Hannah wandered along the walls of books thinking how luxurious it would be to spend just a week here, lost in the pages of make-believe fantasy.
She perused the well-rounded collection: Dante’s Divina Commedia; The Iliad & The Odyssey, by Homer, of course; James Hervey, Meditations Among the Tombs; Shakespeare… She plucked the tome from the shelves and thumbed through to the story of Troilus and Cressida before deciding against the tragedy.
Moving on again, she spotted Waverley by Sir Walter Scott, or The Antiquary, Lady of the Lake, Marmion, and Guy Mannering; and then Tom Jones by Henry Fielding—which was not on the shelves of her school library, to be sure.
Don Quixote; Castle Rackrent or Tales of a Fashionable Life by Maria Edgeworth; Gulliver’s Travels, The Three Musketeers, Robinson Crusoe, Frankenstein…truly she could spend a week in here with so many of her favourites.
There was Glenarvon by Lady Caroline Lamb; and no modern library could be complete without the tales of the lover who scorned her. She opened Byron and flipped the pages to The Corsair and began to quote:
He knew himself a villain—but he deem’d
The rest no better than the thing he seem’d;
And scorn’d the best as hypocrites who hid
Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.
He knew himself detested, but he knew
The hearts that loath’d him, crouch’d and dreaded too.
Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt
From all affection and from all contempt
“An enlightened schoolmistress?” a deep voice boomed behind her. Hannah jumped and turned to see the Duke sitting in a corner.
She immediately dipped into a curtsy. “Your Grace, I did not see you there.”
“You saw nothing but the books.” He made a noise of approval.
She smiled sheepishly. “I confess it to be so, your Grace.”
“You approve of Byron?”
“I approve of all literature, which is not to say that I agree with all of it or enjoy it.”
“Enlightened, indeed. Some might call you a radical. Not many ladies espouse such ideals. Too lost in their novels, I suspect.”
Hannah made a conciliatory face. “I confess to enjoying novels myself, once in a while, but I read all text, and I encourage my students to do so as well. I would hardly call myself a radical, your Grace, although I do believe in broadening one’s mind, including female ones.”
“Even dukes have to escape reality from time to time…ah, Miss Bell, is it not? Jane is very fond of you.”
“And I of her, your Grace.” Hannah was astonished the Duke knew her name. Their dealings had been brief at best, and he always seemed too distracted to notice such details.
He waved his hand. “Please, be seated. I apologize for not rising earlier. The rheumatism gets us all at some point or another.”
Hannah smiled and sat down opposite him. She could not believe how the Duke seemed to be a normal gentleman starved for conversation. Perhaps, when on the floor of the Lords, or in his court dress, he would seem different.
“Forgive me, you came in here for some solace and I have disturbed you,” he said, surprising her again.
“Not at all, your Grace; it is I who have disturbed you.”
“Nonsense.” He waved his hand. “Once upon a time I might have thought so, but there comes a time when you realize what is important. It is not that I have not done a lot of good in my life; I do not regret how I have served my country. Yet I scarcely see my children and I have no grandchildren.”
“Yes, Jane told me of the ultimatum you gave your son and daughter.”
“You disapprove?”
Hannah opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again.
“Do not be afraid to speak your mind. I did ask,” he said wryly.
“I understand your motives,” she said softly, “but both of your children married as you wished the first time, and neither was happy in their marriage.”
“Jane is always happy.” The Duke furrowed his brow—he did not lash out at her as she might have expected. “I do not want them unhappy,” he protested, “yet how else am I to see grandchildren before I die, Miss Bell? Love matches do not happen often amongst my class. People only see the title and the wealth, not the person beneath.”
“Perhaps that is so, but it should still be their choice this time, in my opinion. Forgive me if I speak too freely.”
The Duke let out a soft grunt and looked off into the distance.
“Have you spoken to your children and let them know your desires without making it a command? I suggest you try it,” Hannah added.
“We are speaking of Jane and Oliver, no?” He looked at her in disbelief. She still could not believe this was the Duke of Kembleford she was speaking with. It was a name spoken in reverence and often feared—by Jane, at least.
“Yes, I think I see a different side of them as they see a different side of you.”
“May I ask why you have not married? You are a beautiful lady and not too old to marry and bear children. If you have the means to run a successful school, you cannot be a wholly unsuitable match for a nice gentleman.”
Hannah was stunned. “Your Grace, give me leave to say that is hardly—”
“Oh, come, come, Miss Bell. You do not strike me as a missish woman.”
She swallowed. “I suppose I have not met that gentleman,” she responded, lifting her chin. “No one has ever asked me to marry them and I am not often put in the way of meeting gentlemen.”
“Jane would be happy to correct that oversight, I am certain.” The Duke chuckled.
“To be sure,” Hannah agreed. “I was not opposed to marriage, you must know. Time appears to have passed me by.”
