penitence and the newness of everything. The extravagance made Rose bite her lip and glance down at her old novice’s habit.
The duke settled beside them, ignoring her nerves. He pulled the door shut and, after a long moment of silence, finally turned himself to look at Rose directly.
