“Sophia’s husband, Peterborough.” Michael ticked them off on his fingers as he cited names. “And her cousin and his wife, Suffolk and Lady Roslynn. Sarah Potter. My theatre manager and the other ladies who ran the auction.”
“Oh, and a good number of the servants at Greenborough are graduates.” Evan grinned at Robert, who knew of his policy regarding the staff there and had joined him in partaking in more than one naked and sweaty evening.
Robert nodded slowly. It all made sense. If one spouse knew, the other would. Beth, with her incredible skill at connecting people, would have made friends and friends of friends. After all, she’d connected the charity school she worked at with the School of Enlightenment. His rage ebbed, morphing to resignation. He’d made the right choice in parting ways with the little peach. His chest hurt again, and he rubbed it distractedly.
“Wait. Sophia was gentry, even before Peterborough married her. Penelope was…not.” He slid a careful glance to Michael, who nodded. “And…servants?”
“Yes,” Evan replied. “Three separate courses, but with overlap. The ladies of the Ton or destined for Ton marriages are of course in separate classrooms and dormitories but have leeway in choosing the subjects. And every student has a sponsor to help direct them. I am presently working on adding a fourth program.”
Robert glanced at Michael, who frowned and shrugged.
Then Michael’s forehead smoothed, and he chuckled. “An enterprise path, mayhap?”
Evan grinned and responded, but Robert’s thoughts turned inward. Beth had had a sponsor. A past lover? Her parents had died before she’d reached the appropriate age for the school, from what he understood of it.
“So who was Beth’s sponsor?” He interrupted the other two discussing Evan’s latest idea.
“Althea.”
“And Althea’s?”
Evan shook his head. “She did not attend. But she fully supported Beth attending.”
“So there are people directly connected to the school who have never attended, floating about the country as well?” Alarm bells began ringing again in Robert’s head, as the theoretical pool of people with knowledge of the school rippled outward.
Evan arched a brow at his strange phrasing. “Yes. You’re looking at two of them. Why?”
“Never mind that for now. How did you first hear about it?”
Evan grinned. “How d’you think?”
Robert rolled his eyes. “Of course, you probably contribute funding.”
Evan wiggled his brows. “I helped found it.” He raised his glass. “And you’re welcome. Cheers.”
The other two gave reluctant chuckles as they raised theirs to toast him. Robert’s smile hid his grim thoughts. As much as he’d wanted to find common ground with Beth, this discovery had scared him away from venturing forward with a catalogue at all. He suppressed the urge to cancel the demo at Sarah’s and wondered whether he should scale back and produce less. That would minimize his need for a new blacksmith, although he’d already gotten a response from the smith Hunter had referred him to. He’d hoped to take Beth with him to meet the tradesman, but that was unlikely now.
One thing was certain. He needed to keep a suitable distance between him and that not-so-secret school…and its lovely but conspicuous alumna.
****
Beth considered the last line of Helen Montague’s letter.
In her last note to the headmistress, Beth had asked for the direction of an alumna of the charity school who was an excellent artist and had attended the School of Enlightenment. Beth had hoped to see if she’d draw the sketches for the catalogue, with Robert’s permission.
A week had passed since Robert had rejected her, calling her a gossip who could not be trusted, and she was still furious every time she remembered it. In fact, she’d avoided thinking of it for that very reason. Determined to put him out of her mind and get on with her life, she’d thrown herself back into the charity school. If she sketched cuff configurations when she had a few moments between helping students, then no one need know.
However, Helen had sent the name and likely address of the student, and the information niggled at her. In the past, she’d helped people whether or not she liked them, agreed with their outlook on society or did not. The fact that she had not connected Robert with the sketch artist as she’d have done for anyone else weighed on her mind.
It also brought the feelings she’d been ignoring to the forefront. After a student had caught her in a compromising position testing a new design, her first inclination had been to regale Robert with the tale. Of course, in all likelihood he’d be appalled rather than amused. The threat of exposure seemed to tint his outlook of all activities. She did not want to live that way.
However, she was not at all sure this was living. The dull ache in her chest that never went away detracted from her usual sunny outlook. It also killed any desire for intimacy with anyone else. No one would make her the center of their world for hours on end, only allowing her to pleasure them if she begged, and only after they’d brought her to the pinnacle several times.
Every time she recalled her nights with Robert, her core wept even as her eyes did. How could she be aroused and miserable at the same time?
Each new design she dreamed up built eagerness to see it brought to life in leather at Robert’s hands and tested on her.
She was miserable. There was no way around it. This was not living, ’twas torture. She needed advice. As different as they were, Althea understood her and accepted her. More, Althea’s attitude regarding privacy and circumspection about her reputation was closer to Robert’s, making her the perfect person to ask.