“It seems we have that in common, Miss Bell. A word of advice from an old man? Do not let your life slip through your fingers any longer. Priorities change, that is true enough, but even though I have children, I do not know them as I ought.”
“It is never too late to remedy that.”
They both sat in quiet contemplation for some minutes.
“Perhaps we may both receive a Christmas miracle.”
“You believe in such nonsense? I was under the impression you are a practical sort.”
Hannah gave a small smile. “Christmas is a miracle. By its very existence we are given hope.”
“Do you think the sentiment applies to us individually, then?” He looked skeptical.
“I do.”
“Now you are a Biblical scholar?”
“Hardly, your Grace, although I will confess to having read a great deal of it. One of the young curates enjoys teaching the girls each week.”
“I am sure he does,” the Duke remarked with a twinkle in his eye.
“Perhaps we shall read the Christmas story, if Jane is amenable.”
“Perhaps we should,” the Duke agreed.
“I have disturbed your quiet for long enough.” Hannah rose and the Duke also made his way to his feet. “You did not need to trouble yourself.” She smiled kindly.
“Oh, but I did.” He took her hand and bowed over it. “Miracles can come in many shapes and sizes, if only we have the wit to realize it.”
Hannah blushed a little at his meaning, which was quite clear. “Thank you, your Grace. Please consider what I said.”
“I certainly will.”
Hannah left the library before realizing she had not selected a book. “It matters not,” she said to herself as she returned to her room. The conversation with the Duke had been worthwhile—she hoped.
Oliver had to admit that he had enjoyed the sledding. Rarely did he stop to do anything for the pure sake of enjoyment, unlike many of his peers who thought it necessary to sew wild oats before taking on their duties.
It was not that he purposely tried to avoid enjoyment. He was not unhappy in the country with his ovines, equines, and canines. There were even a few felines in the barn, come to think of it. However, sliding dow
n the hill, with a beautiful woman in his arms, had been sheer pleasure. Perhaps remarrying was not the worst thing to do with his life. He would give Lady Mary and Lady Fanny a fair chance, in controlled circumstances, before he made his choice. He owed his father that much. The truth was, he had neglected his duty by not looking for another wife.
It was time to dress for dinner, and he had agreed with Jane that he would sit between Lady Mary and Lady Fanny. In for a penny, in for a pound. He intended to do this fairly and methodically so he could at least know that he had made the best choice, all things considered. The rest of his life was a long time to be married to a person he did not like. He had not disliked his first wife, precisely, but she had not liked the country.
He dressed himself, of which task he was quite capable. One of Jane’s footmen could also serve as his valet, but Oliver preferred to do for himself. He dressed in evening attire—perhaps not the latest fashion, but presentable enough—then made his way down to the drawing room. He was not the first one there, but thankfully the other was Miss Bell. Of course it would be her. The others would not dare be so gauche as to be early. What did that say, then, that he dreaded being alone with any of the other females?
“Good evening,” he said and made her a bow.
She started when she heard his voice. “Good evening, my lord,” she responded, dipping a graceful curtsy.
She was wearing a gown of golden silk with a simple lace ruffle between the bodice and skirt, which complemented her amber eyes and brunette curls to perfection. It was not a colour he had seen often and supposed that was because it would not look good on many. It was cut to highlight her willowy frame, with the bodice shaped low enough to highlight her beautiful neck. Was it strange to be enticed by a beautiful neck and shoulder?
Her cheeks were still flushed pink from their afternoon’s exertions. He realized he was staring.
“Your hair,” he said stupidly. He had finally realized what was different about her.
Her hands flew to her curled locks as if she were self-conscious of the fact the glossy ringlets had been shortened to her ears.
“Yes, Jane convinced me to let the maid cut it.”
“It suits you.” It more than suited her.
“Thank you, my lord.” It appeared as though she was about to say something else, but they were interrupted by the arrival of some more of the guests.
The Dowager Duchess of Dunsmore entered with Lady Mary, and he moved across the room to make his bows to them.
“Good evening, my lord.” Lady Mary curtsied and looked as though she would fall out of her gown. Goodness! If this was the height of fashion, what was the purpose of a chaperone? There was very little to be left to the imagination and what was not did not endear her to him. He found himself comparing her to Miss Bell. He needed to stop that now. As pleasant as she was, he knew his father would cut up stiff if he chose to marry a schoolteacher. Correction, he thought instantly, the owner of the school. Would that make a difference?
“My lord?”
Clearly he had been woolgathering. “I beg your pardon?”
He looked down to see Lady Mary holding his arm. When had that happened? She was like a snake that slithered and caught one unawares.
“I said, ‘I hope you will choose me for your next partner’.”
While Oliver sputtered over what to say, he was not having difficulty remembering why he detested London.
As he opened his mouth to respond, Jane whirled into the room and saved him, thankfully.
“Oliver! You must come and help me with something at once! You are the only one tall enough to reach,” she added. Her voice commanded and for once he was grateful to hear it.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he said as he pulled his arm free of Lady Mary’s grasp.
