A Most Unconventional Courtship

Alessa, feeling as though she had been inactive for a week, not a day, was delighted by the idea. ‘It is a very beautiful walk,’ she observed, ‘although quite steep if you intend to go right to the top.’

‘We could take a mule or two,’ Chance suggested. ‘Then, if any of the ladies becomes fatigued, they can ride, and we can carry some refreshments with us.’

‘We need not take much, the monks will offer food and drink, and the garden is a very lovely place to eat.’

‘They will allow women in?’ Lady Blackstone appeared surprised.

‘Oh, yes, although we must all take a scarf to cover our heads and make sure that we have long sleeves and modest necklines. And in the church, women must not go through the iconostasis—the screen behind the altar,’ she warned.

‘One forgets that you have lived here for so long and know all these things,’ Helena commented brightly. ‘Are you Greek Orthodox?’

‘Helena!’ her mother reproved sharply. As if she had asked me something quite scandalous, Alessa thought. Conforming to the Church of England was obviously going to be important, although both the children were Orthodox, and she was most certainly not going to change that, whatever her new family thought. Surely there must be a Greek Orthodox church in London?

‘I am an Anglican,’ she said, much to the obvious relief of the older women. Presumably an even greater worry was that she had been brought up by her mother as a Roman Catholic. ‘To have attended anything other than the Orthodox church would have marked us out for attention during the French occu

pation.’

That appeared to be an acceptable excuse. The Count, who was sitting next to Alessa enquired, low-voiced, so as not to attract attention, ‘So, you are not truly a devotee of the Saint?’

‘Saint Spyridhon? But of course I am.’ Alessa smiled at him. ‘All Corfiots are, and I consider myself one, just as much as I am English. I expect you have an occasional word with him yourself, Count, when the gales are blowing and the seas are high. But you sound as though you have seen me in church.’

‘The day I met my good friend Benedict, you were there in Ayios Spyridhon, in the shadows.’

‘What sharp eyes you have, Count.’

‘For beauty, always.’

That made her blush and he laughed, drawing a sharp glance, not from her aunt, but from Chance, sandwiched neatly between Helena and Maria. And worryingly she was aware of the Count’s gaze following hers. She heard a low chuckle from the Albanian and saw Chance’s eyes narrow. Now Zagrede knew Chance was watching her and Chance knew the Count…Oh, bother all men!

Alessa changed back into her Greek clothes for the walk, not relishing the thought of climbing to the top of the rock in stays and someone else’s borrowed gown. Now, if she wanted to scramble off the track in pursuit of plants, she could do so with a clear conscience.

Lady Blackstone raised an eyebrow at the sight of not just the wide black skirts, but also an empty basket lined with white cloths, but Lady Trevick was enthusiastic. ‘Such a useful skill for a lady, to be able to manage her own stillroom,’ she pronounced. The other woman did not comment and Alessa was left with the impression that her aunt felt slightly outranked by her hostess and would take care to conform to her opinions.

The Count fell in beside her as they started to cross the causeway, and gallantly relieved her of the basket. ‘I have heard of you and your skills, Kyria Alessa,’ he confided. His use of her Greek name made her feel more comfortable with him. ‘You cured one of my men of his bad shoulder last year with a mixture of manipulation and ointments.’

‘Oh, yes, I am glad my treatment worked.’ She glanced back to where her aunt was strolling beside Lady Trevick. ‘I would be grateful if you did not mention that I do more than make medicines and salves. I do not think my aunt would approve of my touching patients.’

‘You laying hands on Albanian seamen will be our secret.’ The Count chuckled, and she wondered dubiously if she was leaving herself open to some sort of blackmail. But then Chance knew too, and so did Mr Harrison, so it was hardly a deep dark secret. It was only the Count who might say something out of pure mischief.

‘Tell me about your ship,’ she asked, turning the conversation away from herself. ‘What cargo do you bring, or are you taking it on?

‘Both. I have brought furs and skins and I am taking oil. We produce very fine furs. Do you enjoy hunting, Kyria Alessa? My country is famed for it, both in the mountains and the lakes.’

‘I have never tried. I do not think I would care to kill something, except for food.’

‘A pity; you have sharp eyes and a steady nerve, you would be a good shot.’

‘Oh, I can shoot.’ Alessa laughed. ‘My father taught me, only he showed me how to shoot men, not animals.’

‘How bloodthirsty! The French, I hope.’

‘Of course. Not that I ever had to do so, but Papa felt I should know how to defend myself.’

For some reason she glanced back. In the lead, they had just reached the point where the track bent back and began to climb the monastery rock, and they had a good view of the others behind and slightly below them. Chance had stopped and was shielding his eyes to stare up at them, his face hard to read at the distance.

‘My good friend Benedict is wondering what I am saying to make you laugh,’ the Count observed with a chuckle. ‘It is very tempting to see if I can make him really jealous.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’ Alessa had a sinking feeling she knew—Zagrede’s sharp eyes seemed to miss nothing. ‘I hardly know him.’