Chapter Twenty-Five
AMSTERDAM 1624
When Fabiana insisted on saying grace before the meal, Clara rolled her eyes. Would she never stop? Nico frowned at her. His, of course, his were the only others not piously closed whilst her aunt droned on, loudly, and the food cooled.
She had accepted all her gifts to celebrate the feast of St Nicholas but had given none in return as she did not approve of such Papist practices. Should she not, then, refuse hers?
When she paused, tilting her head up to the ceiling, Nico was ready. ‘Amen.’
Clara grinned at him. ‘Thank you.’ Her words were echoed quietly by most others seated around the table.
‘I’d not yet finished,’ Fabiana said. ‘I was seeking further inspiration.’
Nico, sitting beside her, patted her hand. ‘Forgive me, Pet. I thought you had.’
