Page 17 of The Redemption of the Shrew

“But no, it matters very much! Why did you pretend to disagree with his views? He was astonished when I told him about the school.”

“Yes, he would be. I have kept the school a secret from society until now.” Gloriana wished he hadn’t told his sister about her stupid behavior. Wished he hadn’t found out about the school. But perhaps it was all for the best, as she needed funds to expand it, so soon everyone would know—but not about her foolish tendre for Philippe. She shook her head. “I can’t explain.”

“You mean you will not,” Madame Brun said, “just like Philippe.”

“You’re right, I won’t. It is all ancient history.”

“You are not ninety years old, to speak as if your life is past. He is thirty and you are . . . twenty-five or so?”

Gloriana scowled. “My decision to conceal my philanthropy has nothing to do with Philippe.”

Madame Brun wasn’t deceived. “You loved him once,” she said softly, “and he loved you.”

“We thought we loved one another,” Gloriana said. “And then we found that we did not.”

Madame pouted. “Perhaps if you came to know one another again . . .” She spread her hands suggestively.

“He gave me the cut direct, Madame Brun, and also forbade you to apologize! That indicates very clearly that he does not wish to know me.”

“Tsk,” Madame said. “He is a prideful fool. I don’t know what happened between you, but surely . . .”

“No,” Gloriana said. “What is done cannot be undone.”

Madame tutted. “Love is not so easy to find, that you and he should dismiss it so lightly.” She sighed. “But if we cannot become sisters, at least we shall continue to be friends.”

~ ~ ~

Time passed, and Gloriana held her breath, anticipating droll looks and frank laughter amongst her acquaintances as Philippe spread the news about her school. And as he crowed in triumph that she had given in to his eloquence and adopted his revolutionary views.

But no such thing happened. Seemingly, he had told no one. Why not? He should be gloating about it. He probably thought she’d opened the school all those years ago in the hope of regaining his approval.

How mortifying, since something of the sort had indeed gone on in the privacy of her mind—so private that she hadn’t even realized it—while she snubbed him consistently in public.

She wrote to her sister-in-law, Melinda Garrison, in Lancashire, and to her newly-wedded cousin Daisy in Somerset, asking them to serve as patrons of her school. As expected, both contributed with exclamations—written, but no less loud for being so—of surprise and approval.

This eased the immediate financial problems, resulting in the addition of two more orphans and weekly classes in marquetry and inlay. But sooner or later, she would have to make the school’s existence public and, for the sake of the boys, bear the humiliation of agreeing with some of Philippe’s views.

From time to time Philippe visited his sister, but it was easy to avoid him. Twice he deigned to give Gloriana a curt nod whilst riding in Hyde Park. She and her friend Alice Stowe met him while shopping for Christmas on Old Bond Street, where he behaved with ordinary civility. This display of hypocrisy on his part made it easier to shut off any and every reaction to him: no anger, no pain, and not even much interest.

“He’s so gloriously handsome,” Alice gushed as they walked on.

Gloriana cast her eyes heavenward. “You too?” She hadn’t noticed until lately how many silly women swooned over the Marquis de Bellechasse.

Alice laughed. “If I were not married, I would long to compromise him. Last week, Arabella Stansom tried to trap him in an alcove at Corington House.” Alice, an unrepentant gossip, always knew the latest on dits.

“Surely she needs to marry money,” Gloriana said. “Her family are poor as church mice, and although the marquis is not precisely impoverished, he is not a wealthy man.” She had followed his progress over the years, fool that she was, and knew he had purchased a small Buckinghamshire estate.

“Lust, my dear Gloriana. Fortunately, the marquis is adept at avoiding foolish females, whether virgins, married ladies, or widows. He confines his amours to the demimonde, which is eminently practical but disappointing to many passionate ladies.” At Gloriana’s grimace, she asked, “Don’t you find him devastatingly attractive?”

“Not because of his looks,” Gloriana said and wished she’d phrased her answer otherwise. “Yes, he is handsome, but—”

“His delicious Frenchness is so romantic,” Alice said.

“And entirely superficial.” Gloriana certainly wouldn’t admit that at twenty, she had found these same features fascinating. “Surely his views are far more . . . worthwhile.” There, a first step toward seeking out more patrons for the school.

Alice stared. “I thought you disagreed completely with his views!”

“Mostly, yes, but he does have some valid notions, and a rational woman should prefer a man who at least thinks about important matters.”