She sank into the closest pew and hung her head. Her shoulders shook as the tension she’d carried there drained from her body.

“Please,” she muttered again, then glanced up. “Don’t make me choose. I’m not strong enough to do this again.”

Someone cleared their throat behind her, and she jumped up, wheeling around frantically to find her father standing in the doorway.

“Sorry to startle you,” he said, his tone soft and sad. “I’ll admit, I didn’t know how to announce my presence amid such piety. Anglicans aren’t generally prone to such passionate displays of faith.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to make light,” he said gently. “I envy your faith right now. It’ll serve you well if you hold onto it as you step into your future roles.”

She sank back into the pew. “I think what you meant to say was these little outbursts make me less fitted to my future roles.”

“No. I may not be the most passionate or powerful speaker, but I’m a man who chooses his words carefully.” He nodded to the pew. “May I join you?”

She shrugged and slid over to make space for him.

“I gather you’ve had a complex morning.”

“That’s a delicate way to describe my current state.”

“What would be a more apt description?”

“I don’t know.” A million incomplete thoughts flooded her brain. “I don’t know so many things, but especially how to spin my personal life into something palatable to the masses, which serves as yet another reminder of how ill-suited I am to the mantle on my shoulders.”

He frowned, then smiled. “Good.”

“Good?”

“The role you’re facing is a great paradox,” he said in the same patrician tone he’d used to try to explain advanced concepts like fishing treaties or deeded land rights when she’d been a little too young to fully understand them. “Those who feel entitled to assume the position and the responsibilities therein are generally the ones who least deserve it, whereas those who have most protested their worth tend to wear the responsibility best.”

She met his eyes, only a shade or two paler than her own. “Not you. You’ve been both worthy and have worn it well.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, a weariness seeping into his voice. “It reflects well on a man to have his children see him in an idealistic light, but I fear for your sake I must draw back the veil a bit, because I most certainly did not wear my title well for the first few years of my inheritance.”

She started to protest, but the sadness in his smile drew her up short.

“Your grandfather was a stern man with strong opinions.”

She chuckled. “I remember.”