Page 46 of Castle of Refuge

“Thank you.” Her face brightened again, her smile as wide as he’d ever seen it. “The children are so fortunate to have such a benefactor as you.”

“And to have such a teacher as you.”

She stared into his eyes from where she stood a few feet away. But then she blinked, lowered her gaze, and pulled on her hair, patting it down over her scars, as if she suddenly realized they had been showing.

“I shall go now,” she said. “But... I know you said you would have some scribes copy the chapters from Luke, but I would like to copy something very short, if that is all right.”

“Of course. Shall I send writing materials to your room?”

“Oh yes, thank you.”

“And you may take the Bible that is there, on the shelf.” He pointed.

“Will you not need it?”

“I have my own, and the scribes at the monastery will have one as well.”

“Oh yes. Of course. Thank you again.”

She hurried away, leaving Edwin with an odd ache in his chest. Something in her seemed to reach out and wrap around his heart, squeezing it. He longed to see her smile, and to know that her smile was for him.

But he was to marry Lady Ophelia. He could not think of Audrey in that way. Even though she had scars just as he did, scars that made her self-conscious, she was beautiful and a viscount’s daughter. Someday she would marry.

Before he lost his arm, he’d been considered handsome, or so he’d been told by a few women, including the Duchess of Wymanton, whose flirtatious conversation had made him uncomfortable, especially since the Duke of Wymanton was only a few feet away, drinking and laughing with the sheriff of the county and the king’s coroner. But he was well aware that most women would not view him now as they had before. Lady Ophelia might not either. But he would not imagine she would prove disloyal to him when so far he had little to no reason to think she would be, even if she still had not replied to his letters.

A good woman would not care as much about physical appearance as she did about character and kindness.

Perhaps Lady Ophelia was that good woman, and perhaps she was not. Perhaps instead of praying that Lady Ophelia would still want him, he should be praying for what was best. And only God knew that.

Twelve

Audrey carried in her arms ten copies of the first five chapters of the Gospel According to Saint Luke as she walked to the church for the children’s lessons. She was still amazed at how quickly Lord Dericott had produced the ten copies. She suspected he himself had copied one of them.

Once, she had walked into the library to ask him a question about the repast he provided for the children, and she had found him hunched over his desk with a pen in his hand. When he looked up, he bumped his inkwell, getting a splotch of ink on the paper. And now she saw an identical ink splotch on the edge of one of the pages.

She touched it reverently, running her fingers over the words and imagining him writing them with his own hand. How her heart expanded at the thought of Lord Dericott . . . Edwin. She allowed herself to call him Edwin sometimes, but only silently in her mind when she was going over their conversations in herhead. Her heart grew inside her at the thought of him transcribing these holy words for her students to learn by. Who was he doing it for more? For her students? Or for her?

She was a foolish girl to think of him thusly. Indeed, it was wrong, since he was pledged to marry Lady Ophelia.

Tears stung her eyes. But that was ignoble of her. She should be happy for him, happy that he had made a love match, for she had heard that they had met at a ball and fallen in love. He was a wealthy lord, a powerful though young man, who enjoyed the king’s favor and attention since proving his enemies to be the evil schemers they were. Yes, she knew he felt bad about losing his arm. She believed she could see it in his expression, in his eyes. Anyone would mourn such a loss and even be angry about it. But any woman would be fortunate indeed to marry him.

She felt a stab in her stomach at the thought that she would never marry Edwin, the young man whom her father had hoped to engage her to. It was wrong, though, to even think about such a thing. Lord Dericott had been so kind and generous to her, and she should pray for every blessing to be showered on him, including a happy marriage with someone who was his equal.

She was walking through the village when one of the girls asked excitedly, “What have you brought for us today?”

Several of her students greeted her before she could even enter the church. The servants carrying the baskets came into the schoolroom behind her and left the baskets on the table.

“Something delicious! Cherry pasties made with fresh cherries from Lord Dericott’s own trees.”

The girls gasped and “oohed”at this.

“And some cold pork with plum sauce and fresh bread.”

The number of students had grown, and Audrey was fairly certain it was due more to the food than to her lessons and the enticement of learning to read. But she did not have the heart to tell Lord Dericott that she now needed more than ten copies of text. Rather, she would let the students pair up and study them together, as that seemed to help them learn faster anyway, one part friendly competition and one part helping one another. Most were already reading a few words, and the others were catching on to it a little more every day.

Today, near the end of her lesson, she glanced up to see Lord Dericott in the doorway, watching.

Her stomach fluttered as their eyes met and held. But she kept teaching, kneeling down to help two little girls who were sitting together on a low bench. When she looked up a few minutes later, Lord Dericott was gone.