Child of the King: Book Three in the Woman of Sin Trilogy

By Debra B. Diaz

The daughter of Paulus and Alysia is grown now, and ready for a life of her own. But Rachel is unable to rise above her past, and something that happened in Rome ten years ago. Metellus, former tribune in the Praetorian Guard, has been commissioned by the emperor, Claudius, to bring Rachel from Jerusalem to Rome. It's a journey that will affect both their lives...in ways they could never have imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Debra B. Diaz
• Release date: May 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463397275

Debra B. Diaz

Debra B. Diaz is the author of the "Woman of Sin" Trilogy, and she has written several novels in the historical and romantic suspense genres. She is retired and enjoys spending time with her family, doing research on Biblical topics, and writing books. Her goal as a writer is to not only entertain, but to challenge and inspire!

Book preview

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CHAPTER I

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Rachel hurried along the narrow road toward Bethany, conscious of the servant, Josiah, following close behind. Her guardian never allowed her to visit Jerusalem alone—someone always accompanied her whether it was himself, one of his friends, or a trusted servant. It was ridiculous, she thought indignantly; he knew very well that she was capable of taking care of herself!

She loved Jerusalem, in all its fine architecture and twisting streets, its startling combination of Jewish heritage and Roman influences, its sharp contrasts between rich and poor. But the main fascination, for her, were the places where Jesus of Nazareth had walked and been seen…the Temple, the marketplaces, and above all, the Antonia Fortress.

There the Nazarene had stood trial and been condemned. Her father, Paulus Valerius, had been a witness not only to the trial but to the man’s crucifixion.

Rachel didn’t know why she was drawn to these places. She refused to think of her father, or her mother. She never allowed her thoughts to turn back to those last, nightmarish days in Rome. And though she still loved God, she had not spoken to him in ten years.

The early summer sun caught glints of gold in her hair just as she raised the light mantle to cover it. She disliked covering her head; she felt constricted and, on days like this, uncomfortably warm. But she was passing through the village gate and would soon be at Lazarus’ house, and he expected her to dress in the manner of the Jews. She had a guilty notion it would disturb him to know that she roamed bareheaded through the streets of Jerusalem but it was only a small act of rebellion. It was so boring in little Bethany! But soon it would be time for her yearly visit to Simon and Daphne’s farm in Bethlehem…

Rachel rushed through the courtyard, grateful for its shade and coolness. She went into the house, as the servant behind her turned the opposite way to resume his tasks. Before she could reach her bedroom Lazarus’ wife appeared in the corridor.

Why, Rachel! Where have you been?

Just—walking.

Lazarus thought you should be home an hour ago, dear. He’s waiting to speak with you.

Another lecture about spending too much time away from home, no doubt. Lazarus was a dear man but very protective.

Yes, Judith. I will go to him.

Long ago there had been another Judith that she had no memory of, but her mother had spoken of her often. She had been a servant in Lazarus’ household and had gone to live for a while with Rachel’s mother, Alysia, when she was left alone with a baby daughter to raise. That Judith had died years ago. This woman seemed just as kind, though, and just as devoted to her. Her plain features glowed with an inner beauty as she reached out to touch Rachel’s face.

You must listen to him, Rachel, with your heart and not just your ears.

An alarm sounded in Rachel’s mind. A sense of foreboding filled her. This was going to be more than a lecture.

She went into her bedroom and straightened her plum-colored gown, covered by a mantle of a lighter hue, and smoothed her hair before drawing the mantle back over it. Then she stiffened her shoulders and walked toward Lazarus’ study.

It was a large house, built in the Jewish fashion around an inner courtyard. Her guardian was the owner of orchards and vineyards all around the town. A stone stairway ran up one side of the house to the flat rooftop, which was like another house in itself. It was her refuge, whenever an escape to Jerusalem was not possible.

Rachel knocked lightly on the door and went inside the room. It smelled of cedar and parchment; the desk and bookcases were full of scrolls. The man sitting behind the small desk was gray haired with a short, gray beard and dark eyes as warm and kind as his wife’s. But they were now very sober.

You spent all morning in Jerusalem, he said, though not accusingly.

Yes, sir.

Rachel. He stood up, tall and thin with shoulders slightly stooped. I know that since you completed your studies that you have been somewhat…restless. I confess I don’t understand these frequent visits to Jerusalem but I have allowed them. You’ve always loved to go there, ever since you came to us.

