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Chapter Twenty-Three
“You are so very giddy that you will not give yourself time to think before you speak.”
Private Education: A Practical Plan for the Studies of Young Ladies.
Elizabeth Appleton. 1815.
Meet me in the basement.
S.
In Gothic novels, such a message read beneath the ghostly radiance of the moon would send a shiver of dread down the heroine’s spine, but Matilda’s medulla spinalis tingled solely with elation.
Before indulgence of that elation could take place, however, she hastened from her bedchamber and into the hall, dropped her linen towel to the side table and made for the door opposite.
A light knock and she entered. “Chloe?”
“Hmm. I’m still awake. I’m writing a book.”
Gosh.
Sitting propped up in bed beside a lantern, Chloe scribbled away with pencil in hand while strewn over the coverlet were sheets of paper smothered in diagrams and arrows.
Matilda squinted from the doorway. “And what is the subject matter, dearest?”
“Well, it’s entitled How to Defend Oneself Against Villainous Relatives: Volume One.”
Miss Appleton did advise that themed compositions were a necessary part of a lady’s blossoming education, so Matilda nodded in approval. “That will be an undoubted success.” She smiled and wandered in, adoring her young charge’s bedchamber, caught at that moment between girl and woman, yet nonetheless all Chloe – books and boxing gloves, ragged dolls and…illustrations of half-naked pugilists.
Perching on the bed, she lightly patted Chloe’s hand. “I just wished to thank you for today. I never could have fought off my cousin without your fine instruction. Initially I was so frightened, but I could hear your words in my head – that it’s the element of surprise that makes it possible.”
A blush lit Chloe’s cheek – the first she’d ever seen. “I’m so glad it worked.”
“And I would like to learn more techniques, Chloe. If you will?”
“Of course,” she gushed. “I should love to. And…and if you like, we could work on overcoming that fright. Pa says it’s all about finding the calm within yourself…which I’ve never found. But then I’m only thirteen. Fourteen in November.” She bit her lip, green eyes bright. “And yes.”
“Yes?”
The jumble of papers was shoved aside. “When we got back, Pa asked if I’d be agreeable with the two of you marrying, and I said yes. Just in case you thought I might not. In truth, I can’t wait.”
“Oh…” A fervid heat crept into Matilda cheeks and she fiddled with the blue coverlet. “Well, I haven’t actually been… We may need more time… I wouldn’t like to presume…”
Chloe rolled her eyes and tucked her knees up. “You make Pa happy. He’s spent so long working, to look after me and build our academy. And you’re not exactly a wicked stepmother.”
“Even if I make you quill tea caddies?”
Sniggering, Chloe flung her arms around Matilda’s neck, all gangly limbs and messy blond plait, lavender wafting.
Tears smarted, and although affection still felt peculiar to Matilda, now it was a comfortable sort of peculiar – one she relished – and she returned the hug, keen and tender.
This loving girl would become a glorious woman, with or without a lady’s accomplishments, and she drew away to bestow a soft kiss to her young charge’s forehead. “Good night, Chloe. Do not stay up too late writing.”
“Good night, Miss Griffin. I won’t, and I’m so glad you chose to come here as my governess.”
“Me also, Chloe.” And after a last squeeze, Matilda rose to cross the room, shutting the door softly behind her and letting her spine rest back upon it for a moment.
Had she chosen to come here?
