AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He’d happened to be galloping by—another peculiar habit of his, riding hard when the demons chased him—and had spotted the girls picking flowers. He’d pulled up and turned back to have a better look. An older girl was instructing them on the fine art of twisting vines into wreaths, and then, as he watched, plucked blooms from Puddlestone’s bush and wove them into the vines. It was an abomination.
Joshua recognized that his view of the world at this stage of his life was not shared by everyone, and therefore, he did not expect any sort of agreement. But wonder of wonders, the headmaster apparently agreed with his views...although he seemed at a bit of a loss as to what to do about it. Poor bastard was probably persecuted by parents into allowing the girls to do as they pleased.
He read the letter again.
To A Resident of Devonshire, Concerned,
We are in receipt of your last letter and have concluded that you are absolutely right. One can only imagine the disappointment of an author who has put so much time into creating an instructional book on botany only to see it discarded and the entire classroom sent outside to look at plants. Is that not the very reason for books to exist, so that the subject may be brought to the child and not the other way around? Alas, during a recent rain the roof sprang a bit of a leak and our very fine botany book was damaged. The girls had to go out of doors to complete the lesson. You wouldn’t want them to fall behind in their lessons, I should think. Unfortunately, as there are no gardens at their current location—a fact we hope to remedy one day—they were escorted a short distance to see a very fine garden nearby, and at Mr. Puddlestone’s gracious invitation. The chaplets the girls made turned out to be quite lovely. Mr. Puddlestone wore one for tea along with the girls. One can only admire a man who will wear a wreath of flowers on his bald head.
Perhaps this knowledge in some small part will acquit the girls of their crime?
Warmest of wishes,
The Iddesleigh School for Artistic Girls
Joshua stared at the letter. No, the girls were not acquitted of their crime. He happened to know that Mr. Puddlestone was very proud of his garden and surely had not intended the flowers to be wasted on such a frivolous endeavor. But as Mr. Puddlestone was a gentleman, he undoubtedly did not allow his true feelings to be known. Isn’t that what gentlemen did? They subdued their true feelings and allowed the females in the world to have them all.
He read the letter a third time and dragged his fingers through his unruly hair.
Did the headmasterreallyagree with him? Or was this letter written tongue in cheek? He wasn’t sure. On the one hand, his complaint might seem puerile to the casual reader. On the other hand, perhaps the headmaster was a long-suffering gentleman, too. Joshua thought of the letter he’d left tonight, this one complaining of more noise. He would wait and see the reply to that one.
It turned out that he could scarcely bear the wait.
Joshua pulled on his boots at half past one in the morning the following night and strode down the road to the school, another letter in hand. He had thought about it, had concluded thatifthe headmaster was mocking him, he would not be deterred. And if he truly did agree with Joshua’s thoughts, then he ought to have them all.
When he entered the small yard of the school cottage, he could see the white vellum tacked to the door. Another one directed to “A Resident of Devonshire, Concerned”. His heart began to skip ahead of his feet.
Another letteragreeingwith him! Yes, they were too loud, the headmaster said. Yes, they were incorrigible, and surely heads hurt across the countryside from all the screeching!
But Joshua’s satisfaction quickly turned to dismay. What was he to do with this letter? He ought to be thinking of ways tohelpthe headmaster instead of merely complaining.
He was going about this all wrong. But what was right?
He was seated at his desk, mulling it over one afternoon when Butler entered the room with a letter held out on a silver tray.
The dogs, who had been lazing around Joshua’s feet, got up to give Butler a good sniff. Artemis remained curled on top of the estate ledger on Joshua’s desk.
“What is that?” Joshua asked, hardly sparing it a glance.
“It has come from Iddesleigh House, Your Grace, delivered by the Earl of Iddesleigh himself. He asked if he might wait for your reply.”
Joshua looked at his butler from the corner of his eye. “And you said?”
“I suggested that it would be more efficient to have a reply sent round to Iddesleigh.”
“Good man, Butler. As to that, you may reply in the same way you have to the others.”
“Would you not care to read it, Your Grace?”
“I don’t need to.”
“If I may, there is to be a ball—”
“No,” Joshua stood from his chair. He was ravenously hungry. When was the last time he’d eaten properly?
“To introduce Her Royal Highness Princess Amelia of Wesloria,” Butler stubbornly continued.
“NO,” Joshua said again, a little more loudly. This was a new development, something else he’d be forced to monitor. A European princess had come to call on the Iddesleighs, and Joshua was a bit resentful about it. A fortnight ago, the whole valley had heralded her grand entrance, in a caravan of four coaches, no less. One to carry her esteemed self. One to carry her luggage, and one into which all her servants and minders had been stuffed. He’d passed the coaches laboring along the road that separated Hollyfield from Iddesleigh and would have mistaken it for a funeral cortege, had not the plumes on the coaches been pink.Pink plumes, of all things.
