Minutes passed before the carriage slowed to a gentle stop. I reluctantly pulled my gaze from the window and turned to my advisor and the elderly servant.
My advisor smiled warmly.
"Please, my lord. We have arrived at the cathedral."
I shifted my eyes toward the door. I reached out to open it myself, but the moment my hand neared the handle, the door swung open from outside.
I drew my hand back quickly. My advisor spoke in a strange tone.
"My lord… is something wrong? You have never behaved this way before."
I met his eyes. I couldn't tell if he was angry or merely concerned.
What could I possibly say to him?
That I didn't know?
What answer did I even have?
So I forced a smile and stepped calmly out of the carriage.
Once outside, I glanced back inside. My advisor finally rose and followed.
The elderly servant came after him.
This was the last thing I expected—that all three of us would enter St. Paul's Cathedral together.
Seeing that neither moved, it became clear I was meant to lead.
And these two were the closest people to me.
The closest to me?
As if I truly were Elias Montagu.
For a fleeting moment, something felt deeply wrong.
I drew a deep breath and began walking slowly up the grand steps.
Once inside, my advisor smiled again.
"As you can see, the celebration appears to have ended."
But my eyes were fixed in stunned silence on the massive statue before me, elevated upon a pedestal.
A great stone figure draped in a flowing cloak and long, loose, romantic robes, with two enormous stone wings spreading behind it.
I stood frozen in astonishment until the servant spoke.
"My lord, if you do not wish to pray, we may return to the manor."
I glanced around. The vast space was so empty and quiet it felt almost oppressive.
With a helpless smile, I replied,
"Yes… I have no desire to pray at the moment. We can leave."
The three of us turned to exit.
But then I saw someone approaching—a figure in ecclesiastical robes of gold and white, followed by several others in similar attire.
There was no avoiding him; he was coming from the very door we had entered, our only way out.
Perhaps from instinct, pride, a need to assert myself—or for no reason at all—I clasped my hands behind my back and walked toward the bishop with slow, deliberate steps.
When we met in the center of the nave, the bishop halted. He inclined his head ever so slightly and said softly,
"Your Grace…"
Now I stood directly before him.
What was I supposed to do?
Did I need to speak, or would silence be rude?
Should I say something?
Would passing without a word be an insult?
I truly didn't know. For a few brief seconds, I simply looked at him, then continued forward at the same unhurried pace.
The elderly servant lingered a moment behind. My advisor stared at me with wide eyes.
All of this meant I had made a terrible mistake.
I really should have spoken.
But I was a duke!
The highest rank among the hereditary peers!
Had I done the right thing… or the wrong one?
Would this humiliate me later?
I had no answers, so I resolved to ignore the looming consequences and these foolish thoughts. I kept walking.
I descended the steps calmly and stopped in front of the carriage door.
I turned to glance back at the cathedral entrance.
The elderly servant was only now coming down the steps, his expression clearly surprised.
When he reached me, he opened the carriage door quietly and said,
"Please, my lord. Step inside."
I studied his face. It appeared normal, yet even I—who was uncertain of my own actions—could see he was far more astonished than he let on.
My advisor glanced at the open door and asked,
"My lord… will you not enter?"
I looked at him, then at the door, and briefly at the surrounding buildings before climbing in and taking my usual seat on the left.
My advisor followed, then the servant, who closed the door behind him.
Once we were settled, the carriage began to move.
As before, I leaned my head against the window glass and sank into thought.
Had I truly needed to say something to the bishop?
Should I have bowed my head slightly, as he had?
Would my silence be taken as an insult?
These questions gnawed at my mind. There was no escape from them.
A dull headache began creeping back in.
The cobblestone streets were wet—perhaps from recent rain—but my thoughts refused to release the encounter with the bishop.
Had I acted correctly… or terribly wrong?
───────────────────────────
The bishop wore a gentle, almost serene smile upon his lips.
The dean and canons behind him looked astonished—or even frightened.
The bishop spoke softly.
"His Grace the Duke was seeking tension. I do hope he remembers this moment."
The dean and canons turned to him in confusion, but the bishop's mild smile never wavered.