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Laura collected the little scraps of paper, studied them, and then created her own sentence: “The brown cow eats.”
“That’s fantastic, Laura. Really,” Marta said.
She’d never envisioned the sort of joy that came with teaching. Although she’d been a remarkable pain to her tutors and governesses as a child, she hoped that the act of teaching her anything had given them some sort of solace.
As they worked, Marta perceived some sort of shadow off to the right. Her eyes swept up towards the yonder bookshelves to find Baldwin there, a book stretched out across his palm. His eyes scanned the book, although it was clear that he’d only just been peering directly at Marta.
Marta wondered if he’d made some excuse to find them there.
Although, of course, this seemed outside the bounds of reason. After all, Baldwin had seemed entirely pleased to learn of her involvement with the Duke. At least, in word alone, he’d seemed pleased. That strange colour to the air; the bizarre nature with which he’d informed her aunt—all of that contributed to a state of confusion she couldn’t fathom.
“Good afternoon again, Mr Terrence,” Marta said.
Baldwin’s eyes swept up from his book. They glittered, almost ominously. Marta’s heart bumped itself against her ribcage.
“Good evening, nearly,” Baldwin returned.
“Always there for the correction. Perhaps you should be the one teaching English,” Marta affirmed.
“I’ve never had the patience for teaching,” Baldwin said.
“Anyone could have the patience to teach Laura,” Marta said. Immediately, she translated what she and Baldwin had said to Laura, to ensure that she didn’t feel left out.
Baldwin crept closer to peer down at the fresh construction of words and adjectives and verbs Laura had crunched together. He clucked his tongue, clearly impressed with both of them. “I can’t envision the path from no language to some language. I struggled greatly with learning both French and Latin as a young man. Now, if I don’t study for many hours in a week, I feel the languages slipping through my fingers. You’re quite lucky, Marta, as you grew up with both.”
“My mother refused to speak to me in German,” Marta said with a laugh. “And my father spoke to me only in German. I can’t remember a time I didn’t have both. I used to mesmerise my friends with it back in Austria. Making up little rhymes using English instead of German. They felt that I operated from a different rule book.”
There it was again: that flicker of interest behind his eyes. Marta smiled up at him, her heart thudding. After a long, strange moment, Baldwin scratched the back of his head and lifted the book he’d found with his other hand.
“I suppose I’ll leave the two of you to your work. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
With that, he disappeared. Marta’s eyes flickered off towards the doorway, watching him go. When they couldn’t hear his footsteps any longer, Laura’s fingers appeared before Marta’s face. She snapped twice, then a third time. Marta hardly registered the sounds.
“Goodness, Marta,” Laura said. “You’re captivated with him. I haven’t seen you so lovesick since…”
“Don’t,” Marta said. The smile smeared off her face. “I’m not captivated with him. He’s only a curiosity for me. Entirely sober. Stoic. Responsible. Not the sort of man I could ever see myself with.”
Laura’s eyebrows rose. She muttered to herself, in sing-song German. “I would have to disagree. Sometimes, we women surprise even ourselves with what we want the most.”