Rachel’s thoughts began to turn back to those days…and as always she cut them off. She gazed calmly back at him.

I know that you have loved us, Rachel, but you have not been happy here. You seem better when you’re with Simon and Daphne, but even then—well, we have discussed it many times. They say that you have never been the same, since it happened.

She lowered her head. Of course she wasn’t the same! Who would be? First her mother had been murdered by Caligula, and then her father had given his life so that she, Rachel, could save her own. She hadn’t wanted to be saved; she had wanted to stay with her father and die with him…but her father’s friends, Simon and Daphne, had taken her with them and escaped from Rome.

Lazarus sighed. I promised your mother and father years ago that I would take care of you, Rachel, if anything happened to them. You know this. Judith and I have loved you as if you were our own. And to my sister, you were the daughter she never had.

Rachel’s brow furrowed. She wouldn’t think of Martha, either.

But the time has come, my dear, that your life must change yet again.

What do you mean? she asked, her head lifting swiftly.

I—am getting old. He smiled at her and walked around his desk. And you, Rachel, are far past a marriageable age. Next month you will be eighteen years old.

Rachel drew a deep breath. Sir, we have spoken of this before and I’ve told you my feelings.

I respect your feelings, Rachel, but I must do what is best for you.

She stared at him, desperation rising in her chest, clotting in her throat . . .

I admit I’ve never understood your objections. But it is time for you to marry.

My mother— Rachel moistened her dry lips. It was so hard to speak of her. My mother promised me that my opinion would be considered.

I would not arrange a betrothal with any man I thought you could not be happy with, Rachel. This is a friend of mine who has seen you in Jerusalem and knows who you are. He has asked to marry you.

How can this be? How can he know me if I do not know him? I have met no man in Jerusalem!

His name is Benjamin. He’s a physician, like your grandfather was—and like him, Benjamin is successful and sought after. And he is a believer.

After a moment of stunned silence, Rachel blurted, I don’t care! It doesn’t matter. Sir, I am very grateful for what you and Judith have done for me. I love you both, and little Samuel, with all my heart! But—if you don’t wish me to live here any longer, I can go and live with Simon and Daphne.

Of course we want you to stay here. But as I told you, I am growing old—and Simon, too, is no longer a young man. We have discussed this together. We must know that you are properly cared for when we are gone.

I can take care of myself!

No. Lazarus shook his head. I’m doing what your father would have wished.

My father, Rachel said, closing her eyes for a moment, would have wanted me to be happy.

You will be happy with Benjamin. He has studied the—the nature of man, and says he understands why you feel the way you do. Why you will not speak of your parents, or go to our assemblies, or pray.

Rachel felt a flare of anger. He could never understand me! How dare he say such a thing!

He’s very wise, Rachel. This is best. He’s coming to dine with us tonight and we will discuss the betrothal.

Does he know that I’m not Jewish? That I’m half Greek and half Roman?

He knows everything about you. He wants very much to marry you.

No! she cried. I will not marry him. She turned and fled from the room, tears flooding her eyes. She paused in the corridor, then ran to a door leading to the courtyard and flew up the steps to the roof.

Panting, she stood for a moment and tried to calm herself. I’m acting like a child, she said aloud and went to stand beside the low wall surrounding the roof. For a moment she looked down at the smaller houses of the town, thinking…in spite of herself…that her mother had stood here, had seen the same sights and even the same people, perhaps while holding her baby in her arms.

She took a deep breath and sat down in the brightly cushioned swing, pushing slowly with her foot. Poor Lazarus! He had been so good to her. He and his wife had welcomed her with open arms; they had seen to her education, that she had the finest clothes, that she had everything she wanted! And they had prayed for her all these years because she was unable to pray for herself.

But there was a reason she could not marry. And she would never tell it to anyone.

What am I going to do?

Rachel leaned her head back, gently pushing the swing, and let her gaze lift to the afternoon sky. The sun hurt her eyes and she closed them. God was so far away…and once he had been as close as one’s dearest friend. She couldn’t bring herself to pray. She didn’t know what to say to God, not since he had let her mother and father die in such terrible ways, when they’d only been seeking to serve him, to do his will…

In fact, she hadn’t spoken at all for a long time. After fleeing Rome, Simon and Daphne had brought her here as her parents had wished. Rachel had been in Bethany for several months before a letter came from their friends in Rome, saying that Caligula…on the advice of his uncle, Claudius…had pardoned all three of them and ordered their pursuers back to Rome.

