Betrayal in the Tudor Court. Darcey Bonnette

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      He let her go.

      He turned away.

      All that was left of the evening was a table full of half-eaten delicacies, a shattered wine decanter, and a stained white gown.

      Mirabella ran to the stables, fetching her palfrey. She was too beside herself to ride sidesaddle so rode astride. She could not imagine presenting herself as more offensive than her mother, so it mattered not.

      She rode into the night, down the well-beaten trail to the only place that ever gave her any hope and comfort at all. Her convent. She would join them this night. She would leave her worldly life behind. They would hear her story. They could not refuse her. And her father would dare not deny her; he owed her this. He would send a large dowry. The sisters would be so happy!

      Mirabella entered the cloister sobbing and breathless. The coos and hushes of the sisters filled her ears as Sister Julia was sent for.

      “Mirabella!” the nun cried upon seeing her. “Darling, what is it?”

      How could she tell her? It was too scathing, too shocking, for ears so pure. Yet she did. Somewhere God gave her the strength to tell Sister Julia. The story poured forth in all its ugliness. Sister Julia listened in rapt attention, green eyes tearing as she clutched Mirabella’s hand.

      When Mirabella finished, she hung her head, covering her eyes with a slender hand. She could not abide looking Sister Julia in the face after such a horrific confession.

      Sister Julia wrapped her arms about her, drawing her near. She never found such comfort in anyone. Sister Julia’s embrace was soothing, warm, filled with such tangible love that Mirabella absorbed it, as thirsty for it as the soil was for healing, nurturing rain.

      “Oh, Mirabella …” Sister Julia began. “I do not know what to say, how to comfort you. Lady Sumerton …” She pulled away, cupping Mirabella’s face between her slim hands. The face peeking forth from its hood was the most beautiful Mirabella had ever seen and the smile, even in sadness, was the most radiant. Sister Julia sighed. “Mirabella, you must not be angry with Lady Sumer-ton. She”—she lowered her eyes—“she has suffered much. She is a great lady, far greater than anyone could possibly know. I understand how difficult it has been between you. You must forgive her, however, as God requires. But more than that, you must love her. She is in such need of it.”

      “I never want to see her again,” Mirabella said, her tone icy with involuntary hatred. “Oh, God, forgive me, I never want to go back to that house. I can almost taste the fires of Hell when I’m there—they are all steeped in the superficial, all taught to relish things frivolous and meaningless. No one pursues matters of the soul … well, save for Father Alec, of course.” She averted her head, her heart pounding as she mentioned his name. “Please do not make me go back. Let me enter this holy place tonight as a postulant. My father will send a dowry. I will make him; he won’t refuse me after tonight, I know it. Please.”

      Sister Julia sighed. “Do you not think that you can pursue matters of the soul there as much as here? Instead of passing judgement against your family, you can lead them by example with cheer instead of scorn.” She gathered her in her arms once more and began to sway. “Mirabella, you must go back. They need you now more than ever. Lady Sumerton needs you and Ha—your lord father … he needs you, too. So very much. And what of the little ones? Surely they could benefit from your example.”

      “I do not want to leave you, Sister,” Mirabella murmured against her coarse habit, which was more comforting than the smoothest satin. “You are my only happiness.”

      Sister Julia’s shoulders heaved a moment as she pulled away. She bit her lip, her eyes luminous with tears. “Oh, Mirabella … you must go.” At Mirabella’s stricken expression she continued hurriedly. “But you can come back. When you are ready, when you are here for the right reasons and not running away from unpleasantness. Meantime you must grow in your faith and endure the tests we all are bound by God to endure. Do you not think I was tested?” She shook her head, her eyes registering a bewilderment Mirabella could not decipher. “I was tested, Mirabella, oh, how much! But I prevailed. And you will, too.”

      Mirabella bowed her head, sobbing brokenly.

      “Do not think I don’t want you beside me,” Sister Julia told her in gentle tones. “It would please me more than you could know. But it is not time. Not yet. Please understand that. You must go back, darling.” She smoothed Mirabella’s hair, then offered her a linen handkerchief to dry her eyes. “You must go back.”

      Mirabella collected herself, drawing in a breath.

      It was a test, Sister Julia had said. Just a test.

      She must prevail as Sister Julia had prevailed. She would show God she was worthy of His calling.

      She rose and ordered her cloak. And went back.

      This time she rode sidesaddle.

      Grace opened her eyes. They had put coins on them, she was sure of it. Why else would they be so heavy? She opened them, though, and found them unencumbered. Her head was pounding. She looked down, drawing herself into focus. She was in her bed, wearing a nightdress. Father Alec sat beside her.

      “My lady?” he asked, his endearingly husky voice just above a whisper. “Are you … well?”

      Grace’s lip quivered. Tears began to pave hot trails down her cheeks. “What’s happening to me?” she whispered.

      Father Alec shook his head. His smile was kind. “Why don’t you tell me?” he asked her. There was no sarcasm in his tone, no judgement. It was the epitome of gentleness.

      Grace regarded him for a long moment. Could she trust him?

      “Lady Sumerton,” Father Alec persisted. “I want to help you. There is no one here but you, me, and God. And He won’t say a word, I promise.” He winked.

      Grace offered a half smile that reverted to a quivering frown as fresh tears welled in her throat. She regarded the young priest. He was so handsome; what a shame he was wasted on the Church!

      But these thoughts were irrelevant to his purpose in her chambers. He was perhaps at this moment the only friend she had in the world after tonight.

      “My lady?” Father Alec prompted again.

      Grace began to sob.

      And told him.

      Lord Hal’s explanation to the little children was about the same as Cecily’s had been to Brey, therefore Cecily knew he was lying. But it didn’t matter. Brey was not crying any more and that was the important thing. What’s more, they were assured that they could build their caterpillar house, so instead of focusing on the horror of the evening, Cecily distracted Brey with its design.

      They constructed a pavilion in the nursery, pulling together tables and chairs and throwing the bedclothes over them so that a great tent with several different little “chambers” had been erected. In it they drew out the caterpillar’s house while two dozen of the little creatures squirmed and wiggled about in someone’s goblet they had taken from the table. To ensure the caterpillars would not escape, Cecily covered the goblet with a plate from the same unfortunate guest, who likely had to scope out new dining ware.

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