“Goodness, Charlie,” she said, “look at me. I am a thirty-five-year-old spinster schoolteacher.”
He smiled slowly.
“You are Claudia Martin,” he said, “that bold, vital girl I loved, now masquerading as a spinster schoolteacher.What a lark,you would have said then if you could have looked ahead.”
If she could have looked ahead, she would have been consumed with horror.
“It is no masquerade,” she said.
“I beg to disagree,” he told her. “I had better go now—I am expected back at Alvesley for luncheon. But I will come again if I may.”
But after he had gone she stared at her hands in her lap. How very strange life could be. For years and years now her school had been her whole world, all thoughts of love and romance and marriage long suppressed. Yet she had made the seemingly harmless decision to accompany Flora and Edna to London so that she could talk to Mr. Hatchard in person and her whole world—her wholeuniverse—had changed.
She wondered in some trepidation how she was going to be able to recapture the relative contentment and tranquillity of her life when she returned to Bath.
There was a tap on the door and it opened to reveal Eleanor.
“Ah, youarestill here,” she said, coming inside. “I have just seen the duke riding away. Louise is still playing the spinet, but the others have gone outside—except Molly and Lizzie. Becky has taken them to the nursery to meet her little sister, Hannah, and her new governess as well as numerous cousins, all of whom are very young. Lizzie is doing very well, Claudia, even if you did find her crying to herself in her bed this morning.”
“This is all very bewildering but very exciting for her,” Claudia said.
“Poor girl,” Eleanor said. “One wonders what her life has been like until now. Did Mr. Hatchard say?”
“No,” Claudia said.
“The Duke of McLeith did not stay long this morning,” Eleanor said.
“He asked me to marry him,” Claudia told her.
“No!”Eleanor looked at her, arrested. “And…?”
“I said no, of course,” Claudia said.
“Of course?”Eleanor sat down in the nearest chair. “Are you quite sure, Claudia? Is it because of the school? I have never mentioned this to you because it seemed inappropriate, but I have often thought how I would not mind if it were mine. And I do believe I would be able to run it in a manner worthy of you. I mentioned it to Christine at one time and she thought it a wonderful idea and even said she would sponsor me with a loan or an outright gift if I would accept one—and if the time ever came. And Wulfric, who was reading a book at the time, looked up and said it would certainly be a gift. So if your refusal had anything to do with misgivings about—”
“Oh, Eleanor,” Claudia said, laughing, “it did not, though I suppose it might have if I had wanted to say yes.”
“But you did not?” Eleanor asked. “He is so very amiable, and he seems inordinately fond of you. And he must have pots of money, if one wants to be mercenary about such matters. Of course heisa duke, which puts him at a horrid disadvantage, poor man.”
“I loved him once,” Claudia admitted, “but no longer. And I am comfortable and really quite happy with my life as it is. The time when I might have thought of marriage is long past. I prefer to keep my independence even if my fortuneisminuscule.”
“As I do,” Eleanor said. “I loved once too—quite passionately. But he was killed in Spain during the wars and I have never been tempted to find someone to replace him in my affections. I would rather be alone. If you should ever change your mind, though, know that concerns for the school need not stand in your way.”
She laughed, and Claudia smiled.
“I will remember that,” she said, “if I should ever fall violently in love with someone else. Thank you, Eleanor.”
The morning clouds had moved off by noon. As a result several other people decided to ride with Joseph and Elizabeth from Alvesley to Lindsey Hall—Lily and Portfrey and Portia and three of Kit’s cousins. Lily tried to persuade McLeith to come too, but he had been over during the morning.
A large number of people were out of doors at Lindsey Hall, Joseph could see as they rode up the driveway, including surely all the children—and the visiting schoolgirls. His eyes searched their number eagerly even before he was close enough to distinguish individuals.
He left his horse at the stables, as did all the others, and walked across the lawn with Portia, Lily, and Elizabeth while the others made their way toward the house.
The schoolgirls were dancing about a makeshift maypole, to the accompaniment of vocal music by one of their number and a great deal of laughter and confusion. Joseph could see no sign of Lizzie until he realized with a start that she was one of the dancers. Indeed, it was she who was causing the confusion—and the laughter.
She was clinging to one of the ribbons with both hands, and she was dancing about the maypole with vigorous, ungainly steps while Miss Martin moved behind her, her hands on Lizzie’s waist. She was laughing too. She was also bonnetless and disheveled and flushed.
Lizzie was shrieking with louder laughter than anyone else.