The eight-year-old Rachel had wept often, but alone. She couldn’t bear the pained, sympathetic looks people gave her, couldn’t bear to talk or even think about what had happened. It was Martha, Lazarus’ older sister, who had with patience and kindness and gentle insistence drawn her out of the cocoon she had built around herself. Gradually Rachel had become aware of the constant anxiety everyone felt about her, how it broke their hearts to see her as she was. And so, she made herself speak; she made herself take an interest in the things Martha taught her: cooking, sewing, grinding wheat, baking bread…

And then God had taken Martha away too. One morning the beloved, white-haired woman simply had not awakened.

She heard the sound of someone clambering up the steps and a young boy came running toward her, his short tunic revealing grubby knees where he’d been playing in the dirt. Breathing hard, he plopped down on the swing and squinted up at her.

What are you doing, Rachel?

She reached out to ruffle his thick, black hair. I’m plotting at how I’m going to beat you the next time we play ‘Five in a Row’!

You beat me all the time!

Lazarus’ and Judith’s son, Samuel, had just been born when Rachel arrived. She had taken little interest in him at first, but by the time he was a year old she was devoted to him. He was almost ten and equally devoted to her.

I do not—but I don’t believe in just letting you win! You have to earn it.

Come down and sail my boat with me. I got it balanced just right.

She smiled. I must soon go and change clothes for supper. Your father says we are having a guest.

Who is it?

Rachel’s smile faded. She turned and pretended to gaze out over the balustrade. Someone we don’t know.

Samuel was not fooled by her nonchalance. What’s wrong?

She shook her head and looked at him again. Nothing is wrong. You know I don’t like being around strangers.

Well, he won’t be a stranger if he comes to supper. Samuel stretched out his small, brown hand and touched her own. You’re better now, Rachel. Everyone says so. Except I wish you would come to our church meetings.

She had no answer, and heard the sound of a horse on the road below. She rose from the swing to stand at the low wall but the rider had already left the road to enter the stable grounds.

I’ll go and see who it is! Samuel offered, sliding off the swing.

No—no, Samuel. I must go. Tomorrow we can go to the stream and sail your boat. Maybe you could make one for me and we’ll have a race.

I will—I’ll start on it now! he cried and ran toward the steps. Rachel descended almost as quickly, intent on reaching her bedroom before anyone saw her. She could hear voices at the nearby stable. A feeling of impending doom gripped her as she entered the house and hurried down the corridor. She closed the door to her bedroom and tried to think.

There was nothing to do but tell the man—to his face—that she would not marry him. Lazarus wouldn’t tell him; she suspected he was planning to force her into marriage if she continued to refuse. She had to stop the thing before it started. It would never do to allow herself to become betrothed and then try to get out of it later.

She went to the highly polished mirror and pulled the mantle away from her head. Her dark blonde hair with its pale streaks was wildly tousled. She stood there, thinking, imagining the scene in her mind.

She would walk into the dining room and there would be Benjamin…a doddering old man, from Lazarus’ description. All the physicians she knew were old, and this one was even wise! He would smile toothlessly at her and she would take her seat, wondering how best to deliver her news. There would be some awkward conversation and then she would look up and say—

Rachel kept staring at her reflection. I’ll not cover my head, or comb my hair! I’ll chew with my mouth open and knock over my cup….

She was suddenly conscious that a great deal of time must have gone by. The light in the room had grown dimmer and she lit a lamp. She wouldn’t wait for supper. She would tell him now, while he was with her guardian!

She hurried into the corridor, stopping a servant who was on the way to the courtyard with a tray of food. Where is Lazarus and his guest?

Why, they are still in the study, I believe.

How long have they been there?

For some time now. Oh, I wouldn’t— The woman stared at her as Rachel turned toward the study, stopping at the doorway. But she paused only an instant. Hearing the deep timbre of a strange man’s voice, she opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind her.

Please forgive me, she said but with her head high and her chin set determinedly.

The two men stopped talking. Her guardian simply looked at her with his eyebrows raised. Nothing ever seemed to surprise him.

