The next morning she was awoken before the sun rose. She began to get dressed, wondering if she could ever get used to this black curtain she was expected to wear for a dress. The little white veil on her head felt odd too. She may not have been too keen on the fancy, elaborate, impractical clothes that other girls wore. She was much more used to the lightness and ease of movement of her school clothes. But that did not mean she eschewed style entirely. She loved bright colours, soft ribbon and lace, and sparkling jewels. She loved feeling girly. But what was the point of looking and feeling girly when she was going to spend her life as a sexless, pious woman?

The day began with prayer before breakfast. The thought struck her that she had rarely prayed since leaving school. Along with having her heart broken by Duke Perry, her very spirit had been scarred. She had lost her faith in love, marriage, humanity, and God. Nothing had been right in her world since then. She had nothing to ask for because she hoped for nothing. She had nothing to be thankful for because she loved nothing.

But now, kneeling in front of the pulpit, hearing Mother ask them to be thankful, to be grateful, to ask for better in the world, she realised how much she had to be thankful for, even back home, even now. She was young, and healthy, and wise, and safe. She had food and clothes and people who protected her. And the world had so little in comparison...

Eating her meal, it tasted a little plain, but was ultimately warmly satisfying. It was not what she was used to. It was not rich with fats, sugars, and spices. But the texture of the porridge was just right, and the little spoonful of jam in the middle added just enough flavour without masking the smooth earthiness of the oats. There was not as much of it as she would have expected at home either, but she found it pleasant to have no food left on her plate at the end of the meal, still feeling full despite the lack of excess.

Chores were a new thing for her. She felt utterly inept as she seized the knife and carefully began peeling potatoes. Most people did this every day of their lives, from early childhood until their fingers were seizing with rheumatism. And yet she, even with her beautiful penmanship and sewing skills, could not hold the knife properly. She had been groomed her whole life to be a good wife, not to be a good nun.

As her hand slipped and she cut her little finger almost to the bone, she let out a surprised and pained yelp. She wasn't even sure if it was enough to call to anyone's attention until Sister Elisabeth came to check on her and guided her to a small room where they kept some simple bandages and ointments.

“You daft girl,” Sister Elisabeth said warmly as she dabbed at Lucy's cut. “Always take care of yourself. This is the only body you are given. Respect it.” A head peered in as Sister Elisabeth reached for the bandages. “Hello Sister Veronica,” Sister Elisabeth said, “do you have anything to say?”

“Yes. Lucy, you have a visitor,” Sister Veronica said. “Shall I show her to the reception?”

Sister Elisabeth shook her head. “I shall show her there when she is bandaged. Please, return to your duties.”

Lucy felt her heart leap in excitement and joy. It had to be someone from back home. It was just what she needed. Someone to see her and tell her about home and ask how she was. It had only been a week since she left, though, so they must have been hot on her tail. Nevertheless, it would be nice to see a familiar face. And reassuring. She was thought of. She was loved. She was wanted.

But then a little fear rose its head... Perhaps it was not good news? For someone to follow so closely after her, without first sending a letter, it must be an urgent matter. She braced herself for it to go either way.

As soon as the bandage was attached firmly, Lucy followed Sister Elisabeth in the direction of the main door. She tried to retain the calm and steady step of a Sister, but she could feel a spring in her heel. It would be nice to see someone from home, and hopefully the news would be good.

Sister Elisabeth opened the door to the reception and held it open for Lucy. It seemed that she was not going to escort her in. Was this guest going to be a woman, then? Lucy nodded towards the door. Sister Elisabeth shook her head and smiled. Whatever the case, she was expected to meet her guest on her own.

Walking into the reception, a room not wholly unlike a library, Lucy felt comfortable. The walls were an endless row of bookshelves, laden with worn, often-read tomes and wads of paper, without a single ornament. Two heavy sofas rested in the middle, and several chairs in the corners. Sitting with his back to her on one sofa was a man. This took Lucy a little by surprise.

Nevertheless, if she was to become a nun perhaps the usual conventions of separating the sexes did not apply. After all, what would a nun want with a man. She walked around the sofa to face her guest. Lord Andrew Jones jumped slightly.

“You were very quiet entering,” he said with a meek smile. “How do you do?”

All Lucy wanted to do was turn around and walk back out the room. His green eyes were piercing, invasive... sensual. He looked so dashing in his fitted suit and excessively bright red shirt. His face flushed so beautifully. He was temptation come to ruin her.

“I am sorry, I cannot speak to you,” she replied, turning around.

A hand seized her wrist gently. “Please, just allow me to talk with you a while.”

Lucy pulled her wrist free and walked to the window. “There is nothing to talk about,” she replied coldly.”

“Oh, but there is.” His voice sent shivers down her spine, it was so deep and rich, flowing through her mind like honey.

This was not who she had wanted to see. Especially not like this. Not so soon. Not alone. She should just walk out the door. But she was not strong enough against his temptation. She wanted to hear what he had to say. To spend more time in his company. To let him push her limits. To give him a chance... She should not. And yet she still stood there, looking out the window.

His footsteps on the carpet sounded like the gentle pad of a predator stalking its prey. He moved in close behind her. She shivered and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. His breath was warm through the veil, barely reaching her skin. She felt her heart speed up.

“Lucy... I... I heard you were here, and I can only hope that there is time for you to reconsider,” Lord Jones said.

