A Kiss To Remember | Herophine

Chapter Eight - The Sunday Service

Hero

I pray for you every night without fail....

When Hardin awoke the next morning, the ringing in his skull had returned with a vengeance. Groaning, he dragged the pillow over his head, muffling the sound to a bearable drone.

That was when it occurred to him that the ringing wasn’t coming from inside his head but from outside the window. Rescuing his trousers from the foot of the bed, he slipped them on, then stumbled to the window.

Shoving it open, he leaned out over the gabled roof, drawing a breath of cool, crisp air into his lungs. The night had left a veil of dew on the grass that shimmered beneath the caress of the morning sun. And still the bells rang on, echoing over the rolling hills and meadows in a chiming carillon, both wistful and lovely. It was the sort of song that might force a man to swallow past a curious catch in his throat, the sort of song that might call a man home.

If he had one.

Hardin gently, but firmly, drew the window shut, but not even latching it and drawing the curtains could completely mute those compelling strains.

When the door behind him creaked open, he swung around, thankful he had donned his trousers. “Doesn’t anyone in this fucking household ever knock?"

Although her arms were piled with garments, Josephine still managed to offer him a mocking curtsy and a cheery smile. “And a pleasant morning to you, too, sir."

His fiancee looked most fetching in a white muslin gown dotted with blue floral sprigs. A matching blue sash gathered the fabric beneath her high, round breasts. The scalloped hemline revealed trim ankles swathed in white stockings and a pair of silk pumps. She even wore a straw bonnet trimmed with a rosette of ribbons and secured beneath her chin by a jaunty bow. All she lacked was a lamb on a ribbon and she might have posed for a portrait of a shepherd maiden painted by one of the masters.

Hardin scowled. After last night, he had no intention of letting her make a lamb of him. Especially a sacrificial one.

She set the pile of garments on the dressing table stool. “I’ve brought you some church clothes. Maggie found these in the attic. They may be a bit out of fashion, but I doubt that anyone in Arden will notice.”

He folded his arms over his chest, deepening his suspicious glower. “Why would I have need of church clothes? We’re not to be married this morning, are we?”

She laughed. “I should say not.”

“Then why are we going to church?”

“Because it’s Sunday morning."

He continued to glare at her blankly.

“And we always attend church on Sunday morning.”

“We do?”

“Well, I do, anyway, and from what I gathered from your letters, you try never to miss a service." Her eyes shone with admiration. “You’re extremely devout."

Hardin scratched at his whisker-stubbled throat. “Well, I’ll be damned. Who would have thought the Almighty One and I were even on speaking terms?" He gave her a defiant look. “You might as well know that I have no intention of begging His pardon for kissing you last night. I’m not the least bit sorry.”

Although color rose to her cheeks, she met his gaze boldly. “Perhaps it’s not forgiveness we should pray for but restrain ."

“And perhaps you’re being overcautious. A kiss can be an innocent enough expression of affection, can it not?"