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As I listen to the jarring music produced by a dozen or more girls singing in inharmonious keys, I wonder, sir, what your thoughts are about children in general. You clearly have an affinity for them as you have chosen to dedicate your life to their education.
In moments like these, I wonder why so many adults are keen to produce children at all. One could take an entirely cynical view and see that the costs of childbearing are high, beginning with the cost to the physical health of the mother, if she is lucky enough to survive the bearing of them. But further, the cost to educate, to dower, to house and feed and clothe them—is there no limit to the burden of a parent? And for what return? Is a child truly necessary for one’s legacy? Or do you suppose it an issue of security? Perhaps there are those who have produced the one person who would be obligated to care for them in old age.
I ponder these things when I cannot sleep, and I find that there is no ready answer. I would that I’d had a child, as it might have informed me better, but alas, that was not to be.
A Concerned Resident of Devonshire
To A Resident of Devonshire, Concerned,
What interesting questions you pose! Do you think children should be mute? Wouldn’t it be grand if they never uttered a word until they reached their majority? Imagine all the arguments we would be spared if that were so. We confess that there aremanyarguments at the Iddesleigh School, generally concerning the central question of who has what and who hasn’t, or who has said what about who.
As for why adults are keen to have children, we cannot provide a satisfactory answer. We would like to believe it is so they will have someone to love with all their heart. Or to form a family in the absence of one. Or to create another being in the image of a most beloved spouse. Perhaps it is as simple as a desire to make the world a better place by bringing into this world children who will be better than oneself. It’s only through the continuation of life that progress is made, is that not so? We were once acquainted with a teacher who said that with every child born, the human race is born again. A lovely sentiment, is it not?
Be assured that while we ponder these important philosophical questions, the girls are working on a musical performance for their parents. We are putting all our hopes and dreams into a notable improvement in their collective ability to hold a tune.
Yours kindly,
The Iddesleigh School for Exceptional Girls
CHAPTER TWELVE
ONEMORNING,AWAGONarrived at Iddesleigh laden with various sundries in bags and boxes. This arrival stirred the house into excitement—not for the contents of the wagon, as Amelia guessed—but because it meant Donovan was coming.
Donovan, the mysterious man whose position in society and in this house was not entirely clear. Amelia had met the gentleman the last time she’d been in England, but only briefly. She and Justine had not been able to determine who or what he was then, either—the Iddesleighs had laughingly called him a governess. But hehadbeen a childminder of sorts, and Amelia had assumed that he must have been a bachelor uncle. It had all been very odd, but it was abundantly clear that the girls and Lord and Lady Iddesleigh considered him to be family and had missed him terribly.
When the wagon pulled into the drive, Blythe sprang into action, crying out for Mrs. Hughes to speed herself along and dress the girls in their blue frocks. She raced from the dining room and down the hall to her husband’s study, where she burst in through the doors and announced, “Donovan is coming!”She whirled around and nearly collided with Amelia, who had, of course, chased her down the hall, unwilling to let a moment of excitement escape her.
“Make haste, Highness!” Blythe cried, and hurried past her, down the long hall, to take care of who knew what.
Amelia looked into the study. Beck and Lila were sitting together, and Beck said, “Thank the saints, the cavalry has arrived.” He stood up and strode out of the study.
Amelia followed him to the drive where footmen were helping the driver unload. She heard the driver report that Mr. Donovan had accompanied some guests to Torrington Hall and that he would be along presently.
The next two hours felt as if they were all waiting for a storm to blow through or Christmas to dawn. The girls, dressed in matching frocks, were assembled in the salon, prepared to receive him. Blythe fluttered around the staff, asking more than once if tea was ready, and even Beck walked to the front door more than once to peer out at the long drive for any sign of Donovan.
So when at long last riders were spotted cresting the road, the girls raced to the drive, falling over each other in their eagerness to line up, having forgotten the reception was to be in the drawing room. Blythe was right behind them, just as eager. Beck, Lila, and Amelia followed.
Two gentlemen arrived. Donovan was immediately off his horse; the other remained on his mount.
“What have we here?” Donovan went down onto his haunches to view the girls. “Lovely frocks, ladies. What beauties you are—a sight for me sore eyes.”
“Why are your eyes sore?” Maisie asked.
“From all the tears I’ve shed for missing you, lass.”
“We’ve been practicing our welcomes,” Blythe said. She had a lilt in her voice.
Donovan rose up and bowed. “It is my great honor to be received in such a fashion.”
Mathilda nudged Maren, who nudged Maisie, and down the line it went. The four oldest curtsied.
“My, my,” Donovan said, nodding with approval. “I see a vast improvement.” He grinned, and held out his arms, and all four girls raced forward, throwing their arms around his legs and his waist. He greeted each one, a hand on top of their head or cupping their face, smiling at them as if he had brought them into this world, speaking to them in turn. And then he motioned for Birdie from Beck’s arms to squeeze her in a hug.
The man was devilishly handsome. Amelia thought it should have been impossible for her to forget just how handsome he was, but clearly, she had, and she was struck a little dumb by it. She couldn’t say if it was the almond shape of his eyes, or the perfect shape of his lips, or the physique that looked sculpted from marble—whatever the magic to him was, it caused her to take a step or two forward.
Donovan turned toward her and set Birdie down. He bowed low over the girls. “Your Royal Highness, I am humbled by your presence.”
“Oh.” She was surprisingly tongue-tied. “You remember me.”
