“I would love to.” Sophie nodded, despite her misgivings about Georgie’s beliefs. Her friend was as anxious to leave her home and wed as Sophie was to avoid doing so. Then what did that say about Lord Tamworth’s kisses?
Georgie’s gaze, which was never still, suddenly stopped. “Oh, we must go or we’ll be late for dinner.”
“Of course.” Sophie rose and hurried to her dressing table to tuck in the loose strands of her hair, as was her habit. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she stared at the mess her hair had become, most likely while Lord Tamworth had been kissing her. Blushing, she quickly undid her hair and re-pinned it.
“Come, Sophie. You don’t have to be perfect. It’s not as if we’ll have any men about, except Lord Sommerset.”
She finished her hair then followed Georgie out of her room. Itwasn’t until that moment that she realized Rose hadn’t come for them as she usually did. Hoping her friend was not setting a prank, Sophie reassured herself with the fact that Lord Tamworth had been duly warned. Her conscience at rest, she would need to no longer come near him.
Pleased that her course was set, she strode into the student dining room confident in her ability to forget all about Lord Tamworth and his kisses.
Chapter Nine
Three days later
Christopher skated straightacross the oblong pond at the rear of the house, working his muscles to chase away the cold morning air. After noticing the ladies skated or walked the paths in the afternoon, as required by the duchess, he’d decided to take advantage of the early morning time to exercise his limbs himself.
It hadn’t taken long to settle into a routine, and he’d been pleasantly surprised by his lady students. Their approach to philosophy was different from the lords he’d mentored at Oxford. Though he was holding conversations about the same classic works, what the ladies found most interesting and debatable was far different than the men. He planned to assign a number of plays, both comedies and tragedies, to see what new insights they might find.
He came to a hard stop at the end of the pond, testing his leg muscles. Though he found he walked more than usual about the sprawling mansion, it wasn’t the same as walking about campus or even at Lyonsmere Hall, his brother’s estate. And despite his wandering, he’d yet to encounter Lady Sophie again. He had no doubt she was avoiding him. He could well understand why, as he’d been far too forward with her person, which was not like him. If he didn’t see her, then there would be no chance that he would need to apologize.
He started skating around the pond again. Still, he found himself wishing to see her. He’d even volunteered for the play the studentswere to act out, since they had asked the instructors to join them. As many of the instructors were a part of it, the ladies were considered chaperoned. But Sophie wasn’t one of the ladies participating.
He should be thankful. He didn’t need a distraction. He’d accomplished his goal in coming to the school. Now, he just needed to fulfill his obligation until the duke returned.
Finishing his final loop, he glided to a stop near a single bench on the edge of the pond. Carefully, he made his way on his skates to sit and untie them. He’d been surprised by the variety of mentors at the school. While all first-year students studied philosophy, mathematics, history, literature, biology, and other sciences such as geology, astronomy, zoology, and physics, they also studied art and music movements, medicine, weaponry, defense tactics, writing, and politics. There were no dance lessons, embroidery, or painting at all.
The instructors were as varied as the subjects. The faculty was a mix of widowed or married ladies and well-learned gentry—even some commoners, such as the midwife. The men included a former man of trade, the pugilist, a widowed lord, a vicar, and himself. The eclectic group was added to each year because in their second year, the ladies were allowed to choose a focus of study. That was how Mrs. Kingman, a former lady, had come to the school. As he’d discovered, she was Sophie’s mentor. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out that Sophie’s focus was literature.
Picking up his skates, he scanned the fields, house, and pond. It actually was the perfect estate for a school, and the duke and duchess had done remarkable work in renovating the main building to accommodate the students. He looked forward to making his own smaller property, as soon as it was his, profitable in its own right.
He started back to the house. He wasn’t very good at waiting. There was still no letter from his solicitor telling him the estate was his. After accumulating enough wealth over the years with careful investments in trade vessels and a few well-placed bets, he was anxiousto take over his own home. The oddity about it was that he had Durham to thank for conceiving of how to do so when they were both in school.
He made his way to the servants’ entrance, since the only other choices were the terrace doors, which led directly into the school space the ladies occupied, and the main entrance, which was too far to go in such cold weather. Once through the servants’ corridor, he came out into the entry, gave a footman his greatcoat, and started up the stairs.
“My lord.”
He stopped, looking down to find Harrison, the butler. “Yes?”
“You have a visitor. He’s warming himself by the fire in the parlor.”
“Thank you.” Not sure who it could be, as he’d told very few people he would be at Silver Meadows, he descended. He’d started for the parlor when Harrison spoke.
“Sir?”
Turning, he found the man holding his hand out. It took Christopher a moment to realize he still held his skates in his hand. “Thank you.” He gave them to the butler then continued on his way.
The parlor was connected to the students’ dining area and boasted a large portrait his sister-in-law had painted of the lady after which the school was named, Lady Belinda. He walked in to find none other than his solicitor. “Mr. Morton, is it bad news you bring? Did the sale not go well?”
The thin man, no older than himself, turned away from the fire. His nose was a bit red, and he still wore his gray woolen greatcoat. “My lord. The sale went through as smooth as ice.” He shivered.
The news immediately put Christopher at ease. “Please, take a seat. Tell me what brings you so far from Daventry.”
Mr. Morton sat on a straight-backed chair, looking a bit incongruous among the feminine décor. “I brought you the books, as I felt it important that you know what you have purchased.” He gestured tothree small ledgers on the table before him.
Christopher sat on the settee across from the man and lifted one of the books. “I imagine the estate is not producing well, or it would not have been sold at such a price.”
Mr. Morton grinned, his long sideburns accentuated by the movement. “Actually, sir, I insisted on seeing these first and then offered a third less than what you had agreed upon.”