“There is not,” she replied as coldly as she could, trying to mask the excitement she felt at his proximity.

“You have already converted?” Lord Jones asked, a slight surprise on his voice.

She could have lied to him. But she wanted to put lying behind herself. “No, but I am here now, where I belong.”

Lord Jones chuckled, sounding somewhere between relieved and amused. “It is not where you belong. And you know this as well as I do.”

“But this is for the best. For me, for my parents, for yourself...” Lucy insisted.

“How is it for the best? You have almost certainly already seen what the life of a nun entails. Do you think you could live like this, every day of your life, forever?” he asked.

“I can and I shall,” she replied.

Lord Jones sighed. “It will break you, you know?”

“As though you have not already broken me with your stupid words and sinful acts,” Lucy replied, turning around to face him.

He shook his head. “You seemed most keen to indulge when it suited you.”

“When I thought you loved me,” she replied.

“I do love you,” he said bluntly.

“You love Clara Neal, I saw it, she said as much... It is wrong, but it is no concern of mine what wrong you do with others, in your own time, in your own home,” she replied with a heavy sigh. “But I shall be no part of it.”

“And because Clara Neal said so, you shall trust her?” Lord Jones asked.

Lucy shook her head. “No, because I saw it.”

“You saw her forcing me to kiss her because she regretted ever leaving me. You saw her proposing that I be her lover, so that she can continue to have the marriage of her dreams and the man she loved, in some sort of adulterous contract,” Lord Jones replied.

Lucy felt her heart leap with anticipation. And yet... she could not trust him. “It is only your word against Clara's,” she said coldly.

“She has been saying a lot of things to a lot of people. Surely you would not trust a woman who lied to everyone else?” Lord Jones asked. “After all she said about you... would you trust what she said about me?”

“I suppose I should not. But why should I trust you?” she asked.

“Because I have been nothing but honest with you,” he replied.

“Except when Clara was at your home,” she said, staring into his eyes.

He did not look away. “Because she was being ridiculous and I did not wish for either of you to be hurt.”

“I am not sure what to believe anymore, but if you do not wish to marry, I can never see you again,” Lucy insisted.

“Is that so?” Lord Jones said after a short pause. “The lack of marriage did not bother you before.”

“I was thinking like a child before,” she replied. “Now I am trying to think, and act, as a woman. And to do right in the eyes of God. I will not fall for the temptations which Clara gave in to.”

“You sound convinced,” he said.

“I am,” she replied.

Looking into his beautiful eyes, Lucy felt her heart breaking. But it was what needed to be done. She could not continue to sin. And he would not make things right. There was no compromise to be found. Even if they continued to see one another on the same terms, she knew eventually she would be tempted to go beyond a kiss. And she doubted he would care for her once her body was off the table. It was better for everyone.

“I just find it so hard to believe, that someone so sweet and lovely... such as yourself, would make the choice to live a life without passion,” he said.

She shook her head. “There is plenty of passion in faith,” she replied.

“That is not the sort of passion to which I referred,” he whispered, his deep voice driving another shiver down her spine.

Andrew stepped in closer, lifting a hand to pull the soft white head covering from her dark, short hair. Lucy tried to lift a hand to stop him, but found she could not. The hairs of her entire scalp stood on end as the veil dragged over them, leaving her head bare again.

“Much better,” he remarked. “Your hair is lovely, you should not hide it.”

She stayed still as his ran his fingers through her hair. It was wrong. But it felt right. More than right. It felt perfect. He leaned in and inhaled the scent of her hair with an appreciative hum. He lifted her hand to his and held it. He looked down into her eyes and she looked up into his. She wanted him. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything or anyone.

His lips met hers. Her heart was melting. She pulled back, tears welling up in her eyes. “No... stop...” she whispered.

He stood upright and looked down at her mournfully. “Are you certain?” he asked. “Are you sure this is what you want? That you will not return, you shall not be by my side?”

“If you cannot marry me, I cannot be yours,” Lucy replied, her heart weighing down in her chest like a cart of bricks. Her tears began to escape, rolling down her cheeks.

He nodded. She could see tears in his eyes also. But it was what was needed. He would never marry anyone. His lack of commitment to Clara Neal meant nothing to her. She slipped her head covering back on, adjusting it gently, and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.

“I think you ought to leave,” she said, “before I start having second thoughts and ruin my life for a man who will not have me in marriage.”

“I suppose that this is farewell,” he said solemnly.

She nodded. “It has to be. I cannot trust you, much less myself around you. We must never see one another again, if we are to lead godly lives.”

“I had been thinking of returning to India,” Lord Jones said with a far off note to his voice. “To continue the mission there, where it would be my job to save, not corrupt, young women.”

“That is a very noble idea,” she said, her heart aching sorely at the thought of all that ocean between them.

“It is for the best,” he said, echoing her. “But... if we shall never meet again... perhaps you can afford me one last kiss?”

Lucy nodded. “Very well, if you must insist.” She knew it was wrong. She knew she ought to know better. But she did not care. She was not a nun yet. If she could not have him, she would at least have one more kiss to remember him by.

His hands clasped her waist firmly and drew her in close. Her fingers entwined in his hair. Their lips locked, sensually, lovingly, so tight she could feel his pulse through the kiss. For that brief moment, they were one.