Page 138 of The Crown’s Gift

The new King permitted use of the word Royal after receiving the school's plan through an old secretary of Queen Charlotte. The letter of approval mentioned Sir Thomas's service but praised his daughters' design.

He framed that letter in the schoolhouse rather than his library.

At the opening, Lydia gave the speech.

No one had intended this except Lydia. Sir Thomas discovered it when she stepped onto the low platform with three pages in her hand.

"Most schools teach children to be quiet," she began. "I hope this one teaches them when to speak."

Lady Bennet whispered, "She should stand straighter."

Sir Thomas touched her sleeve.

Lydia continued. "My sisters and I were fortunate. We had a governess, masters, books, and a father who learned to hear us before we could make every possible mistake. Not every child is given the same. This school cannot give a family, but it can give knowledge enough to recognize danger and the confidence to speak."

Her voice shook on the final line. Captain Carter stood among the guests, pride open on his face.

"The Royal Oak began with one act of courage," Lydia said. "May the children here learn that courage is not only saving kings. It is asking a question, keeping an account, refusing what is wrong, and trying again after being foolish. I know most about the last."

Laughter and applause rose together.

Sir Thomas looked at his youngest daughter and remembered the muddy boot in his library, the attic window, the girl who once believed officers existed for admiration and rules for evasion.

"You are crying," Lady Bennet said.

"Dust."

"Outdoors?"

"An agricultural variety."

The school flourished. A tenant's daughter became its second teacher. One boy earned a scholarship to Cambridge through a fund Mr Avery established. Several girls trained as governesses, companions, and bookkeepers. Others remained in farming households and used arithmetic to challenge unfair market accounts.

Sir Thomas visited every Thursday.

He read with small children beneath the portrait of King George sent from the royal household. The artist had painted the King in state robes, solemn and distant. Sir Thomas preferred the memory of sugar glaze upon the royal fingers and astonishment in his eyes.

One afternoon Anne Darcy asked to accompany her grandfather.

She sat among the oldest pupils during an estate lesson and corrected a boundary calculation before remembering she was a visitor. Sir Thomas made her explain the correction rather than apologize for knowing it.

On the walk back, Anne asked, "Will Pemberley be George's because he is a boy?"

"Most likely."

"Even if I understand the estate better?"

Sir Thomas heard Elizabeth's spirit in the question and Darcy's seriousness in its delivery.

"The law determines inheritance. It does not determine usefulness. Pemberley will be part of your responsibility because it is your home, whether your name stands first in an estate book or not. Your parents will teach all of you."

"Could the law change?"

"Laws are made by people and therefore capable of everything people are, including improvement."

Anne considered this for the remainder of the walk.

When Sir Thomas told Darcy of the conversation, he expected discomfort. Darcy looked thoughtful.