Page 51 of His Betrothed
“It was understood from my earliest memory that my mother was not welcome where my father and brother and I were.”
“Oh no, surely you were just a sensitive child—”
“You think I am sensitive?” he said with angry disbelief.
“Well—”
“My mother came to England when Philip of Spain married Queen Mary. For a few years, my mother wasa part of the court. Sometimes I think her life would have been much better had she just stayed in Spain.”
“She wouldn’t have met your father.”
“No.” His voice became low, tired. “And she wouldn’t have been alone, either, whenever my father and Alex and I had to leave the estate.”
Roselyn didn’t know what to say. She had never thought that his childhood might be painful. She had only seen himas a scandalous nobleman who lived for pleasure and danger, little caring how it affected anyone else.
Yet wouldn’t such bitterness be cause for a man to turn against the country that had so shunned him?
“I’m going back,” Thornton said shortly, and turned away from her.
For a few moments, she watched him walk awkwardly with the cane. He maneuvered so slowly she knew he could not think to leaveWight yet. Deep inside she relaxed, telling herself she had more time to try to understand him.
She caught up and walked beside him. “I have to go to church today,” she said.
He didn’t respond.
“I didn’t go last week—”
“Because of me.”
“Yes. The Heywoods wouldn’t understand another excuse. And they would like me to attend supper at Wakesfield tonight.”
“Do they always tell you what to do?”
“Of course not,” she said, linking her hands behind her back. “It is simply that I always attend services with them, and I always have a Sunday meal with them. I would ask you to attend, but you would have to create a whole life for ‘Mr. Sanderson,’ and soon enough, they would know you don’t live in the garrison. I just can’t risk them getting involved in this—this—”
“Scandal?” he asked wryly.
She stiffened.
“Do not worry. I don’t wish to make our situation any more complicated than it already is. And as for church, I seldom go.”
Roselyn hesitated, then couldn’t resist asking, “Are you Catholic?”
He looked down at her, and though his smile had returned, it was wary. “Why? Think you to curry favor by revealing all my secrets?”
She blushed. “Of course not. But your mother is fromSpain. Surely it must be difficult to be caught between two religions.”
Spencer didn’t choose to answer immediately, watching instead where he placed thecane. He was tired from not sleeping well, and the exertion of regaining his strength. He’d spent almost two years choosing each word carefully, constantly on his guard to keep himself alive. His exhaustion was so deep, he couldn’t even trusthimself on the subject of religion.
But he glanced down again at Roselyn. Her hair was wild and windblown this morn, and he knew she had come out of worry for him—either worry he’d escape, or worry he’d hurt himself. Suddenly her questions did not seem such an intrusion.
“My mother is Catholic,” he admitted slowly. “I was raised with the religion in secret. My father loved her so dearly thathe could not deny her this. But in my adulthood, would my mother consider me a Catholic? Most likely not.”
He watched a brief, wistful look cross her features. “Your mother sounds like a woman I would like to meet.”
“Why?”
“From what you’ve said, she seems to have such integrity, such bravery. She didn’t care what it cost her, as long as she had her family to love.”
