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I thought about the woman who’d stormed into King’s and refused to leave until she’d warned me about a scheme to entrap me into marriage. It seemed Claire Sullivan was exactly who she appeared to be—a woman who had the best interests of others at heart.
How remarkable, and how utterly impractical. No wonder she was unwed. I didn’t know her age, but she was clearly no debutante. She was probably closer to my own age of twenty-eight.
“I’m very happy to hear that Miss Sullivan’s efforts are valued here. Her mother will be happy to hear that as well.”
The headmistress nodded eagerly. “Oh, definitely. The children all light up when she comes in on Fridays. They look forward to it all week.”
“It’s Friday now,” I said, pretending I didn’t already know she’d be here today. “Is she here now?”
“Not yet, but she should be arriving momentarily. She normally comes around midday, and it is approaching that now.”
“Would it be possible for me to observe her while she is working with the children? For her mother’s sake, of course. Then I could assure Mrs. Sullivan that her daughter would be missed if she stopped coming. Mrs. Sullivan was wondering if she should direct her daughter to other interests.”
“Oh, that would be a terrible shame. The children would be very upset. If you’ll just wait here for a moment, I’ll check to see if she’s arrived yet.”
I stood when she rose. “Thank you for your assistance. I will relay everything you’ve shared to Mrs. Sullivan. She was worried that her daughter was wasting her time here.”
Mrs. Atkinson’s smile widened, and I could see that, having discovered one of the trustees had a personal connection to someone working within the orphanage, she was trying to calculate how best to turn this situation to her advantage.
I watched her leave the room, glad now that I’d come today. It seemed Miss Claire Sullivan would fit in nicely with my plans.
Chapter 6
CLAIRE
“…and she lived happily ever after.”
My heart swelled when the two little girls nuzzled into my side. Hope and Grace had arrived at the orphanage just before my visit last week, and I’d been anxious to see them again.
They were five and six years of age, and my heart had broken when I’d seen the dark-haired pair huddled in the corner of the library, afraid to interact with the other girls. Now, as the newest arrivals of the school, they had seats of honor next to me on the settee as I read a fairy tale to a small group of children who were the youngest girls at the charity school. The others of the group were seated on the floor, their eyes wide with attention as I reached the end of the story about the little girl in the woods who’d lived to tell the tale of her encounter with a big bad wolf.
“What happened to the grandmother?” Hope asked.
One of the other girls who liked to pretend she wasn’t interested in fairy tales, but who’d listened to the story attentively, made a scoffing sound. “She died.”
Grace’s lower lip wobbled. “The wolf ate her?”
I wanted to yell at myself. Why had I chosen this version of the fairytale? I knew there was one in which Red Riding Hood and the grandmother were both saved, but this version left the latter’s fate ambiguous.
“No, of course not,” I said. “This is the short version of the story. In the longer version, when Red Riding Hood returns home, she discovers that her grandmother has been visiting her mother. The wolf was lying all along to trick the little girl.”
“Red Riding Hood was too smart for that,” Hope said with a firm nod.
“That’s right,” I said, putting my arm around the two of them and giving them a hug.
A small clap sounded from the side of the room. “It is time for your meal, children.”
Grace tugged on my skirt. “Will you be here later?”
I smiled down at her. “Yes, I’m here for the rest of the day.”
She scrambled off the settee and reached for her sister’s hand. I watched them follow the governess from the room. There was something about this pair that tugged on my heartstrings.
I stood, preparing to follow, but stopped when I caught sight of the man standing just inside the doorway, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. My stomach fluttered.
Lord Greyson.
How long had he been watching us? I’d been engrossed in my reading, trying to infuse as much enthusiasm as I could into telling the story. It never bothered me when one of the other staff at the school watched me, but knowing that this tall aloof stranger had witnessed me trying to throw myself into the narration made me want to sink through the floor. I must have looked ridiculous. He was dressed in his slightly disheveled guise of Mr. Grey, but it was impossible to look at him now without seeing the imposing Legendary Lord.