I am sorry, Lazarus. But I must say this for the good of everyone concerned. I must make you both understand. Please know that I mean no disrespect to either of you.

For the first time her gaze turned to the other man. The waning afternoon light streaming through the west window fell on a tall and decidedly vigorous form, with dark hair that came to just below his ears and swept away from his face—a face of strong and even features, and eyes whose color she could not determine but which collided with her own so forcibly she felt almost a physical jolt.

Rachel bit her lip, nearly overpowered by the urge to turn and flee. But somehow those eyes would not release her. Well, he wasn’t ancient, after all…but it didn’t matter! She must tell him, tell them both. She must spare everyone the unpleasantness that was bound to occur if they tried to force her into submission.

I cannot marry you, sir. It is impossible.

The silence that met her declaration was profound. The man looked more than surprised…even astonished, but then his mouth curved slightly and he said, I am certain that, had I been looking forward to our marriage, I would be bitterly disappointed.

She stared at him in confusion. What a strange thing to say, from a man who had been so eager to wed her! She should have felt a wave of relief; instead, something much like disappointment nudged her.

My guardian must have told you of my decision, sir. I hope I have not offended you. Surely you can see it is nothing against you, since we have not met before this day.

Understanding came into his eyes. She could see now that they were almost like the light in the room…a warm, luminous brown-gold. He inclined his head toward her and said, I believe you have mistaken me for someone more fortunate than I—or unfortunate, if we must take you at your word.

Lazarus cleared his throat. Rachel’s hand went to her own throat and she looked at her guardian with horror.

Rachel, my dear, this is Tribune Metellus Petraeus, from Rome.

The man didn’t give her time to consider the depth of her humiliation. He moved a little toward her and said, I hope I have the honor of meeting the daughter of Paulus Valerius?

Slowly she nodded, and felt more confused than ever. She took a step backward, sending a pleading look toward Lazarus.

The tribune has come— Lazarus began, and stopped. For the first time in her memory he seemed not to know what to say.

The man was watching her closely as though trying to see into her mind, and at once all of her long-held defenses rushed to her aid. Stiffening, she said, I am sorry to have intruded. She moved toward the door.

Wait, please. The voice was low and yet commanding. A soldier’s voice. When she turned reluctantly toward him, his eyes again met hers. I spoke lightly to ease your distress but I have come on a most serious errand. I will explain, if your guardian doesn’t wish to.

The tribune looked expectantly at Lazarus, who motioned toward the center of the room. Please, let us all be seated.

In deep embarrassment, Rachel chose the old wooden chair nearest the door. The two men sat on the padded benches on either side of the desk. She felt even more uncomfortable when she remembered that she was without a mantle and that by now her long, tangled hair must certainly resemble the snaky head of Medusa.

Rachel, Lazarus said, and again he stopped. She looked at him wonderingly. Surely he must know that nothing he said could disturb her…as long as it had nothing to do with marriage! She had already experienced the worst blows that life could give.

Rachel, there is a letter. Waiting for you in Rome. You must prepare yourself— He glanced at the tribune. Perhaps you had better tell her.

The man’s next words, though quietly spoken, shocked her clear through to her soul. She clutched the sides of the chair and felt her head grow light and her ears begin to ring.

Your father wrote a letter to you the last day he was in prison. It has recently been found among some other documents at the House of the Vestal Virgins. I have been commissioned by the emperor to take you to Rome—to retrieve the letter.

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CHAPTER II

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Both men were suddenly beside her. The dimness into which she had retreated began to lift and Rachel found herself lying on a bench, her arms and legs dangling. She attempted to sit up but the tribune had knelt on one knee and would not let her rise. Lazarus had grabbed a sheaf of parchments and was waving them over her, stirring the air.

Please, she whispered, struggling against the restraining and remarkably strong hands. Please let me go.

The tribune rose and his hands pulled her upward until she was in a sitting position. Lazarus had, from somewhere in the room, procured a cup of honey and wine which he held to her lips. It dribbled down her chin and upon the front of her gown, disappearing into its plum color even as she tried to wipe it off.

I am quite well, she said determinedly, but she was shaking.

Forgive me, Rachel, Lazarus said. I knew this would be difficult for you.

I’m sorry. The tribune’s deep and resonating voice, so close to her, sent a kind of vibration through her own chest. She shoved him away and stood up, pushing her hair back from her face.

