Page 1 of A Sinful Virgin for the Duke

CHAPTER 1

ST. CATHERINE’S NUNNERY, ENGLAND-SCOTLAND BORDER

“By the end of this, I hope you will have learned your lesson,” Sister Agnes said, her tone frosty. “I doubt you have been reading your prayer book as we have instructed you many, many times.”

Even though the rough stone bit at her flesh, Gemma Bradford remained on her knees. Her body ached from the rigid posture and the cold that seeped from the floor into her bones.

She was repentant, or so it seemed. It appeared as though she had accepted her punishment without complaint, but her heart was nowhere near acquiescence.

In the sixteen years she had been in the convent she had learned how to give the nuns what they demanded while hiding her real self in her heart.

Gemma had been reciting theAdoro te Devoteprayer since half past dawn and it was now midday.

“Jesu, quem velatum nunc aspicio, Oro, fiat illud quod tam sitio; Ut te revelata cernens facie, Visu sim beátus tuæ gloriæ. Amen.” She took a breath and readied herself to repeat the prayer when Sister Agnes stopped her.

“That is enough for today,” the nun said, her expression stern with tight lines around her eyes that nearly made Gemma narrow her own reflexively. She did not trust the woman. Once upon a time, when she had been a naïve girl of seven she had, but not now.

“You may return to the dormitory to rest for now. You are excused from the remainder of the prayers until vespers,” Sister Agnes fingered her rosary. “I hope you have learned your lesson and will not be making the same mistake again.”

Gemma bit her tongue.

It would not help her to ask Sister Agnes if forgetting a line in the Eucharistic Prayer, the longest prayer they had, was worthy of being punished for six hoursaftershe had already attended matins in the middle of the night and lauds at sunrise.

“Yes, Sister Agnes,” she said, while carefully getting up from the stone floor. She was starved and exhausted and nearly swayed on her feet. She was eager to eat and rest.

“The time is ticking, Gemma,” the nun added. “It is about time you become a novice and begin your life in the order. You are old enough. Other girls have come here after you and are already postulants. You must choose.”

I would rather swim the channel to the continent.

“I don’t think—” she sucked in a breath. “—I don’t think I am ready yet.”

“You have said that for five years since the day you reached the age of majority.” Sister Agnes said. “You are three-and-twenty, Gemma. When are you going to accept that this is your home and your future? Accept your destiny or continue to resent being here. You have a choice; only you can make it.”

Once again, she bit her tongue.

“We have told you time and time again, forgiveness is the only way to heaven,” Sister Agnes said. “And so is piousness. Your rebellious spirit is pulling you further and further away from His holy spirit. You have tried to run away twice before, despite knowing there is nothing out there for you and nowhere to go.”

“I was young and foolish,” Gemma replied.

And I would do it again.

“I can see why your mother left you with us,” Sister Agnes said. “You are a troubled one.”

All of the nuns were aware of how her mother, the widowed Countess Anna Bradford—now Anna Clarke, the Marchioness of Treston—had abandoned Gemma at the priory when she had been only seven years old, and it was certainly not becauseGemma had been troubled. It was because her mother had resented her very existence almost as much as she hated her late father.

“Excuse me,” she hobbled out of the room and padded down the empty, austere corridors to the dormitories. The walls vibrated as the bells tolled for yet another Mass. Soon she would be able to hear the hymns.

As she made her way to the Great Hall—a rectangular building filled with long trestle tables, now empty—her stomach turned sour. Skirting the tables, she walked into the kitchen for her missed meal and made herself a bowl of warm stew and bread before returning to her room and stretching out on her cot in exhaustion.

All I seem to do these days is pray, but is God still listening? Despite my constant requests for rescue, I am still imprisoned in this priory.

She drifted off into a fitful sleep and awoke at the sounds of the three o’clock bells. She had been excused until the sunset prayer, which gave her time to wash, dress and put herself into a semblance of tidiness. As she splashed her face with freezing water from the washbasin, Gemma glumly reminded herself that endless days of the same dull and lifeless routine were all she had ahead of her.

Now dressed in a fresh tunic, she dropped to her cot’s edge and lifted the simple straw mattress to tug out a book. Last year, theDuchess of Islington had sent a parcel of books to the nunnery for the girls to enjoy.

Initially, the books were freely distributed, but once the nuns realized that the books promoted worldly themes such as greed, betrayal and romance they had swiftly taken them back.

Gemma had hidden away her copy ofOne Thousand and One Nightsfor weeks until the nuns had given up searching for it. It was now her only source of comfort.

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