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He closed his hand on the coarse linen. Threw the whole into the fire. And turned his full wrath on the man standing frozen and horrified. “You fool! You wormy son of a bastard’s whore. You’ve brought me the wrong tapestry!”
The cathedral brooded against the overcast sky, or perhaps it was merely sulking, surrounded as it was by the helter-skelter of dirty alleys and squalid tenements. A breeze tugged at Sabrina’s bonnet and twitched at her skirts as she crossed the muddy grounds to the entrance in company with the rest of Aunt Delia’s sightseeing party.
Up ahead, the Misses Trimble walked arm in arm with the gentlemen invited to make up the rest of the group. The trio of giggly sisters batted, sashayed, and simpered like seasoned campaigners. Generals knew less of strategy and tactics than these young women. The men didn’t stand a chance.
Aunt Delia shepherded her charges inside, a harried young man in moth-nibbled coat and much-darned stockings rushing to meet them.
“Mr. Munsy has kindly agreed to show us around,” Aunt Delia chirped. “Wasn’t that nice of him?”
The young curate bowed and smiled.
The sisters giggled.
Sabrina rolled her eyes and tried to pretend she didn’t know any of them.
The group followed the proud oratory of the flustered curate whose booming voice seemed incompatible with his scarecrow gawkiness. “. . . built originally by the Danes . . .”
Glenlorgan’s simple chapel couldn’t compare to the grandiosity of the cathedral, but the smells were similar. Candle wax, incense, and wet wool. So too was the serenity that comes of great age and great faith. The mind-clearing clarity infusing the very air. They wrapped around Sabrina like a comforting blanket or a parent’s hug. Lifted her burdens of uncertainty, anxiety, and Aunt Delia’s incessant prickly chatter. Strengthened her determination to return to the order as soon as possible. Aidan would not win. Not on this. She was not the submissive child of his memory, and she refused to be pushed about like a pawn on a chess board.
“. . . oldest building in Dublin . . .”
Above her, choristers practiced their scales to a violin’s scratchy accompaniment.
“. . . the Welsh-Norman Strongbow . . .”
“I believe our enthusiastic tour guide plans a test at the end of his lecture.”
Sabrina flashed a startled look at the gentleman who’d stepped up silently beside her. Tall and lean with an icy crispness, from his wheat-gold hair to the diamond-encrusted fob hanging from his waistcoat pocket, Mr. St. John oozed elegance and wealth from every pore. How on earth had Aunt Delia managed to convince him to join their sightseeing party? And how had the Trimbles let him escape?
“I’m afraid he’ll be sorely disappointed in his pupils.” She cast her eyes over the bored-looking group. “They don’t seem terribly interested, do they?”
St. John motioned toward Jane. “Miss Fletcher seems riveted.”
He was right. Jane hung on Mr. Munsy’s every word. He blushed his appreciation and doubled his speech-making efforts. Now with arm gestures.
“Unfortunately for the curate, it’s sympathy rather than interest,” she explained ruefully. “The less the others attend to him, the more Jane will. She hates anyone to feel slighted.”
“An admirable quality in a young lady. But I’m sure you’re just as endowed with similar gifts.”
Did he give her a certain look when he spoke? His smile a bit brighter? His eyes a bit sharper? Was that last pause a beat too long? What did he mean by “gifts”? Did he seek to discover if she was Other? Was he merely being polite? Was she being overly suspicious?
She mumbled a response, praying it satisfied him and he’d return to the group, which had made it halfway up the nave and were now admiring the gothic architecture and learning which bits dated to when.
Unfortunately he took her arm, forcing her to accompany him as he strolled. Perfect—now she had to come up with chitchat. She detested chitchat. And his touch was cold even through the sleeve of her pelisse.
She scrambled for anything to fill the awful, awkward silence. “Have you lived in Dublin long, sir?”
“Since early spring. But I hear you’re newly arrived. How are you liking the city’s delights thus far?”
Nothing intrusive about that. Perhaps she imagined her misgivings.
“To be honest, I’m still gaining my sea legs as it were.” She tried catching Jane’s eye, giving the universal sign for Help, reinforcements needed. No luck.
“Your aunt mentioned your brother and his wife are due to arrive soon.” He leaned in, pressing her elbow. Another cool touch sending shivers up her arm. “Lord Kilronan’s unexpected marriage put quite a few pretty little noses out of joint.” His gaze passed over the giggling Trimbles.
She stiffened, withdrawing her hand. Flashing him a dangerous look. “Odd. They never cared overmuch for his attentions when he stood on the brink of financial ruin.”
He smiled a mouth full of shiny teeth. “I took you for a little sparrow, but
