“All right, all right,” he laughed, having composed quicker than Elinor had expected. “I am the owner of the building, and I am the Duke of Fairmont.”
For a strange moment, Elinor’s heart dropped, until he began to speak again.
“But my name is Lucien Stanton, and if you wish to call me Lucien, you can. After all, I know all of your names—” He frowned. “Or, at least, I am trying to learn them, for there are a lot of you. So, if I know your names, you ought to know mine. I am Lucien, and you can call me as such.”
“Lucien!” Billy cried out, giggling to himself. “It feels like a secret to know a duke’s name.”
“Perhaps it is.” A softer smile played on Lucien’s mouth that Elinor found herself quite attracted to for a moment, before she forcibly yanked her thoughts away from such a concept.
She wasnotattracted to the duke.
No, definitely not. No, she could not be.
“Really?” Toby’s eyes widened, his focus fixated on Lucien.
“Toby,” Elinor warned, softly.
She did not want to quell the children’s curiosity, but she knew how private Lucien was. He scarcely answered her, let alone these children.
So, to her surprise, Lucien nodded. “You may call me by my name, now that you know it.”
“Can we really?” Toby piped up.
“You can, indeed. I do not mind being like your tutor here, simply a name, a person, rather than any sort of title.”
“All right!” Toby giggled.
Elinor wrangled their attention back by looking towards Georgie. “Did you have a question, Georgie?”
He nodded. “You said about teaching us po … poem … poemtry. I’d like to know when we’ll start that.”
“It’spoetry,” Billy scolded him. “Not poemtry.”
“Well, I don’t know the difference!” Georgie huffed.
Elinor smiled fondly at the two of them. “Well, a poem is the writing itself. You write a poem, but poetry describes the art form.”
“I’m good at art!” Georgie exclaimed proudly.
She gave an amused chuckle at him. “I know you are, I have seen your sketches, and I like them very much.”
“Can I sketch Lucien?” Georgie asked.
“You will have to ask him.” Elinor winked at the little boy before looking to Lucien, who blinked at Georgie.
“You wish to sketch me?”
“Mmhmm! I’m very good at it. Mrs. Neal thinks I can be a painter when I grow up and earn lots and lots of money.”
Elinor’s heart grew heavy in her chest, for she knew artists did not make a great deal of money.
Gently, she pulled his attention away with an answer to his question.
“Poetry shall be something we will delve into shortly,” she assured him. “Do not worry. I have a lot of plans for many lessons to come.”
Her eyes flicked over Lucien, as if wanting to confirm that statement could remain true.
“You are staring at me again.”
