“Kneeling on dry peas. Standing with my hands outstretched and a book in each palm for an hour. Silence, for days, which is a punishment when you are the sort of girl whose thoughts run until someone interrupts them.”
Stephen stared at the far wall.
“And men after him looked like… him.”
“They looked like a rule,” she said, and barely smiled at herself. “I am trying to learn how to ignore rules that do not belong to me.”
He said nothing for a moment.
“I am going to find you a man who hates that sort of rule.”
“If he hates rules entirely, he will be difficult to live with,” she returned, because if she did not make a small jest, she might weep; and weeping would feel like giving the steward one more hour than he deserved.
She felt a strange weight having been lifted off her chest as she spoke now. It was no secret to the girls in the nunnery that this was the treatment she had received, but to those outside of it, she could never bring herself to talk about it.
Perhaps it was because they had asked her too many questions, while Stephen had been curious without probing too much. It was an art, truly. And he seemed to have mastered it.
As he had many things.
“A man who hates cruelty’s rules,” Stephen amended. “If he raises his voice, it will be because the fire has taken the roof, not because a hem has frayed.” He turned his head the smallest degree.
“Do you understand? I do not say I will find a saint. I do not trust saints. I will find you a man who issafe.”
She looked at him. His face, usually arranged to pay for his arrogance, had a different sort of expression on it altogether. He did not look like a duke just then. He looked like a brother who had decided he would burn down a house if it meant a sister could sleep.
Or perhaps something else, but she did not wish to give a name to that thought yet. But there was concern, and it was earnest. That was more than enough, and certainly more than what he owed to her.
“Thank you,” she said, and the phrase felt paltry. “I do not deserve…”
“Stop there,” he said, so quietly she obeyed before she could decide whether to argue. “You deserve everything you can bear. When you cannot bear it, I will carry it or I will take it away.” His mouth twisted. “For a week.”
“For a week,” she echoed. “And then I will be…placed.”
“And then you will be placed,” he said. “Well, if I have my way.”
She let the silence be companionable. She found herself smiling without anyone having earned it.
“We have wasted five minutes on confessions. Should I be punished by more steps?”
“You should be rewarded,” he said, rising and offering his hand again. “But you’ll have to settle for steps.”
She took his hand and stood. “Command me, Your Grace.”
“I intend to,” he said, perfectly even. He arranged them.
“We will do three things. First, you will begin without apology.”
“I never apologize.”
“You apologize,” he said. “Second, you will stophelpingme lead.”
“I... help?”
“You think of what I might do and try to do it first.” He arched a brow. “Annoying.”
“That is… fair.”
“Third,” he said, “if I say ‘close,’ you will come nearer. Not scandalously. Just enough to know that if the world collapses, you will not.”