Hugo woke with a start. “Jayne?” he asked, blinking. “Ah, Jessima. Yes. Of course. Good morning, dear. Ask the servants for my breakfast. And some well-brewed tea.”
“Shall we pray and thank God for this beautiful morning?” Jessima asked, knowing already what his answer would be. It hadn’t changed in nine years.
“Later, deary, later,” he said in his deep, scratchy voice. He’d taken an arrow to the throat in the battle with false King Benjamin. Hugo had lived to tell the tale but his vocal cords had suffered.
He wasn’t particularly committed to prayer, but then, neither was she. They both found it a chore, but she felt she should ask anyway. She believed in God but was trying not to think about Him too much this morning. What must He be thinking of me for breaking my marriage vows?
Th
