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“Je,of course. But don’t you think that sometimes grief can open closed doors?”
That was not an observation Lila would have expected the princess to make and looked at her with genuine curiosity. “How so?”
She rubbed her forehead as if it pained her. “I’ve suffered a great loss, too. I’ve grieved beyond anything I thought was imaginable. It’s a wretched thing, to realize that life will never be the same. That my father would be forever missing from my life. But if he’d lived, Justine would not be queen. And she’s a brilliant queen, Lila. And had she not become queen, I would not have lost my way in Wesloria. I would not have come to England. My father’s death opened another path in my life, and I’m not sorry that I’ve embarked on it.”
“Perhaps you should share this with the duke,” Lila suggested.
The princess shook her head and looked down. “I could never presume—”
“There you are!” Blythe’s voice rang out. She had exited the small dressmaker’s cottage, a sun hat in hand. “It’s rather plain, but she assures me Mrs. Wilson, who lives near the old Bakerley Chapel, will dress it. We’ll just swing by there, shall we?”
The moment was lost, but Lila was, as always, optimistic. If the princess was reluctant to tell him, Lila was not. In fact, it might be better coming from the duke’s favorite matchmaker than Princess Amelia.
When they arrived back at Iddesleigh House, the princess retreated to her suite to take care of some correspondence. And Lila retreated to her rooms to write her husband and plot her next move.
There was not much that delighted her more than two people who were obviously meant to be together, except, perhaps, having a hand in bringing them together when they couldn’t manage to get there on their own.
To A Resident of Devonshire, Concerned,
You will no doubt be astonished to find a letter waiting for you, as that has not been our arrangement. But we have come to rely on your considered opinions and find ourselves facing the most egregious dilemma. Nothing to do with our most excellent students, who, by the by, are determined to have a garden of their own. You will be happy to know that the Mr. Puddlestone has agreed to oversee this endeavor himself, and just this morning brought round some shovels to be used in tilling the soil. Unfortunately, one of our younger students thought the shovel could just as well be used for some pretend swordplay, and struck another student, quite by accident, but hard enough to break the skin. Her father came to collect her and warned us that such mishaps will not be tolerated. Of course they won’t. We don’t pride ourselves on bringing up students who are likely to bean each other on the head with a shovel, but accidents do happen.
As for our need for your sound advice, we find ourselves in the untenable position of having developed esteem for someone who has not returned it in kind. You will be shocked, as you might have suspected that, like you, our desires did not trend toward esteem and companionship. We can only say that it happened by chance. We had developed strong opinions that were proven to be unfounded, and now, we don’t know what to make of our feelings, as we have discovered a compatibility with this particular person that we did not think possible. Truly. We can’t help but wonder, when does one know that compatibility has turned to love? Is there a signal? A feeling, a single moment one recognizes as love?
And if such feelings are not reciprocated, what is one to do? How does one go about the daily living? It seems as if it could become intolerable.
Your advice is, as always, very much appreciated by the Iddesleigh School for Exceptional Girls.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
HEAPPROACHEDTHEschool carefully, glancing around him to see if anyone was near. Anyone who would see him enter the small, plain building would wonder what he was about.
And then he looked for an escape if one became necessary. With so many children potentially underfoot, a quick exit could very well become urgent. He could hear the children through the open door, their voices raised in song.Again.Why were girls always singing? What made them think that life was joyous? Maybe it was joyous for them now, but one day, they’d not sing so much, would they?
Joshua had to dip down to step into the narrow entry. He doffed his hat and stood anxiously, expecting someone to greet him. A girl, Mr. Roberts—anyone. Surely one couldn’t simply walk into a school. And yet, no one came to see who was calling. Remarkable.
He moved a little deeper into the old house to a point where he could see into what he assumed was the main classroom. But the girls and Mr. Roberts were not there. He heard their voices again, and realized they were outside, somewhere in the back garden. He rolled his eyes. It seemed to him they were constantly outdoors. He walked past a tidy, but cluttered office, stuffed with books and papers, umbrellas and rain boots. He had to pass through the classroom to reach the back door. In this room, a variety of crude tables and crates were squeezed in beside each other. Around the room were slates and books. Drawings were tacked to the wall opposite the windows. A large chalkboard stood at the front of the room, onto which several arithmetic equations had been written.
Joshua followed the sounds to the back garden. The girls had stopped singing, thank the saints, but now they were chattering. How did they do it? All of them talking at once, over and around each other. Did any of them hear anything another said? And then the one, lone male voice rising above them to pay attention and to keep their hands to themselves.Excellent advice,sir.
He dipped through another low door and emerged into a bright sunlight garden. There they were a dozen or more girls milling around. Some held shovels. A few held spades. And then there were three of them with nothing in hand but who were chasing each other in a circle, shrieking with laughter.
“Children! Children, I will have your undivided attention!”
Mr. Roberts, Joshua presumed. He’d never met the headmaster.
The girls—most of them, anyway—gave him the attention he sought. There were one or two who didn’t. There were always one or two in any crowd, weren’t there?
“What did Mr. Puddlestone advise?” Mr. Roberts asked.
A hand shot up. “That the rows must be straight!”
“Precisely. Thank you, Miss Roth.”
Miss Roth looked around smugly at her classmates.
“Now then, does this row appear straight to any of you?”
The girls inched forward to have a look. “Yes,” said several of them at the same time some said, “No.”
