“No! He did not touch me. I am still a maid.”
Marie Madeleine crossed herself. “Thank the Blessed Mother for that.” The nun exhaled a long breath. “The Bishop is a worriment to me. He is not the type of man I would want on the Seat of Saint Louis. But, God’s ways are sometimes difficult for us to understand. The voyage will be over in a few weeks, and once we are in New Orleans the Bishop will have many duties to keep him occupied and not thinking of you. So, it is only for a few weeks that we must keep you from the Bishop’s eye.”
“We?”
Marie Madeleine’s brows raised. “Ursuline nuns are servants of the Holy Mother of us all, and She would not want me to stand idly by while one of Her daughters is abused—not even by a Bishop.” She brushed away Lenobia’s thanks. “You will be expected at dinner now that you have been found out. That cannot be avoided without setting you up for more ridicule and disdain.”
“Ridicule and disdain are less offensive than the Bishop’s attention,” Lenobia said.
“No. They make you more vulnerable to him. You will dine with us. Just call no notice to yourself. Even he cannot do anything in front of the crowd of us. Other than that, even though I am quite sure you are weary of pretending illness and remaining in your quarters, you must stay out of sight.”
Lenobia cleared her throat, lifted her chin, and took the plunge. “Sister, for several weeks I have been leaving our quarters before dawn and returning before most of the ship awakens.”
The nun smiled. “Yes, child. I know.”
“Oh. I thought you were praying.”
“Lenobia, I believe you will discover many of my good sisters and I are able to think and pray at the same time. I do appreciate your honesty. Where is it you go?”
“Up here. Well, actually, over there.” Lenobia pointed to a shadowy part of the deck where the lifeboats were stored. “I watch the sunrise and walk around a little. And then I go down to the cargo hold.”
Marie Madeleine blinked in surprise. “The cargo hold? Whatever for?”
“Horses,” Lenobia said. I am telling the truth, she rationalized. Horses drew me there. “A matched pair of Percherons. I like horses very much, and I am good with them. May I continue visiting them?”
“Do you ever see the Bishop on your dawn outings?”
“No, this was the first morning, and that is only because I stayed out too long after dawn.”
The nun shrugged. “As long as you are careful, I see no reason to trap you in your quarters any more than I absolutely must. But do be careful, child.”
“I will, merci beaucoup, Sister.” Impulsively, Lenobia threw her arms around the nun and hugged her. After only a moment strong, motherly arms encircled her in return and the nun patted her shoulder.
“Do not worry, child,” Sister Marie Madeleine murmured consolingly. “There is a great shortage of good Catholic girls in New Orleans. We will find you a husband, do not fear.”
Trying not to think of Martin, Lenobia whispered, “I would rather you find me a way to earn my living.”
The nun was still chuckling as they made their way back to the women’s quarters.
* * *
In the Commodore’s private sitting room, directly below where Lenobia and Marie Madeleine had so recently been speaking, Bishop Charles de Beaumont stood by the open window silent as death, still as a statue. When the Commodore returned from the galley with two dusty bottles of port under his beefy arms, Charles put on a show of being interested in the year and vineyard. He pretended to enjoy the rich wine, when instead he drank deeply and without tasting it, needing to douse the flame of rage that burned so brightly within him while bits and pieces of the conversation he’d overheard boiled through his mind: What is it that is between the two of you? Did the Bishop take your maidenhead? Ridicule and disdain are less offensive than the Bishop’s attention. But do be careful, child …
The Commodore blustered on and on about tides and battle strategies and other such banal subjects and Charles’s anger, dampened by wine, simmered slowly and carefully, cooking fully in the juices of hatred and lust and fire—always fire.
* * *
The evening meal would have been a disaster had it not been for Sister Marie Madeleine. Simonette was the only girl who would speak to Lenobia, and she did so in awkward starts and stops—as if the fifteen-year-old kept forgetting she wasn’t supposed to like Lenobia anymore.
Lenobia concentrated on her food. She thought it was going to be like heaven to be able to eat a full meal, but the Bishop’s hot gaze made her feel so sick and scared that she ended up pushing most of the delicious sea bass and buttery potatoes around her plate.
Sister Marie Madeleine made everything work, though. She kept the Commodore engaged in a discussion about the ethics of war that included the Bishop and his ecclesiastical opinions. He couldn’t ignore the nun—not when she was showing such obvious interest in the Bishop’s opinion. And in much less time than Lenobia would have imagined, the Sister was asking to be excused.
“So soon, madame?” The Commodore blinked blearily at her, face florid from the port. “I was enjoying our conversation very much!”
“Do forgive me, good Commodore, but I wish to go while there is still some light left in the evening sky. The mademoiselles and I should very much like to take a few turns about the deck.”
The mademoiselles, obviously shocked by the nun’s proposal, stared at her in varying degrees of surprise and horror.