The Canon’s ready hand sought Quentillian’s arm.
Owen glanced at Lucilla half apologetically, but her gaze, impervious to subtleties, and mildly cheerful, met his very readily.
“Please stay on with us, if you should care to.”
“Thank you,” said Quentillian non-committally.
Later, at the Canon’s suggestion, he took them to visit the church.
“You will one day have the responsibility of finding a new shepherd for the flock here, I understand, Owen.”
“I shall hope for some advice from you, sir.”
“Aye, indeed? It’s a very good living, is it not? Though that is very far from being the first consideration—very far, indeed.”
“What’s it worth?” Adrian inquired.
“I believe it’s considered worth about £700 a year.”