by Liz Tyner
‘Miss Cherroll, if you are to move among society with your sister’s family it would be an asset for you to be able to read. You may wish to look at the caption under an engraving to see what the ladies are laughing about in a shop. Or, like my mother, read your prayer book.’
She nodded. ‘You are right. When that happens, I will learn.’
Three blinks of his eyes.
She smiled. ‘Your Grace.’
‘Miss Cherroll.’ His shoulders relaxed and he leaned back into the chair. ‘You did enjoy Mr Crusoe. I promise you would not need a tutor for very long before you would be reading for yourself.’ He held out Robinson Crusoe to Bellona. She hesitated.
Rolleston leaned forward enough to put it in her hand.
She stared at the lettering and handed it back to him. ‘I know most letters. I know some words.’
He turned the book around. ‘Then why do you resist so much?’
‘You have never met the first mate of the ship that brought me to England,’ she said. ‘I liked him. He does not read. He said he carries his knowledge here—’ she pointed to her head. ‘He does not have time to keep turning pages.’
‘Some of us cannot carry all the required knowledge and would prefer to have more than is allowed in such a small space.’
‘And you see what happened to your sailor,’ she muttered. ‘Crusoe.’
Rhys acknowledged her words with the merest smile. ‘What would it take to convince you that you need this?’
‘I don’t believe you truly care if I read or not,’ she challenged.
‘Of course I do. You’ve helped my mother. I wish to return the gift.’
‘Then—if it is so easy, teach me yourself.’
He coughed. ‘I do not have time. I have duties. Tenants. Ledgers.’
‘Then it is not important.’
She stood and moved to the door.
‘I will do it.’ His voice rumbled. Strong. Irritated.
She turned. His eyes did not match his face. For a passing second, the boy he’d been peeked out from his expression. Then he became the duke again.
‘I must be daft.’ He stood and Robinson Crusoe slammed back into the bookcase before Rhys stared her way again.
‘You do not have to do it,’ she said quickly. ‘I don’t wish to. You punish both of us for doing no wrong.’
‘An unwilling teacher and an unwilling student should make a tiresome combination, so we will start tomorrow to finish all the sooner.’
She could change her mind. She could insist on a tutor. But the image of the boy behind his eyes flashed in her memory and tumbled about her body. He’d mentioned she was a boon in so many ways and she’d wondered about those words. He could be just as alone, in his own way, as the duchess. He’d even wanted to begin teaching her the very next day.
‘The day after,’ she asked, checking his response.
‘Oh, no. Miss Cherroll. Tomorrow. I accepted your challenge. I dare say you will be reading quite quickly with me as a tutor.’ He took the volume of poetry and walked to her, placing it in her hands. ‘Look over this one, too. Mother can recite a bit of it from memory. She might like speaking it while you follow along with the words. It might help her as well.’
‘You wish for your mother not to be alone because it will be good for her…’
‘Yes.’
‘You wish for me to read because it will be good for me…’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you thought about what you should do because it will be good for yourself?’
‘Most certainly.’ He stepped back. ‘To be a son my father would be proud of. To continue his legacy.’
She shook her head. ‘You have only considered what your father’s needs would be. Not your own.’
‘My needs were formed the moment Geoff died. I cannot let him or my father down. That is what I am doing. And I thank you for reminding me that I should be about my duties. The most important thing I can do is have a son, because if I don’t marry and produce a child, everything my father and grandfather did will pass out of their direct family line.’
She pressed the books together. ‘Does that not feel as if you are being commanded to do something?’
‘No. It is simply another duty. If a tenant’s roof blows away, I must replace it. Now I must put another heir at the table.’
‘I am fortunate that I do not have to consider such a thing. I was almost forced into marriage once. I did not like it.’
‘A lot of women would wish to be a duchess.’
‘I am sure they will also find you tolerable as well.’
Chapter Eight
The poems were mountains and crevasses of words. She could not make sense of them. She’d forgotten almost all of what Melina had taught her. She tried for hours to remember and not enough had returned to her memory.
The only good thing about this situation was that it gave her something to do in the long hours before dawn. She could not have read into the night on Melos, though. They only had the one good lamp.
After studying, she’d fallen asleep and dreamed of being chased. Again she’d awoken breathing fast, her throat hurting and her heart pounding. She’d sat in bed, clasping her knife. When the shadows in the room were replaced by sunlight, she felt herself nodding off.
The next thing she knew, someone knocked.
‘Miss,’ she heard a woman’s voice call through the door.
‘Enter.’
A maid, mob cap snug, walked inside. ‘His Grace wishes that you might meet with him in the library.’
Bellona pushed herself up. The knife handle showed from underneath a fold in the counterpane. She swept the covers back over the blade. She closed her eyes and wiped her eyelashes with her fingertips, and yawned.
She could not learn the words when she was this tired. The duke would think her the same bumble-head his mother did.
‘I believe I will sleep longer.’
‘His Grace,’ the maid said softly, as if the words should stand alone in the room, ‘wishes you to see you in the library.’
‘Please tell him I would be pleased to…’ She looked back at the bed. ‘But I cannot meet him now.’
The maid didn’t move.
