“Only two this time, but some Quakers have bought out the big silk merchants on Half Moon Street and the reverend seems to think they are open to taking on a couple more, and your modiste needs another junior seamstress after one of hers ran off to join a traveling theater troupe. It was always her dream to be on the stage, apparently, never mind that she’d be earning more still stitching Madame Devy’s fine gowns than prancing about in a gaudy costume.” Shaking her head in disbelief that anyone would want to do such a thing, Mrs. Witherspoon clasped her hands beneath her enormous bosom like a disapproving opera singer.
“There’s also been a ridiculous bill from our idiot butcher, which I am in the midst of querying. Can you believe he is charging us for three entire ribs of beef the fool is adamant he supplied when I certainly never ordered any?” She tutted and her hands went to her generous hips this time. “As if a charitable institution such as ours would waste our precious money on ribs when even the price of brisket is extortionate at this time of year!”
She rolled her eyes heavenward as if praying for strength. “The Claypole twins almost set fire to the boys’ dormitory again becausesomebodyleft his matches and his pipe lying about.” Mrs. Witherspoon gestured toward the reverend with a withering look. “And thanks to the weight of all the snow, the roof is leaking again, badly, so that’s yet another thing that needs fixing.”
“Oh dear.” The leaking roof was a constant source of woe and a significant drain on their overstretched funds.
“Oh dear indeed, as I’ve had four tradesmen look at it and they’veall said the same thing—it’s reached the point where it’s more patch than slate and the whole thing needs replacing. The quotes to do that are eye-watering—but what choice do we have? We’ve put it off for two years already and if we leave it much longer and the rafters rot, all those tradesmen to a man stated there is a grave danger of the whole thing collapsing. So there goes the donation from the Guild of Tailors and the yearly yuletide stipend from Mrs. Leyton-Brown.”
The three of them sighed in unison at that blow despite it being long expected, because as far as money was concerned, their beloved orphanage was an exceedingly leaky boat. No sooner did it come in than it flowed out again. Often without any pause on its journey into somebody else’s hands.
“We also had a new admission last Wednesday. A little boy that the good reverend found on the street—and by found, I should clarify that the scamp tried to pick his pocket outside the Theatre Royal, so he thought it best to bring the child back here. Even though he swore he wouldn’t collect any fresh waifs and strays until we wave goodbye to some, and even though he knows that we are stuffed to the rafters.” The reverend got another look. “As it is, the poor lad is having to sleep on a makeshift pallet on the floor of the nursery.”
“Which is infinitely better than the freezing pavement I found him shoeless on.”
Mrs. Witherspoon adopted her aggrieved opera singer stance again, but without much conviction. “That may be, Reverend, but we cannot save everyone… as much as we might want to.”
“It’s been quiet then.” Vee and the vicar exchanged a smile because, despite owning one of the biggest and kindest hearts on the planet, their whirling dervish of a matron did like to moan. “And there I was expecting to come back to utter chaos.”
“We need a miracle, that’s what we need.” The matron wasn’t ready to stop moaning. “Preferably one that is coin shaped.”
“Something will come up to save us,” said the reverend with his customary optimism. “Something always does.”
“On the subject of something coming, your new books arrived first thing this morning.” The matron slid a large parcel toward her across the floor. “Sixty pristine reading books alongside thisprivateletter from His Lordship addressed to you.” She produced it from her apron pocket. “I haven’t sent an acknowledgment for the books as I thought you’d want to thank Lord Dorchester yourself for his continued generosity toward our orphans’ educations—and hisobviousinterest in the way thatyouteach them.” The comment was loaded with innuendo, as Mrs. Witherspoon was convinced the man had taken a fancy to her. As Vee cracked open the seal of the letter, hoping to see some private sentiments that indeed confirmed the theory, the older woman made no secret of the fact that she was trying to read it over her shoulder. “Will you be seeing him in person anytime soon?”
Vee scanned the depressingly impersonal and succinct missive quickly before folding it again in irritation despite Lord Dorchester’s continued generosity. How like him to explain why he had selected the books he had, and why he had purposefully ignored several of her suggestions because novels were nothing more than “silly fictional flights of fancy that hold no great educational value to improve impressionable young minds.”
Not that he had ever taught a young mind anything himself, of course. And never mind that her four years of teaching experience had taught her that those exciting “flights of fancy” also gave those impressionable children a love of reading that encouraged them to want to continue doing it outside of lesson time.
The love of reading went hand in hand with a love of learning, fueled it and nurtured it. Whereas dry texts only snuffed out that flame. No matter how many times, or how logically, she made that argument, it always fell on deaf ears with her serious, mature lord who always knew better. This was a flaw in his character that was becoming increasingly difficult to overlook, no matter how much prudence dictated that she tried.
If his curt dismissal of her learned opinion wasn’t irritation enough, his “private” letter made no inquiries about her at all! He hadn’t even bothered asking why she had missed attending his mother’s reading salon this week after the snow delayed her in Hampshire, when she had never missed it in the three months she had been attending. It did not bode well that he hadn’t even noticed her absence. Or cared for her much at all.
Ifat all.
He was certainly both deaf and blind to every single hint she had dropped these past three months that they could be more than two people who shared a love of books and academia.
Because, his tendency to ignore her opinions aside, in many ways she was increasingly convinced that they might be perfect for each other. Especially now that she had given up on all her foolish notions of a passionate love match. Passion might well have gone hand in hand with love in her sisters’ marriages, but it had caused nothing but misery for Vee, who seemed to have no trouble stoking a gentleman’s passions while leaving his heart untouched.
Besides, her poor heart had only just stitched itself back together after it had been thoroughly broken by the treacherous Lord Argyll last season, and she was in no hurry to repeat that dreadful mistake.
Ever.
Thankfully, she had, however, learned from it. She was all done with romance and all the insincere but dangerous nonsense that came with it. Romance was for dreamers and fools, and she was no longer either. That was why she had decided that the future father of her children, and head of the happy family home she had always longed for, would be as far removed in every way as possible from the handsome but ultimately unworthy young gentleman who had turned her head and scrambled her wits.
Despite the fifteen-year difference in their ages, Lord Dorchester and she were both bookish scholars at heart with a thirst for knowledgeand a shared philanthropic desire to improve the lives of the less fortunate through education. That was a surer foundation for a marriage than romance, and a stronger one.
Yes—he was a tad too serious and uncompromising, and that sometimes came off as arrogant or dismissive. And yes, he could also be a bit judgmental and patronizing when he lectured those around him on what was right and what was wrong. But there was no denying he had a moral compass that pointed resolutely north exactly as hers did; that he had a reputation as an upright and upstanding gentleman, was free from scandal as well as solvent, and was mature enough to be guided by the thoughts in his head rather than the appendage that resided in his breeches.
Surely that had to count for something?
She had certainly never met another living soul with whom she could discuss Homer’sIliador history or philosophy with such informed passion. And unlike the insufferable Galahad just now, if Lord Dorchester was passionate about anything, it was Shakespeare. Almost as much as she was. That had to count for something, too, despite her preference for the Bard’s comedies and his for the “more worthy” tragedies. Dorchester could also converse extensively on everything from the Byzantine empire to botany, and from agriculture to astronomy, and could lecture knowledgeably on them all for hours.
Hours and hours.
Sometimes without pausing for breath.
But that was another minor flaw she was choosing to ignore in favor of all the things she admired about him. He was the most learned man she had ever encountered, for goodness’ sake, and Vee loved to learn. So that was another point in his favor, albeit an unromantic one.