I am not interested in the letter. I am not going back to Rome.

But you must, Lazarus said, before she could move. The emperor has written an edict—that you are to be returned to Rome so that the Vestal Virgins may give you the letter in person. The emperor believes he is doing this as a favor to your father, whom he greatly admired.

His words were like knives slamming into her body.

The tribune has sworn on his own life to bring you back safely to us. Rachel, my dear, you have no choice.

A moment of silence passed in which the men watched her…Lazarus with unaccustomed anxiety, the other man with a quizzical look of concern. He was probably wondering at the merit of the task to which he had pledged himself, and what kind of woman fainted at such trivial news.

She thought of the man to whom Lazarus meant to betroth her. She might not wish to return to Rome, but at least it would postpone the inevitable.

Very well, she said, in as dignified a manner as she could. When do we leave—sir?

Tomorrow morning if that is agreeable.

Tomorrow? But…so soon?

The emperor believes there is a need for haste.

You will stay with us tonight, of course, Lazarus said, always the perfect host.

The tribune turned toward him. Thank you. I am staying at the Antonia, but I accept your former invitation to dine with you tonight.

Excellent. Rachel, please go and ready yourself. Our guest should be here soon.

She walked dazedly to the door, which the tribune opened for her, and down the passageway to her room. Tomorrow! There was so much to do…packing and planning, and she must say good-bye to Simon and Daphne! It would be a few miles out of the way but she might never see them again. She had no illusions about traveling, for it was a dangerous enterprise under the best of conditions—and all the way to Rome…

She couldn’t believe it. She’d never dreamed she would go back there! And as for the letter…her heart lurched at the thought of her father writing to her in his prison cell, knowing he was about to die.

Rachel shook her head as though to clear her thoughts and felt her hair move across her shoulders. It reminded her of her appearance and her scheme to be as unattractive to Lazarus’ friend as possible. Well, that wasn’t necessary now, was it? She would be away for months, then there would be time to deal with her betrothal on her return. She walked to her closet to choose a fresh gown.

Unbidden, the handsome face of the tribune flashed into her mind. She stopped, turning slowly to the mirror. She’d already made a fool of herself in front of him. What did it matter what she looked like…what did anything matter? She wasn’t going to marry anyone. Now was the time to put an end to it.

With rare defiance Rachel picked up her comb and pulled it backward through her hair until it stood up all over her head. She removed the belt from her gown and let it hang in a shapeless heap over her body. Looking around the room, she spied the grilled brazier she used in the winter to warm the room and opened it, stuck her hands in the soot, and rubbed them over her face and the front of her gown.

Looking at herself again she almost laughed out loud. She had overdone it; she looked like a crazy woman she’d once seen running and screaming down a street in Jerusalem. She smoothed back part of her hair but left the tangles, and rubbed off a smudge or two of soot. Surely this would end the talk of marriage! A feeling of guilt touched her, but she had to admit that for the first time within her memory she was angry with Lazarus.

No matter what he said about it being for her own good, what right had he to force her to marry a man she did not love? Once, when he’d brought up the subject before, he had said that it wasn’t necessary to be in love when one married…that one did not marry for love but it would come, in time.

She knew he was wrong because she had seen the way her parents loved each other. Besides, his younger sister, Mary…the one who had died long ago…had never married. Why was he so determined that she must have a husband?

A brisk knock sounded on the door and she heard one of the servants say that the meal was about to be served. Rachel started toward it and paused, placing her hand on her chest. What was she doing? Well, it was too late to change anything now; it would take at least half an hour to repair her appearance. She opened the door and walked coolly toward the courtyard.

The eating area was encircled by brass stands on which hung dozens of oil lamps. Above them the sky was turning rapidly from orange to black. In Lazarus’ house men and women did not dine separately and the table had been set for all of them. The chairs were still empty; everyone was standing and waiting for her.

Her eyes fell on the tribune and shifted purposefully away from him, landing on the other unfamiliar man in the room. He was not old either. His narrow face tapered from a high forehead to an almost pointed chin, and between them reposed a rather thick but straight and imposing nose. His ears, too, were slightly pointed, visible because his black hair was cut short in the Roman fashion…a fashion not adopted by the tribune. His eyes, so dark as to be almost black, were full of dismay at the sight of her.

