Miss Primm nodded slowly and then directed her attention to some paperwork. “Well. I don’t suppose there was anything you could have done about…that. In the future, needless to say, I advise that you avoid whatever it was that made you ill to begin with. If you’d had an actual class to teach, I would have had to make arrangements for a substitute or teach it myself. I quite understand that one can have no control over when one becomes ill, but it is most helpful if my employees have strong constitutions. The classes at this school”—she pinned her gaze on Collette again—“are only canceled under the most dire of circumstances.”
Collette nodded and glanced at the clock sitting on the mantel behind her employer. Her first class, introduction to Latin, began in precisely seven minutes.
“You are excused.” Collette went to rise as Miss Primm waved her away, “And Miss Jones?”
“Yes?” Collette halted, half-sitting, half-standing as she hovered over the wooden seat.
“Good luck.”
One hour and seven minutes later, as her beginning Latin students flocked to the exit of her precious classroom, Collette realized why Miss Primm had wished her luck. Ten- and eleven-year-old girls did not have quite the same appreciation Collette had for Latin. In fact, most had seemed entirely unconvinced by her impassioned insistence that when one began comprehending Latin, one would begin to see the world differently.
“And that is a gift. Words have stories inside them,” she’d implored. “They travel from place to place. When a person comprehends Latin, they hold a secret key that provides them with a better understanding of science, math, history…”
This was the point where Charity Metcalf had suggested that if only the duke had known Latin, he might not have been trapped in the stairwell the day before. And the other students had dissolved into giggles.
Collette felt no small amount of relief in that her next period was set aside for planning. She needed the time to regroup.
Planting her elbows on her desk, she hid her face in her hands.
“It will get better.” Chloe Fortune, instructor of all things philosophical as well as dance, was peeking around the door frame. “I was ready to turn tail and run after my first class as well.”
The woman’s hazel eyes sparkled in encouragement and her brown hair, although pulled back into a tight chignon, still managed to frame her face with delightful curls. Having spent a good deal of time with Chloe, as the other woman insisted Collette call her in private, she’d learned that Miss Fortune was not only a teacher but had attended and then graduated from Miss Primm’s nearly a decade ago.
“Promise?” Collette smiled weakly.
“Would I lie to you?” Chloe’s eyes widened innocently as she grinned. “Honestly, don’t fret too much. I’d better get back to my classroom. I have two of the Metcalf sisters next hour. If anyone deserves commiserating, it’s me.”
“And you have it.” Collette shooed her away. “Don’t be late on my account.”
She’d had a few brief conversations with some of the other teachers and although she hadn’t gotten as well acquainted with them as she had Chloe, she hoped to forge friendships with them as well. Miss Shipley had told Collette, upon her arrival, that they were like a family here. Collette hoped she had not been exaggerating because although Diana was younger than her by two years, Collette already missed her sister’s ever-present companionship.
She missed having someone who knew her moods and cared about her thoughts and feelings and provided the ease of companionship one could only find with family.
Unexpected tears had her wiping at her eyes.
If Diana had been here, Collette could have told her about the kiss. She could have admitted to her that she was quite certain that even when she was old and gray, she would look back on those moments she’d spent in a duke’s arms as perhaps one of the great highlights of her life.
She felt her cheeks flush just from thinking about it now.
Collette slipped her tin of comfits out from one of the large pockets sewn into her gown and popped a mint in her mouth. The flavor reminded her of him.
She hadtastedhim!
The Duke of Bedwell had tasted spicy and warm and earthy all at the same time.
Knocking sounds had her hastily tucking the tin away, thinking Chloe might have returned to impart additional words of wisdom. But it was not her friend returning.
Almost as though she’d summoned him with her memory, he was here.
The Bog
Although unsmiling, the duke didn’t seem quite as intimidating as the last time he’d stepped into her classroom. But of course, that might only be because she’d witnessed him in a weak moment. Even if he had maintained his dignity.
For the most part.
Leaning against the doorframe, he stared at her with raised brows, dangling the same hat he’d had with him the day before on the tip of his glove-covered fingers. His cravat was tied in an elaborate knot, his jacket and waistcoat were pressed, his breeches fit perfectly, and not a hair of his golden-brown hair was out of place.
Hair she distinctly remembered was soft and thick and resisted laying down after one’s hands had been running through it.
