“I thought that most of these girls would grow up to marry or become domestics,” Tristan remarked. “I’m sure the abbess said as much to me.”
“In all likelihood, yes,” Sister Abigail acknowledged. “But without a decent education, they willcertainlynever achieveanything more. The abbess always says that a maid ought to learn Latin, mathematics, and literature just as much as a schoolboy at Eton. She said that we all have the same capacity to learn, and now is a crucial time. Children learn so much faster than we adults, Your Grace.”
“I cannot argue with that. I am giving thought to my nephew’s education, and I find the whole business overwhelming.”
The nun nodded. “That is understandable. We have so little time to teach them. Your last donation was used to buy textbooks and other school supplies. Some of our other patrons objected to the girls being taught Latin and mathematics. In fact,” she paused, chuckling, “some of the girls themselves objected. But the abbess is determined. She is all for education for women.”
Tristan grinned. “And that is why I amyourpatron, not a patron of any other orphanages. I must bring my wife, the duchess, here. She will approve of your work here, I know.”
“It would be an honor to meet her, Your Grace.”
Sister Abigail opened a heavy wooden door that led into a large, square courtyard. About fifty children of varying ages raced around, screaming and laughing. They played hopscotch, tig, blind-man’s buff, and other wild schoolyard games that Tristan did not recognize. A small boy rolled a hoop past them, intent on his task, and Sister Abigail smiled fondly down at him, ruffling his hair as he went by.
The children of this orphanage were a little different from others, in that they were well-fed and not quite as hollow-eyed as others. The abbess of St. Naomi’s held a somewhat controversial belief that those in poverty werenot, in fact, enduring a punishment from God, but were, in fact, enduring plain old bad luck.
She did not particularly see the need to punish these children for their orphan status by forcing them to work and endure various privations. Instead, she focused on feeding, clothing, and educating them if no good families could be found.
The abbess of St. Naomi’s was considered a rather strange woman and was not particularly popular for her beliefs.
She did not much care, especially not with a patron like Tristan.
A group of children spotted Tristan and Sister Abigail and came running toward them, squealing. They were aged between six and nine, and clustered around them, smiling up eagerly.
“Have you any sugared plums this time, mister?” a little fair-haired girl exclaimed. She was one of the ringleaders and was soon to be adopted by a shy, kindly farming couple who had never had children of their own.
“I do not,” Tristan laughed, thrusting his hands into his pockets, “but I do have marzipan. Will that do?”
It would do. The children were keen to receive the marzipans, scurrying away once the supply of sweets had been exhausted. Tristan kept one for himself and one for Sister Abigail, who took it with a smile.
“Do you intend to bring Her Grace, the Duchess, here soon?” Sister Abigail inquired, with a lump of marzipan in her cheek. “Does she know about your philanthropic work?”
“No,” Tristan admitted. “But I am sure she would want to accompany me. Perhaps not as often as I do, but I know she would care about the fate of the children here.”
“She sounds like a kind woman,” Sister Abigail said, nodding. “Please accept my congratulations on your marriage, Your Grace. Marriage is, after all, a gift from God.”
Tristan smiled and said nothing. He was fairly sure that he had not had a wink of sleep last night. He could think of nothing but Madeline and the flush on her face, the blush creeping down her neck. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the material of the robe. He hadnotopened his eyes and peeped while she changed, as his point had been to show her that she could trust him.
But oh, how he’d longed to.
Enough,he told himself furiously.You are in an orphanage, standing beside a nun. Control yourself, can you not?
A few deep breaths cooled his ardor. He glanced around at the noise and chaos of the playground and imagined what Madeline would do if she were here. She had a knack for children, after all. He imagined that she would run off and join their games, not at all a stately, dull sort of duchess. She would laugh with them and play with them.Shewould not need to bribe the children’s affection with sweets.
No, she would love them, and they would adore her right back.
They would adore her as I adore her,he thought, and then flinched a little at the suddenness of the thought. Swallowing hard, he turned to face Sister Abigail.
“Did you say that new textbooks have been bought? May I look at them?”
“Of course, Your Grace. Follow me.”
Mathematics and Latin. That would take his mind off Madeline.
If mathematics can’t cool my desire,he thought miserably, following Sister Abigail back into the building,then there is really no hope for me.
CHAPTER 21
Madeline suspected that Tristan was not thrilled about the opera plan. He had not said where he had gone, and she had pointedly avoided asking.
