Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter. Cathy’s First Letter.

2 August 1024, Bois-de-Bas

Amelia, my dearest sister-to-be,

Such news! Of course you must stay in Provençe: one in your condition ought not be traveling across the deeps of the Abyss between the Old Lands and Armorica. You must stay tucked away in your school in Toulouse, studying wizardry and ancient languages and the history of the world.

Alas, you shall not witness the fruits of your glorious meddling! I am deeply disappointed, to be sure, for I had so looked forward to seeing you and Maximilian. But I am amply supported here in Bois-de-Bas; Amelie will attend me, my brother will be made to give me away whether he likes it or not, and your mischievous brother will take my hand. More happiness that that I could not well ask for.

I am glad to hear that your mother and father will be coming, though I worry that I shall be a disappointment to them. They are of the gentry, with their townhouse in Yorke and country house in Wickshire, as I no longer am by Cumbrian standards. I am a poor woman who works for her living, and soon I will soon be no more than an innkeeper’s wife. Amelie assures me that I am perfectly well-to-do by the standards of Bois-de-Bas (if not those of Mont-Havre), but I cannot help feeling the eyes of Nexing Cross looking on me with disdain.

His Napes tells me that my worries are foolish, that your mother will be delighted with any respectable woman who manages to bring him to the altar, and that your father will be delighted with any marriage that delights your mother.

But am I respectable, Amelia? Truly? I don’t feel respectable. Deliriously, gloriously happy; well-suited to my new station in life; much loved. But respectable?

Perhaps I simply no longer care.

And when I consider that they have such an unusual daughter as you—bluestocking, wizard, diplomat’s wife, convert to the Old Religion, pusher of unfaithful suitors into duck ponds—perhaps they will have no difficulty accepting such a one as I. Once again I see that you have made straight my way before me. It is an unusual talent you have, Amelia, and I should wish you to go on practicing it diligently.

As to the Old Religion, His Napes and I have now both crossed that river in the most unequivocal terms. We have been receiving instruction from him for many weeks, for Père Chambord told us that he could not read the banns unless we did so. It is an odd thing to do for one raised in Cumbria, but I have taken to it willingly; Sunday worship here has been such a comfort to me, as it never was in Nexing Cross. When I returned from Yorke as Mrs. Sloane-Price I felt outcast, unwelcome, and the vicar never had any manner of kind word for me. Père Chambord has been all that is amiable, all that is helpful.

And so on Monday we went to Mont-Havre—His Napes, Amelia, Armand, Père Chambord, and I—and were received into the Old Religion by Bishop Sertillanges with all the rites and prayers he thought proper.

The Cathedral of St. Denys is nothing like the cathedral in Nexinghamshire, not nearly so grand, for it was built in the early days of the colony and is less than thirty years old. But one can see that it was built with love, just as our church in Bois-de-Bas was, and I find the same warmth within, the same feeling of welcome. (I dare write these words only because you have written to me of your hours in the chapel and I know you will understand.)

His Napes has been surprisingly complacent about the whole matter. 

“Never thought much about religion, my darlin’,” he said. “It has always seemed rather above my head. But it has come to matter to my sister, and now to you, and if it matters to you it matters to me. Perhaps this time I’ll get the hang of it.”

It is one more cutting of ties with my old life. But my old life is lost to me, and I should not wish to return to it anyway now that I have found His Napes. In for a penny, in for a pound, I say! 

I have made my choice—or, rather, I have confirmed the choice I made a year ago, when I left Cumbria. I will live here and worship here, in Armorica, in Bois-de-Bas, with His Napes and my new family, and I shall be well pleased.

Just one more month!

Cathy

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