Not deaf.
There was a gleam of interest in his eyes. She gave him the bell. "This is a bell. I ring it to let the children know that class is about to start." She placed it in front of him. He tipped it with one finger. "Won't you tell me your name?" No answer. "Hm. Let's see. Maybe you could ring it twice for me?"
The child picked up the bell and rang it twice.
So he understood English very well. He just refused to speak.
Miss Hilversham rubbed the space between her eyebrows. "Come out with me for a moment, Ellen. Keep an eye on him, Martha, while we discuss this."
The women went into the office.
"This is an inconvenience," Miss Hilversham began. "What was that Terrisbury thinking? There are exactly five things wrong with this situation. First, to drop off a child like that, willy-nilly, without consulting me first. It is beyond words. Second, he's too young for our school; he's almost a baby. Third, he is a boy. Fourth. We won't be taking any more children of dastardly guardians who can't be bothered with their wards. They have taken responsibility for these children, and they should fulfil that responsibility. There's nothing that infuriates me more than guardians who ignore their charges." She tapped the table with a finger. "And finally, the child seems to need special attention, and none of my teachers here have the time or energy for that."
"Just out of interest, wasn't Rochford just such a dastardly guardian?" Ellen wore an innocent, wide-eyed expression. Miss Hilversham's husband, Marcus, the Duke of Rochford, had indeed been such a guardian who'd dumped off his ward Pen at the school and never bothered with her. He'd made up for this neglect, however, and ended up marrying the school's headmistress.
Miss Hilversham took off her glasses and suddenly looked much younger.
"He was. Of the most terrible sort, too." An affectionate smile flitted across her face, softening her features, then the stern look returned to her brow. "But that doesn't mean that we are a dumping ground for unwanted wards. It won't do us any good, and it won't do the world any good either. These men need to be taught that once they take on the responsibility of guardianship, they have to keep it." She pushed her metal-rimmed spectacles back onto her nose. "Which is why you will go and find this”— she glanced at the letter, wrinkling her nose—“Tillisbury at Hanover Square Eleven and return this lovely boy to him."
"I shall?" Ellen groaned. "But I have twenty badly written essays to mark, an engaging but instructive history lesson to develop, a literature exam to write, and an art excursion to plan."
"Don't worry, Ellen. Christine, our new teacher, can take care of most of it, as she has no work yet, except to look after our pupils in between classes."
Ellen knew the seminary's newest teacher was more than capable. She simply did not want to go to London, especially with a child she didn't know. "Can't Martha take the child?"
"And have you take over her work of looking after the house? Collecting everyone's chamber pots and clearing the grate? I think not." Miss Hilversham tapped her finger impatiently on the desk. "We need someone with authority to go. You are the best person for that. You must tell this man that the poor child does not need to be in a seminary for young ladies. What he needs is a mother."
Ellen swallowed as she thought. This was an inconvenience. On the other hand, a brief trip to London would allow her to visit her family. Jenny, her stepmother, had written about some trouble regarding Drake, the eldest in the family. They desperately needed her help and advice. She could deliver the child to Hanover Square and then drop in for a quick visit. It had been too long since she'd seen them all.
"When would you like us to leave?"
"Immediately."
So it was that Ellen found herself on the coach from Bath to London with a little boy clinging to her as if she were his only anchor in the world.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Edmund Graves, Sixth Baron Tewkbury, had just told the biggest fib of his life—that he was married.
It was a white lie born of desperation, uttered in his Haymarket fencing club, and he hadn't thought much of it at first. But in the heat of the moment he couldn't think of anything better to say, and once he'd said it, it was done. It was a fabulous idea, and now he had to see it through to the bitter end.
He kept the muscles in his face still and stared squarely into the watery blue eyes of his friend Lord Dunstan Dobberham, whose jaw had dropped to the netherworld.
"Blimey! That's a bag of moonshine," he finally uttered, jabbing a finger at him. "You're bamming me."
He was, of course. Until a minute ago, he hadn't even been engaged. But now he was freshly and happily married and busy working on filling his nursery. Edmund shrugged nonchalantly and played with the ribbon of his quizzing glass. "I'm not."
It had all started with Dobberham roasting him for obsessing too much about fashion. Edmund had just fenced with him and taken off his mask. His valet, whom he'd taken with him, helped him change his linen and tighten the corset, which he'd taken off for fencing. He brushed Edmund's coat and whipped out a cloth to rub a smudge off his Wellington boots.
"You dandies really have nothing else on your minds but clothes, do you?" Dobberham made no effort to hide the contempt in his voice.
"I do a bit of fencing, too, in case you hadn't noticed." Edmund flicked away an imaginary speck of lint on his sleeve.
"Really, Tewkbury. You've taken this interest in fashion too far. It's become an unhealthy obsession. You need a woman, a wife, to help you snap out of it. You will feel much better; I speak from experience. It's obvious that bachelorhood doesn't suit you. Makes you strange, eccentric and weird in the head."
"Why, thank you," Edmund murmured. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Oy, Tewkbury here needs to get himself a wife." Dobberham called to Rutherford, who was standing nearby, making practice moves with his foil. "We must help him. Do you know anyone?"