‘Could you bring chocolate—several hours from now?’ Bellona asked.
‘If you are certain,’ the maid said finally.
Bellona crawled back into bed and covered a yawn before speaking. She didn’t know how she would inform the duke she could not read—ever—but she was too tired to tell him now. She could not even remember the letters of her own name, and could barely hold her eyes open. ‘I am certain. I cannot see him now. I must sleep.’
The maid nodded. ‘I will tell His Grace your head pains you.’
*
Rhys sat in the overstuffed chair in the library, a stack of unread newspapers on the table beside him. He’d changed from his riding clothes after he’d seen the maid, eyes averted, rush by the door with a tray. His mother had eaten. He had eaten. The tray could only be for one person who was not in his mother’s room, nor in any of the common areas of the house.
He would not go to her chamber and find her. She would have to leave it some time. The woman did not sit about in her room with books or sewing or staring out of the window as his mother did. She flitted around the house and the gardens—a bird moving from one berry to the next with a flight of fancy behind her eyes.
He’d worked the ledgers and made notes for Simpson and now Rhys started with the oldest newspaper, more aware of the sounds of the house than the print before him. He tended to let them gather before he read them. Perusing them in the carriage on his trips to and from London didn’t work out well. His eyes could not adjust to the jostling. He’d tried. Now he used the travelling time to review things in his head. On occasion he’d had his man of affairs ride with him so they could plan. The trip certainly went faster, but he didn’t like to take Simpson from his home because he knew the man preferred staying near his wife.
<
br /> The clock chimed one note.
He turned the page. The library had been both his mother and father’s favourite place. To be allowed to sit there with his parents and older siblings had been a treat when he was a child. Whoever sat in the library could tell most of the movements about the residents on this side of the house.
He did not think he could have missed seeing Miss Cherroll if she had left her bedchamber. He snapped the paper straight. Five times servants had whisked by the door, certainly having been summoned by his mother or Bellona. The staff was well trained to stay invisible otherwise.
Even the paper didn’t look to have been ironed properly. He’d smudged a word with his hand, and the smear vastly irritated him.
Something creaked. A door softly shut. No footsteps sounded, but he could almost feel her movements. He lowered the print enough so he could look over it.
‘Miss Cherroll,’ he said before she even appeared at the opening.
A rap sounded at the wall. He would wager that was a bow bumping wood.
She stepped to the threshold.
When she met his eyes, the bow was held in both hands, flat to her chest. The quiver cinched the dull fabric of her dress.
‘Oh, Miss Cherroll,’ he continued, ‘I see you have arrived to practise your reading.’
He stood, folding the paper. Shadows rested under her eyes and her hair was more mussed than usual. Compassion touched him. Perhaps the maid had told the truth. Perhaps Bellona had really been feeling ill.
‘Do you need a medicinal prepared?’ he asked.
Puzzlement. He saw it. Puzzlement in her eyes and then the memory washing over her. The wench had forgotten she was supposed to be unwell.
‘I am fine. Now,’ she added. Her shoulders dropped and her chin weakened.
He looked at her the same way he’d reprimanded the gamekeeper. ‘Wonderful. Then we will read.’
‘I must practise my archery.’
‘I am rushed for time. I think it would be best if we worked together first.’
‘I should have a tutor,’ she said. ‘I cannot take you from your duties.’
He placed the paper on the desk as she spoke. Now he put a hand on his heart. ‘I cannot think of any duty more important than your education, Miss Cherroll.’
‘I have changed my mind.’
‘I have not.’
‘I cannot learn.’ She shook her head. ‘I have no mind for it.’
‘Nonsense. You and I will have hours and hours of nothing but lessons until you learn.’
‘You will be wasting your time.’ The chin went up. ‘I cannot even remember all the letters.’
‘Then we will start there.’
She shook her head. ‘I have already tried. I have tried and I have tried.’
‘Last night?’
She nodded.
If the paleness of her face told the truth, then perhaps she had worried over it. He wanted to reassure her. But he could think of only one way to do that. ‘You will be reading in no time.’
‘I know you have more important things to do,’ she said. ‘I will have the tutor.’
‘I suspect you will not make progress with a tutor,’ he said. ‘I think you will somehow manage to convince the man to quit his post. I have seen no dancing tutor of late.’
‘You do not trust me?’ Her brows rose.
‘Should I?’ he responded in kind.
The brows lowered. ‘You do not know what you ask for.’
His eyes didn’t leave hers, but he managed to take in her whole body. Warmth flooded him, and he felt he could conquer the world, but perhaps not stand upright any longer. ‘I know what I am up against. I will fight the challenge.’
*
She glanced at the book he opened and the ink swirled into the dreaded confusing shapes. The duke stood, watching her. His hair curled the slightest bit at the end, brushing his ears. Some rested at the collar of his shirt, and some hid behind the cloth.
The currents in her stomach increased. How could she learn with the duke near her?
‘I would prefer to stand,’ she said. ‘If you sit at the desk, I will watch.’
‘You only want to be able to leave quickly if you can think of an excuse. You are scared of the words.’
No. His words flamed a challenge inside of her. She had survived far worse than this. ‘We must start with the letters first.’
