His mind seemed to be fixed on wives. Blanche gave him a saucy look.“Isn’t it nice of me then to spread it around a bit?”
He broke out laughing and it was as close to the carefree marquess asshe could hope to get.
Chapter Three
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The other party to all this. Miss Beth Armitage, had her mind firmlyfixed on international problems by the time the de Vaux family came to hernotice. March of 1815 had been made notable by the dreadful news that theCorsican Monster, Napoleon Bonaparte, had left his exile on Elba andreturned to France. Now, in April, the news was no better.
Miss Mallory’s School for Ladies followed, in a modified form, theeducational precepts of Emma Mallory’s idol, Mary Wollstonecraft. Thegirls were taught a wide range of subjects, including Latin and science;they were encouraged to take vigorous daily exercise; and they wereobliged to keep informed as to the affairs of the day.
No trouble these days holding the girls’ attention with the dailyreading of the newspaper. Napoleon Bonaparte had been the scourge ofEurope all their lives and now, when they had thought him a matter onlyfor the history books, he was back. Many of the girls had fathers orbrothers in the army, or recently sold out. The older girls, at least,understood the implications. The events were discussed with all theenthusiasm a teacher could desire.
At first they had thought Napoleon’s return to France the act of anutter madman, but the news worsened day by day. Fat King Louis XVIII hadmade himself unpopular and the ex-emperor was being greeted withenthusiasm by the French people. The armies sent to oppose him wereinstead pledging allegiance at such a rate that Napoleon was reputed tohave sent the Bourbon king a note saying, “My Good Brother, there is noneed to send any more troops. I already have enough.”
Louis le Gros had fled the country and Napoleon was once more in theTuileries.
When, one Tuesday morning, Beth was summoned away from her class oflittle ones to Miss Mallory’s yellow parlor, she could only think ofinternational disasters. Invasion, even.
A good schoolmistress never shows alarm before her pupils. She tooktime to rearrange the embroidery in Susan Digby’s hands for the twentiethtime and to reassure sweet little Deborah Crawley-Foster that her papawould not mind a few bloodstains on the first handkerchief she hadmonogrammed for him. She remembered with a pang that Deborah’s father wasColonel Crawley-Foster; Bonaparte’s return might mean more than a fewspots of blood.
Consumed with impatience she left Clarissa Greystone, the senior girlwho had brought the message, to cope with further problems and walkedbriskly through the school.
It was almost unheard of for Aunt Emma to call her from a class, butBeth began to think she was foolish to imagine political emergencies. Evenif Bonaparte were marching on London there was nothing Beth Armitage coulddo to prevent it. It was more likely some problem with a pupil, perhaps ananxious parent. The only pupil she thought might have a problem, however,was Clarissa Greystone, who had been unusually subdued of late.
Of course the girl had hoped to leave school this year and go to Londonfor the Season. Clarissa had been very unhappy when it became clear thatthe family fortunes were straitened and her debut would have to bepostponed. The tears occasioned by that news had been months ago, however,and it was only in the past fortnight that the girl had seemed withdrawn,ever since a parental visit.
Beth was puzzling over this matter when she arrived at the front hall.This was elegantly appointed with a rich carpet runner on the polished oakfloor and gleaming modern furnishings. It was, after all, the firstimpression given to the parent of a prospective pupil.
Beth stopped before the large mirror hanging over a mahogany half-tableand straightened her formal cap, tucking a stray brown curl back under it.To hold her position in the school in which she had recently been a pupilshe found it useful to adopt severity.
She stepped back to make sure her gray wool round gown hung smoothlyfrom the high waistband and that no grubby or bloody fingers had marredit. Satisfied that Aunt Emma would have no cause to blush for her, shestepped over to scratch at the parlor door.
When she entered she decided it was a parental matter, though she didnot know the man who had risen upon her entrance. He was, she supposed,middle-aged, but had none of the vagueness of that description. He wastall, slim, and elegant, with thinning. well-cut hair touched with silverat the sides, and very regular features. He was, however, studying herwith more attention than was polite. Beth raised her chin slightly.
“Your Grace,” said Miss Mallory in an odd voice, “allow me to presentMiss Elizabeth Armitage. Miss Armitage, this is the Duke of Belcraven whowishes to speak with you.”
Beth dropped a curtsy but did not attempt to conceal her astonishment.She had never heard of the Duke of Belcraven and was sure there had beenno daughters of that house in the school in her time.
The duke was still inclined to stare and with something of adisapproving frown in it. Beth returned the look. She did not believe inkowtowing to the aristocracy, particularly if they were not parents ofMiss Mallory’s pupils.
The man turned to the older woman. “I wish to speak to Miss Armitagealone, Miss Mallory.”
“That would be most improper. Your Grace,” said that lady with immensedignity. She, too, was not one to grovel before the idle rich.
“I have no designs on Miss Armitage’s virtue, ma’am,” he said dryly. “Imerely wish to discuss some private matters. Whether she shares them withyou afterwards will be at her discretion.” The tone was mild, but it wasclear the duke was not used to having his wishes questioned.
Miss Mallory gave in. Despite her egalitarian principles., she was abusinesswoman, and it was no light matter to offend a duke. “I will leavethe decision to Miss Armitage, then,” she said at last.
Under two pairs of eyes, Beth was not about to admit to any qualmsabout being alone with a quite elderly gentleman. Her principles werebased on the writings of Mary Wollstonecraft ? author ofThe Rights of ManandThe Rights of Woman.She did not allow her behavior to becircumscribed by useless restrictions on the freedom of women.
“I have no objection,” she said calmly, and waited as her “aunt” leftthe room.
“Please sit down,” said the duke as he resumed his own seat. “What Ihave to say to you, Miss Armitage, will seem incredible and perhapsalarming. I hope you will restrain any tendency to become emotional.”
Visions of a Napoleonic invasion flashed into Beth’s mind again, forshe could imagine nothing else which would be so distressing. But that wasto be ridiculous. He was doubtless the sort to think that a woman willthrow fits over every little thing. As she sat down ? back straight, headhigh, hands in lap ? Beth met his eyes, determined to prove otherwise. “Ialways restrain any tendency to become emotional,” she said clearly.
“Do you?” asked the duke with what appeared to be genuine, if uneasy,fascination.
