Page 37 of A Bride for the Baron

Edmund led her slowly along the hallway where they had worked together designing the church. He walked past his sanctuary, where the door was closed, and to the end of the corridor.

The door there was shut, as well. It was different from the other ones in the corridor, far older and a single panel of oak. The tree it had been hewn from must have been huge. No trees of that size grew around Sanctuary Bay any longer because they had been harvested to build ships.

“I was thinking we could use this for Sunday services until the new church is finished.” He opened the door and stepped back to let her enter.

What she saw almost made her knees buckle beneath her. Not from pain, but from joy. The chamber was half the size of Meriweather Hall’s dining room, but the ceiling soared more than forty feet above her head. The red-and-black floor tiles were hidden beneath deep dust and had been disturbed by only a few footprints. Simple benches were set in two rows, facing the simple pulpit. The sounding board leaned against the pulpit. Paint was peeling on the benches as well as the eagle lectern that had been made from black walnut. One wing was missing, and its beak broken, but it still gazed heavenward. A gallery was set high on the back wall. Its narrow stairs tilted away from the wall, and several steps were broken or missing.

She took in all that, before her eyes were caught by the resplendent altar screen beneath a large arched window that had been carelessly boarded over, allowing sunlight to slip past. The screen had been created by a master artisan. Cherubs held ribbons and trays of fruit along the top and down the sides of the screen that must have been more than twelve feet tall and almost as wide. Scenes from the Bible had been carved on the wood panels and painted such bright colors that even time had not faded them.

Walking to the closest bench, she discovered that it was as old as the rest of the woodwork. The tiles beneath her feet mixed with stones where memorial brasses were missing. Through the dust, she saw the shape of angels and animals as well as a man and a woman whose outline suggested they wore clothing with stiff neck ruffs of the same era as many of the portraits in the corridor.

“This is beautiful,” she whispered, not wanting to disturb the silence. “Sophia and Cat never mentioned there was a chapel in Meriweather Hall.”

“They may not have known. Few people come into this wing, and I had no idea the chapel was here until Lady Meriweather mentioned I might want to reopen it while the Sanctuary Bay church is being rebuilt.”

“What a lovely space! It must be as old as the house.”

“Perhaps older.”

“Really?” She faced him and saw he was smiling as broadly as she was. “How is that possible?”

“Most of this house, save for the great hall and this chapel and possibly some parts of the kitchens, was built after the Norman keep was torn down four or five hundred years ago. It would appear that the oldest sections were updated in the mid-seventeenth century, which explains why much of the decoration here is in the baroque style.” He gestured to the cherubs with ornate skies of pink-and-white clouds behind them. “The decoration is too embellished for my taste, but it has an impact when one enters the chapel. I suspect that may have been the intention of the Lord Meriweather of the time. He must have wanted the most magnificent chapel in North Yorkshire.”

She regarded him in astonishment. “Did you find that information in one of the histories in the book room?”

“No need. I have seen many ancient houses razed in and around London. Some country houses had chapels like this, stuck on one corner of the house so nothing was between the chapel and heaven.” He walked toward the pulpit, dust stealing the last of the shine from his boots. “It seems a crime to tear down such sacred places. They could be returned to their former glory with some structural support and soap and water.”

“But you built new houses, didn’t you?”

“At the beginning. Later, I opened an import company to obtain the marble and fine woods the wealthy want in their new homes. They care little about history. Instead, they want whatever is the rage.” He ran his hand along the pulpit, paying no attention to the spider webs clinging to his sleeve. “Some, after hearing I had inherited this house, asked me how long I thought it would take to pull it down and build something suitable in its place.” His mouth twisted. “Suitable! What could be more suitable for Sanctuary Bay than this house that has weathered time and storms and the vagaries of all who have passed through its doors?”

She stared at him, awed by his fervor. He seemed calm, seldom raising his voice and eager to please those around him. There were depths to him that she had not guessed existed. Depths that made him the best possible lord of the manor.

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