After putting the book away, he moved to one of the overstuffed chairs, grasping the back to move it near the desk.
‘I will stand.’ She shook her head.
He dropped the back of the chair. ‘Very well.’ He moved to the desk, shuffled the ledgers aside and pulled out a paper and dipped the pen in ink.
As he wrote the alphabet, she spoke the letters she knew. When she didn’t remember, he marked it and went to another one. Then he asked her to pick out her name and she did.
‘You knew all but four of the letters,’ he said, glancing at her. No smile. No frown. ‘Memorising them should be easy. You also know your name. I’d say you’re more than halfway there already.’
Then he sketched short, quick strokes on the page.
She leaned towards him, watching the movements he made and noting the scent of his hair, bringing back memories of the mornings by the sea, causing a stab of homesickness and a curling reassurance of home.
‘And this is a pig,’ he said of the drawing, jarring her mind back into the room.
He wrote the letters under it and spoke them aloud. She’d not remembered the G.
‘We will name him Snowdrop.’ He glanced up at her and she saw sparkling brown eyes and strong lips, half-upturned, and with a private laugh hidden behind them. Then he returned to his mission. He wrote the letters and called them out as he put them down. ‘This is the W.’ He tapped it with the pen, leaving a drop of ink. ‘And Snowdrop wasn’t quiet. So we’ll have the Q and U.’
‘How did you know of Snowdrop?’
‘Warrington told me.’
‘The earl was wrong. Snowdrop wasn’t unpleasant. I kept her in a soapbox with oilcloth under her because the sow didn’t like her. The stable boy could not have kept her alive, but I did.’
He digested her words. ‘You must not only learn to read—you must let the servants do their jobs. Do you wish to live among the staff or with the people who employ them? If you do not keep your station, your children will not have the same opportunities they could have. The legacy you create for them will follow for centuries. You do not want your children considered less than they could be. If you ignore society’s ways, they will ignore you.’
She stepped back. ‘I do not think they will ignore me. I think they will banish me. How terrible. No more dancing. No more maid putting her hands around my hair and pulling it tightly, trying to put a stinking mixture on it to make it stay in place. I do not want to anger people, but I do not like their discomforting ways.’
She lifted the hem of her skirt slightly as she retreated so he could see. ‘These are my boots. I wear them comfortably in the house. And you spoke to me about them because they are not slippers. The more beautiful my clothes, then the more people will note my boots and talk of them. So I wear the plain dresses.’
‘I noted your gown in spite of its plainness,’ he said, almost under his breath, as he drew another line on the page.
‘Without looking,’ she asked, ‘what colour is it?’
‘Lighter than your eyes. Softer than your hair.’
Seconds passed. She spoke again. ‘Brown. So my boots do not appear so different.’
‘If you are saying you chose that gown so you would not be noticed so much…’ He barely looked over his shoulder at her, but his lips caught her attention. ‘You failed miserably. I hope you do better at reading or you won’t learn a word.’
‘My dress is the colour of leather.’ She moved forward again, standing more at his back.
‘Leather. Yes. Exactly the colour I meant. Just couldn’t think of the word.’ He turn
ed sideways in the chair. ‘But you did succeed. I did not think of your boots.’
She touched his shoulder, pressing him to turn back to the paper, not wanting him to see the heat she felt in her cheeks.
He didn’t continue writing. ‘I cannot help jesting with you, Bellona. You need some escape from the sadness at Harling House. So do I.’
She made a light fist and rested the knuckles of her hand against his collar, just brushing at the end of his hair. ‘You don’t seem sad…’
His shoulders moved under her hand when he breathed out. ‘I know. But perhaps I am. And perhaps I am not enough. You are right in what you said. My life is all planned for me now. I no longer have to think what I should do—I only have to think how I should go about doing it. Generations of people have decided it for me and how could they all be wrong?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘No. I have lived in this world my whole life. I have seen what has happened to those who do not see the failures of others and who do not learn. A person’s mistakes are his legacy, too. His children can be lifted by their father’s past or have to fight it.’
‘I know that well.’ She looked at him and let her breath flutter past her lips. ‘If the wishes of others are so important to you, then you will have to marry soon. It is what you are supposed to do.’
His gaze looked through her. ‘I, too, know that well.’
She tilted her chin. ‘All you must do is seek out a woman who is fond of society. You have all that a woman might wish for and can put it at her feet.’
He frowned, but the words weren’t from his title but from him. ‘It is true, a woman may wish to wed me for the world I can give her, but how is that different from you?’
‘My dowry is not so large it will choke a man.’ She twitched her shoulders. ‘But he may cough,’ she admitted.
‘I was not talking of funds. You could wed well without a dowry if you would just accept our ways. It is not much for a man to ask.’
‘No. It is not much. It is everything. For my sister, she flutters about like a butterfly when people are about. For me, the eyes on me make my stomach feel seasick. The clatter at the soirée made my head hurt. Sitting with others with tea in my cup, pretending to like it, pretending to care about the brim of a bonnet, knowing I cannot even think of the right word to say something pleasant. I feel the same as a speck in the bottom of the teacup.’