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“I’ve no doubt she is a talented and resourceful queen,” Mr. Swann said. “But she has male advisors and a husband to protect and defend and to guide her.”
Amelia’s pulse quickened. Justine didn’t need men to tell her what she had learned at her father’s knee.
“I know I speak only for myself, Highness,” said Blythe, “but if I had to keep the accounts of Iddesleigh straight, well...” She laughed, and Mrs. Carhill and all the men joined in.
Amelia looked at Lady Caroline. She frowned back at Amelia, then shifted her gaze to Lila, who was staring ponderously at Blythe.
“I never really had a head for figures,” Blythe said airily.
Amelia wouldn’t press the issue. Beck seemed to think differently than his wife, and that’s what mattered in this house. She settled back and smiled prettily. “All the same, I think we can all agree that it’s a boon for Devonshire to have a school for girls.”
“Absolutely!” Mr. Carhill said. A few nods in agreement, aHear! Hear!or two. Amelia glanced at the duke. He was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. He probably thought she’d weighed in on a subject for which she had no right to have an opinion. He probably thought that the sooner she was married with someone to tell her what to think, the better. She frowned at him.
“Speaking of girls and education,” Blythe said. “Our oldest girls have been at their music and have a musicale planned for your entertainment.” She beamed as if she was introducing a London opera. “Let us have our dessert and then we can retire to the drawing room.”
Amelia smiled, the consummate guest, not here to ruffle feathers. She happened to glance at Marley again. He was still looking at her, one corner of his mouth tipped up ever so slightly in something that, on any other man, might have indicated a smile. On him, she wasn’t certain, but she had the distinct impression it was a smirk. He’d enjoyed the conversation and her exasperation. She wasn’t as good at hiding it as she thought.
But if there was any doubt,hewas the bore. Not her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ITWASJOSHUA’Sworst nightmare come true—a girl’s school, aboardingschool, practically right outside his door. He stared at the old earl in the painting.Why didn’t you take it down, you old fool?
He could imagine the agony—the noise, the high-pitched girlish voices alternately crying and laughing and then, all the talking and singing. He imagined them trampling gardens and setting cattle and sheep free from their meadows and wreaking havoc up and down this valley.
“What are you doing?” Miles whispered to him as the gentlemen stood to join the ladies.
He was so lost in his imagining of an infestation of little girls that Joshua hadn’t even noticed the command from Iddesleigh to assemble in the main drawing room. Everyone was already out of their seats, their cigars smoked, their ports drunk.
He roused himself and followed them from the dining room.
The ladies were already seated, and before the hearth, a man Marley thought looked vaguely familiar was arranging the Iddesleigh daughters according to height. There were five girls in all, the youngest no more than two years, and that one bouncing around in bare feet. The other four were wearing identical blue frocks, their golden red hair bound in curls at their crowns.
Miles stepped up to where Joshua was standing and leaned in. “Try and look like you enjoy it, at least,” he whispered. “The children are not deserving of your scowl.”
He was scowling?
Miles strolled to stand behind Miss Carhill.
“All right, then, Mrs. Hughes?” the man said.
A middle-aged woman in a lace cap appeared and hurried to the piano. She sat on the bench, arranged her music just so, and placed her hands on the keys. Ready.
The man stepped forward and bowed. “If I may, I am Mr. Donovan, friend of the family, and uncle of sorts. And this,” he said, stepping back and gesturing with his arm to the girls, “Is the Hawke chorus.”
Everyone in the room clapped. Joshua, too—he wasn’t an ogre. But he had a feeling this performance would be excruciating.
Mr. Donovan gave Mrs. Hughes a nod and the music began. The girls missed their opening note. Mr. Donovan put up his hand, Mrs. Hughes stopped playing, and he walked to the line of girls. He went down the row, leaning over, whispering to each of them.
“But Birdie will ruin it,” one of the smaller ones said with a stamp of her foot.
Mr. Donovan heeded that caution and picked up the youngest child and returned to his place. The music began again. This time, the girls began to sing on their mark. And, remarkably,dance.Mr. Donovan put the littlest girl down and began to mimic the movements the girls were supposed to make, guiding them through it.
“Little Miss Careful whenever she wish-es”the girls sang while moving arms and legs here and there. The two oldest girls had clearly practiced their steps. The next two watched the older ones, copying their moves, a beat or two behind. And the little one, Birdie, hopped around the piano on both feet like a chicken, clapping her pudgy little hands and singing a song that only she knew the words to.
“May play with her best tea party dish-es...”
The singing was just like what he’d heard coming from the school—horrendously out of tune. And yet, something came over Joshua. A tingly bit of warmth, the feeling one had when surprised or titillated. It started in his belly and moved slowly up, wrapping around his heart and squeezing the soot from it. It spread to his limbs and crept up his neck. He tried to shake the feeling loose, but watching those girls so earnestly sing their song and dance their dance, he was helpless. The feeling flooded into him and squeezed out his eyes.
