Joan had stared at the keys as though they might disappear if she blinked. “Truly?”
“I am a man of my word, Miss Sinclair. Despite what you may think of my character. You have one week free from your dutieshere to prepare the space. After that, I expect you back at this desk.”
Now, three days into that precious week of freedom, Joan stood in the center of the village hall.
The space was larger than she had dared imagine—a proper assembly room with high ceilings and tall windows that let in floods of natural light. The wooden floors were scuffed and worn, but solid. A small stage occupied one end, and Joan could already envision how they might arrange desks and benches for the children.
“Well,” came a familiar voice from the doorway, “who would have thought you actually did it.”
Joan turned to find Timothy Andersen standing in the entrance, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His weathered face held an expression of grudging respect.
“You doubted me, Mr. Andersen?” Joan asked, unable to suppress a smile.
“I doubted the Duke would agree to anything that didn’t benefit him directly,” Timothy admitted. He stepped into the hall, his boots echoing on the bare floors. “But it seems you have a gift for persuasion.”
If only he knew.
“I’m grateful he saw reason,” she said aloud. “And now we have work to do. This hall won’t prepare itself.”
The next days passed in a blur of activity.
Victoria threw herself into the preparations with an enthusiasm Joan hadn’t seen since before the scandal. Her sister scrubbed floors until her hands were raw, hung cheerful paper decorations from the rafters, and painted a large wooden sign that read “Fairfax School for Children” in elegant letters.
Timothy appeared each morning with Percival in tow, and together they moved the heavy furniture that had been stored in the hall old benches and tables that would serve perfectly for the children’s lessons. Sarah and Molly, the maids from Fairfax Manor, came to help with the cleaning, their initial wariness of Joan gradually giving way to something like camaraderie.
The Duke had provided funds as well though he had been maddeningly pompous about it.
“As long as you do not play any games with my ledgers. Consider this a friendly support.”
Joan had bitten her tongue and accepted the money with as much grace as she could muster.
Petty, she had thought as she left his study.He’s being deliberately petty. This amount of money means nothing to a duke.
But combined with the funds Damian had sent, it was enough to purchase basic supplies—slates and chalk, a few primers and arithmetic books, paper and ink for the older children.
As they worked, villagers passed by the hall frequently. Joan noticed them peering through the windows, whispering to one another, their faces marked with curiosity and suspicion in equal measure.
On the second day, Joan was carrying a box of books when she noticed a small crowd gathering outside. She set down her burden and walked to the door, stepping out into the afternoon sunshine.
“Good day,” she called out cheerfully. “We’re preparing a school here—a place where children can learn to read and write and cipher. We’ll be opening in just a few days.”
The villagers stared at her. An older woman in a faded dress exchanged glances with her companions.
“A school, Miss?” the woman said carefully. “For our children?”
“Yes! All children are welcome. There will be no fees, no costs of any kind. Simply bring your sons and daughters, and we will teach them.”
The crowd murmured amongst themselves. Joan saw skepticism written plainly across their faces, but they responded withpolite nods before dispersing, their conversations continuing in hushed tones as they walked away.
“They think you’re mad,” Victoria said from behind her, though her tone was fond rather than critical.
“Perhaps I am,” Joan admitted.
By the end of the third day, the hall was transformed. The floors gleamed from repeated scrubbings. Benches and tables stood in neat rows, ready for students. A chalkboard purchased with the last of their funds occupied pride of place at the front of the room. Books lined a makeshift shelf Timothy had constructed. Paper decorations added cheerful splashes of color to the otherwise austere space.
Joan stood in the center of the room, her heart full to bursting.
“It’s perfect,” Victoria breathed beside her. “Joan, it’s absolutely perfect.”