Someone gasped—Judith, a servant? Rachel’s gaze moved to Lazarus who looked calmly back at her, and then to Judith, whose bewildered expression made her want to laugh again. Instead, she frowned.

What is everyone staring at? I am sorry I’m late. I was trying to—to clean up.

Standing close by, the tribune leaned toward her and said, very low, You missed a spot.

She refused to look at him. After a moment of stunned silence Judith said, Rachel, we—we have a guest. This is Benjamin, a friend of ours from Jerusalem.

Rachel sat down at the table. I’m starving, she announced. She sensed everyone looking at each other, then they all took their places. Covertly she glanced around and saw that the tribune was amused and that her intended husband was now watching her acutely, with understanding and compassion.

She had fooled no one! Sitting beside her, Samuel looked up and asked with great solemnity, What happened to you, Rachel?

Samuel’s words, and the absurdity of her behavior, struck her so forcibly that she began to laugh. It was a light and infectious laugh and soon everyone else was doing the same.

I’m sorry, Rachel said at last. I apologize to all of you. This was very rude and childish of me. But, sir, I must tell you—

There will be time enough later to speak of that, Lazarus interrupted, still smiling. Rachel, I have never heard you laugh in that way.

She didn’t answer. Something had shifted inside her; something that had lain still and silent had moved—infinitesimally, but moved nevertheless.

I have just been telling Benjamin about your journey to Rome, Lazarus went on, as the platters and bowls of food were passed.

A matter that causes me great concern, Benjamin said. His voice was articulate and refined. She noticed that he had an elegance in his bearing that would have appealed to her if she were so minded. He went on casually, but directly. May I ask, Tribune, why you are not in uniform?

Because I am no longer a tribune. The soldier met his gaze with equal directness. I have recently retired from the Praetorian Guard. The emperor refers to me as a tribune in his edict, but he did not wish me to wear a uniform in order to avoid any unnecessary attention. I do, however, carry a weapon.

Where is it?

Out of courtesy to my host I left it with my horse, in the stable.

There was a short, almost tense silence, and Benjamin said, The Metelli is a very distinguished family—in Rome, that is. Many of your forefathers were consuls, were they not?

That, the other man replied, I do not know.

Benjamin raised his brows. Are you not of the Caecilian gens?

The former tribune placed both of his arms at rest on the table and looked at Benjamin. I was exposed as an infant. I was adopted by Lucius Caecillius Metellus. I am called by the name Metellus but I know nothing of my real family.

And how did you come by the name Petraeus?

A general feeling of discomfort had fallen over the table, for it seemed to Rachel that the two men were engaging in some sort of contest. She saw Judith send a quick look toward Lazarus, who shook his head.

Perhaps, the soldier said, smiling grimly, because I was found on a mountain slope, on top of a rock.

Rachel suppressed a shudder, always having abhorred the Roman practice of placing unwanted, newborn babies in some outdoor place to die. She listened as the tense conversation went on.

Your knowledge of Latin names tells me that you must associate with Romans, said the former tribune, still not partaking of the food on his plate.

I am a physician. I frequently attend Romans at the palace in Jerusalem. And men at the Antonia as well.

That would explain why he speaks Greek as fluently as the Roman, Rachel thought.

Metellus’ gaze moved from Benjamin to Lazarus. I do not know what the rules of hospitality are here, but please allow me to speak frankly. Your other guest is understandably concerned about the wellbeing of this young woman traveling with me to Rome. I was trained in the protection of the emperor and he has placed rare trust in me by sending me on this task. I don’t intend to fail him. I have pledged to return her safely to her loved ones. He glanced at Benjamin. Exactly as I found her.

After a moment Rachel grasped his meaning and felt a surge of blood rush to her cheeks. She sensed Benjamin looking in her direction and turned toward him.

Rachel, he said gently, it startles me each time I look at you. Would you please go and—correct your appearance?

Feeling more than a small tug of rebellion, she had opened her mouth to refuse when she thought better of it. If she wanted to be taken seriously it would be better to look like a human, rather than a hag conjured from some age-old myth. She caught a glimpse of the tribune who again looked amused and felt a flash of irritation toward him as well. The situation was not at all humorous! At least, not anymore…when she had an unwanted betrothal and a dreaded trip to Rome hanging over her head.