Georgiana waited outside under the eave for far longer than she ordinarily would have dared. Perhaps it was due to the rain, but it was not like Camden to be late for church. More than a few minutes after the service had begun, Camden finally appeared, doing his best to hold an umbrella over himself and Sophia. The Burwell family had arrived in their carriage, as usual, and in her haste that morning, it had not occurred to Georgiana that Camden and Sophia would have to contend with the midsummer downpour by other means.

“Well,” he said as he stepped out of the rain. “I apologize for our tardiness. Given the conditions . . .”

“Let us get inside and out of this rain,” Georgiana said. “Standing here is good neither for our health nor our souls, I’m sure.” Sophia nodded in agreement, but Georgiana noticed that she wore a look of uncertainty.

Once inside they stood at the back for a moment and Georgiana craned her neck to see her family, seated in their usual pew near the front. Because the congregation was standing to sing at the moment, she quietly enlisted Camden’s help.

“They’ve filled up your family’s usual pew, it seems,” he whispered. “It looks like these seats back here are the only ones left.”

Georgiana nodded and the three of them began to slide into the back pew as the hymn was coming to a close. Before they had arranged themselves, however, a man wearing an old-style coat and a yellowing cravat leaned over to speak softly to Georgiana.

“Ms. Burwell, I’m terribly sorry,” he said, clearly assuming that Georgiana was supposed to infer the source of his supposed sorrow.

“And why is that, Mr. Roberts?” she said, recognizing the church’s oldest deacon. He had known her, she was quite sure, since the day the minister sprinkled her head in baptism all those years ago.

He began again, somewhat hesitantly, Georgiana thought. “Well, of course, Ms. Burwell, you know that you are welcome to sit anywhere you like with Mr. Page, given that your family’s pew is fully occupied this morning.”

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“Well of course. Whatever do you have to be sorry about, then?” she replied, though by now she knew the answer. She was resolved, however, to make him say the words.

“Well, ma’am, you see . . . well, it’s rather the matter of your . . . guest.”

Georgiana remained silent. All of the deacons were men of very polite manners and Mr. Roberts was no exception. In the rising heat of that moment she was quite certain she didn’t give a fig about his manners and almost had a mind to tell him so. She would settle for making him feel the same sort of discomfort that Sophia must have been feeling since the moment she had arrived with Camden.

“There is ample seating in the balcony, ma’am. I will gladly show her the way.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Roberts, but it’s quite impossible. Mrs. Freeman is my guest for today’s service and neither you nor anyone else will relegate her to the balcony. She is a free woman. If you insist on refusing to allow her to be seated here with Mr. Page and me, then we will all simply find our way to the balcony.”

Mr. Roberts’ face contorted into an expression of pain. He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder before speaking in his most hushed tone.

“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Burwell. If you’ll please excuse me.”

The elderly deacon shuffled back to his own seat and the service continued. Georgiana had hoped that the spectacle she would cause by seating herself in the balcony with slaves would outweigh the spectacle of one black woman being allowed to sit in the back pew, where almost no one would notice. She had turned out to be correct. What was more, it seemed that only the people on this pew had noticed their entrance and that they, after glancing up briefly from their psalters, did not seem to care.

As the minister began the Old Testament reading, she turned to look at Camden. Apparently feeling her stare, he turned and looked at her, and opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, before stopping himself. She was not sure what might have been on his mind.

Sophia’s countenance, however, Georgiana could read clearly. She hung on every word read from the Holy Book, gently stroking the psalter that Georgiana had lent her as if it were a newborn child. They stood to sing another hymn and Georgiana heard Sophia’s voice, clear and bright and beautiful. She was accustomed to standing next to her mother who had a fine singing voice, but Sophia’s full contralto seemed almost otherworldly in comparison. As they seated themselves again, Sophia tugged gently on the sleeve of Georgiana’s dress and simply mouthed the words, “Thank you.”