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20 YEARS LATER
“The Wentworth girl’s father will be here soon.”
Clarissa looked up at her senior assistant with a smile. Annie hadn’t changed that much over the years—a little plumper perhaps, but she had five children now, and was very happily married.
“I know. I’m ready for him.”
Annie pursed her lips. “Those girls are in the sitting room. They’re rather loud and I’ve told them to hush once. Should I tell them to go and do their dancing practise?”
‘Those girls’ were a group of five students who had become very close since they started at the Finishing School. Clarissa liked to see girls getting on together and she shook her head at Annie.
“Leave them for now. If they get too rowdy I’ll have a word with them.”
“Very well, Miss Debenham,” said Annie in her primmest voice and returned to her desk.
Annie was a treasure and Clarissa didn’t know what she would have done without her all these years. They’d first met that day at the inn, and then Annie had begun taking lessons, making astounding progress really, showing a talent for learning that Clarissa felt privileged to foster. Once Clarissa had moved to her own small school, Annie had been her first employee, and then the school had grown and she’d moved again, and finally she’d purchased the large house in Hampshire that became Miss Debenham’s Finishing School for Young Ladies.
Her school had built a fine reputation and she catered to the elite families in the country. Lately she had been thinking there never seemed to be enough hours in the day to do all that needed to be done. The school had grown far bigger than she’d ever imagined. She loved her work though; even after all the years—perhaps because she’d put so much of her time, so much of herself, into her schools.
And her students.
They had the daughter of a duke coming next term, and no doubt if she was happy then others would follow, but Clarissa wasn’t fussed by the quality. She liked to teach all girls and it didn’t matter whose daughters they were, not really.
There was a personal pride in seeing a girl arrive without the necessary skills to go through her life and then to see her leave with them tucked away inside her head. Clarissa didn’t just teach her girls the fundamentals of stitching and dancing and running a house; she taught them to hold their own in a world where women were becoming increasingly independent. Or at least, she hoped so.
She tried not to have any favourites amongst the students but some of them, especially those who came from less fortunate backgrounds, deserved more attention, she felt, than those who came from happy homes. Or perhaps it was just that she felt more empathy with them, considering her own background.
She was proud of her students and recalled every one of them, but just lately she had begun to wonder if the school had outgrown her. She was starting to remember when she was running a smaller school, with just a few girls, and how much greater the satisfaction was at seeing them succeed.
A burst of laughter reached her from outside, probably from the small sitting room. With a sigh Clarissa got to her feet and went to find the culprits. Annie rolled her eyes as she passed her but Clarissa only smiled. The five girls in question had lately formed a club called The Husband Hunters Club. They didn’t think anyone else knew; it was very secret, but Clarissa overheard things and was told things and knew most of what happened in her school.
When she reached the small sitting room the door was not quite closed and she paused a moment to listen. She could hear Averil’s clear, definite tones. Lady Averil Martindale was very definite about most things; she was an heiress and planned to give her fortune away to the poor. And there was Olivia Monteith, or Livy to her friends, with that pale English beauty so admired but with such a passionate heart beating beneath. And Marissa Rotherhild, who tried very hard to be a proper lady despite her infamous grandmother. Eugenia Belmont giggled at something Tina Smythe said; she had an infectious giggle. Both girls came from unfortunate circumstances, although Clarissa made certain to keep that to herself. Eugenia probably wouldn’t care—her family were notorious—but Tina would be mortified if anyone knew how desperate were her current circumstances.
Olivia was announcing to the others, “We cannot possibly live the life of spinsters. One of those women who end up being shunted around from relative to relative? Imagine being someone’s unpaid help, going out to fetch things in the rain, and trying to be grateful for it.”
“Nonsense,” said Averil. “There are lots of spinsters who do very well. Look at Miss Debenham. She seems perfectly happy on her own.”
“But is she?” Eugenie spoke up, always ready for mischief or a joke. “Perhaps she has a memory tucked away, of some sad love affair, never forgotten. A cad who broke her heart.”
“Oh, Eugenie, really! Miss Debenham?” said Marissa. “She is far too level headed to have ever given her heart to a cad.”
Clarissa felt a tremor in that pa
rt of her chest where her heart resided. It was silly really. The girls didn’t mean anything by it, and she knew that her girls respected her, but they had touched a nerve.
Time to put a stop to this.
She tapped briskly on the door and heard them whispering, but when she opened it wide they were all turned to her, books and needlework in their laps, wide-eyed and innocent. She tried not to smile.
“I think you should consider your dancing practise, girls. No man will marry you if you stand on his toes.”
Glances were exchanged and they rose and hurried out.
They were young, she told herself. They would learn that life never quite turned out the way you expected it to. Clarissa had also learned that a woman must stand on her own two feet if she was to make a fulfilling life for herself. No use in depending upon a man. First, her father whose only wish was for her to keep cooking his supper, and for her to marry a man who had no interest at all in her, and second Alistair, who had let her down . . .
She shook her head.
That wasn’t true. Alistair hadn’t let her down. He’d given her a great deal of joy and she’d loved him with all her heart, loved him so much that she’d never found a man to replace him. She had kept his letters and occasionally she would open them up and read them. They still made her smile.
