“Your Grace?” Joan called out, peering into the gloom. “I am Joan Sinclair. Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
Joan took a hesitant step forward, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dimness. She could make out the shapes of furniture now—a desk, several chairs, a settee—but no sign of the Duke himself.
A soft sound made her freeze.
Meow.
Joan nearly jumped out of her skin. Her hand flew to her chest as a large orange cat materialized from the shadows, winding itself around her ankles and purring loudly.
A slightly hysterical laugh escaped her. “Oh! Oh my goodness. You frightened me half to death, you silly creature.”
She knelt down, grateful for the distraction from her nervousness, and stroked the cat’s soft fur. It arched into her touch, purring even louder.
“You scared me,” Joan murmured to the cat, scratching behind its ears. “But I forgive you. You’re far too charming to stay angry with.”
“What do you want?”
The voice came from the darkness utterly without warmth.
Joan shot to her feet so quickly she nearly lost her balance. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she squinted into the shadows, trying to locate the speaker.
There in the far corner of the room, barely visible against the dark wood paneling she could just make out the figure of a man. He was sitting in a high-backed chair, perfectly still, watching her.
“Your Grace,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I apologize for disturbing you. I have come with a request that I hope?—“
How long has he been there?she thought wildly.How long was he watching me talk to his cat like a fool?
A whistle cut through her words.
The orange cat immediately abandoned Joan and bounded across the room, leaping gracefully onto the Duke’s lap. He stroked it absently, and Joan heard the rumble of its purr even from across the room.
I can do this,Joan told herself.
She lifted her chin and launched into her carefully prepared speech.
“Your Grace, I have come to petition you on behalf of the children of this parish. I wish to establish a school—a place where the sons and daughters of your tenants and the local tradespeople can receive a proper education. I come from a scholarly background myself. I am well-versed in reading, writing, arithmetic, history, and the sciences. I am prepared to teach these subjects at no cost to the families or to you.”
She paused, waiting for some response. The Duke remained silent, continuing to stroke his cat.
Joan pressed on. “I understand you own a hall in the village that is currently unused. I am requesting permission to use that hall for my lessons. The children would be well-supervised at all times. We would establish proper rules and schedules. In addition to academic instruction, I would ensure the children have opportunities for sport and craft activities—exercise for their bodies as well as their minds.”
Still no response.
Joan felt her nervousness transforming into frustration. Was he even listening? Or was he simply sitting there in the darkness, waiting for her to finish so he could dismiss her?
“Your Grace?” she prompted. “I assure you, this would benefit everyone. Educated citizens are more productive, more capable of managing their own affairs?—”
“No.”
The single word dropped into the silence like a stone into still water.
Joan blinked. “I—I beg your pardon?”
“I said no.” The Duke’s voice was flat, utterly devoid of emotion. “I will not grant you use of the hall.”
Shock rendered Joan momentarily speechless. She had expected questions, perhaps some skepticism about her qualifications or concerns about the practicalities of her plan. But simple, outright rejection without any discussion?
“Your Grace,” she said carefully, “I’m afraid you may not have fully understood my request. I am offering to provide education to the children of your estate. I am not asking you for money or resources beyond the use of an empty building?—”
