I set out in plenty of time, unsure how long it would take to cycle to Benedict House, but certain that Sister Catherine wouldn’t appreciate me being late. It felt great to zip along winding country lanes, although the speed of some passing cars meant that I almost ended up in a hedgerow more than once. It was hard not to dwell on last night. Thinking about Harry brought a lump to my throat that simply wouldn’t budge. How could I have used him like that, and where would we go from here? We’d done nothing but kiss, which had been sweet and safe, but it hadn’t exactly set my pulse racing. I’d slept more soundly than usual, although Harry had teased me about talking in my sleep and kicking him in the night. Waking enfolded in his arms had been nice, but now he thought that we were in a relationship. Meanwhile, my only distraction today was the prospect of being ordered about by an ancient nun who probably thought a woman’s place was in the kitchen. But I had to find Patrick. I had to concentrate on this and nothing else.