Once out of the room, she gave him a look he knew well. “You must not allow yourself to be tricked into anything by her.”
“As if I had any choice.” He barked a derisive laugh.
“You did not commit yourself, did you?” she asked in a loud whisper. “Pretend you are hanging the mistletoe.”
“You are trying to prevent my being trapped, yet you hang mistletoe about?”
Jane shook her head. “I cannot avoid traditions, Oliver. You must simply avoid being caught.”
For a moment he reflected that he would not mind being caught by Miss Bell, but then, becoming aware of his sister’s scrutiny, shook off the inappropriate thought.
“You will never believe what I saw this afternoon.” Her eyes twinkled with delight.
“Why do I have a feeling I do not wish to hear this?” he retorted.
“I saw Hannah and Father having a tête-à-tête in the library.”
“Our father?” The Duke did not have tête-à-têtes.
“Yes, indeed.”
“What about?” Oliver could not help but be curious. It was so uncharacteristic of their parent.
“I was not able to linger for long because Lady Fanny needed something and it would not do to be eavesdropping in front of a guest. Speaking of which…”
The other guests were coming down the stairs and Jane and Oliver had to cease their conversation.
As they made their way from the drawing room to the dining room, Oliver could not help but wonder. Was his father truly so ill that his character had changed?
Before long they were seated in the lavishly decorated dining room, which was brimming with the festive scents of pine and holly, and glittering with candlelight. As turtle soup was served, Lady Fanny was his first conversational partner. Either the girl was shy or she had more hair than wit. Oliver was not one for small talk, but at least he knew how to make polite conversation. Since she answered in monosyllables to his every attempt to draw her out, he was soon wishing he were at the tooth drawer rather than trying to force this exchange. He supposed she was pleasant enough to look at, with her auburn locks and blue eyes, and perhaps she would not mind being locked away in the country…but visions of them living in separate wings of the house and never seeing each other danced through his head, and he was quite certain this would never work. For goodness’ sake, she would not even glance up at him! He was not certain her gaze had made it as high as the knot on his neckcloth.
Laughter assailed his ears from his father’s end of the table, and his eyes were immediately drawn to Miss Bell’s melodic sound.
Oliver could not believe he was looking at his father…laughing. He caught Miss Bell’s eye and she stopped. Was he gaping? Yes; abruptly he closed his mouth. He wished he were sitting next to her and the cause of that smile. If only he could hear what was being said.
He had doubted Jane’s word that Miss Bell and his father had been having a coze, but there was no denying that she was the source of the joy now coming from that end of the table. He was rooted between a block of ice and an overflowing volcano, it seemed, as he turned to Lady Mary determined to give her a fair trial. The moment he turned his head, however, the gap between them was immediately filled by her and her overflowing bosom.
“My lord,” she gushed. “That was the longest fifteen minutes. My cousin is such a bore.”
Oliver looked up to see Lord Dunsmore, Lady Mary’s cousin, cast his attention towards Jane, who did not look bored by him at all.
“How are you enjoying your stay here?” he asked politely, hoping it was an innocent enough topic. “The castle is an enchanting place when decorated for Christmas, and the snow adds a certain elegance to the park.”
“I suppose so.” She seemed to consider the point. “But there is so little to do compared to London.”
“I am a country man, myself.” That point had to be made clear from the very beginning.
She made a pouting face. “It would be more tolerable if I had interesting partners for some of the activities. Romsey proses about Corn Laws and my cousin is no better. Do say you will partner me, my lord, and then perhaps my Christmas will not be ruined.” She sidled closer, if that were possible.
<
br /> “I hardly think my companionship could save Christmas.”
A hand crept onto his thigh and he tensed immediately.
“Oh, I think you underrate your charms, my lord.” She smiled up at him with a calculating look, which made him feel bilious.
How was he to extricate himself without making a scene? He looked at his sister for help as he gently removed Lady Mary’s hand. When she replaced it immediately, Oliver has no choice but to take drastic measures. He pretended to choke on his wine, trying to signal to Jane with subtle head movements. His hands freed while he coughed, he manoeuvred his chair an inch away while debating whether to ruin his waistcoat with wine in order to get out of the room.
Unmoved by his imminent demise, Lady Mary continued to plead her case. “I know your father has told you to marry myself or Fanny. I will be much more entertaining than that dull stick. She could not carry a conversation if it bit her in the face.”
Oliver tended to agree, but he was not about to concede as much to this little hoyden. What had his father been thinking?
Musical laughter sounded from the other end of the table again as Oliver decided he had given these two ladies enough of a chance. He would run mad by New Year’s Day at this rate. It was an enormous relief when the ladies departed for the drawing room and left the men to their port.
Chapter 6
Unsurprisingly, Hannah was an early riser. The group had played charades the night before, but had retired early being tired from the sledding. Hannah had had a delightful evening. She never would have guessed the Duke could be so charming. Jane had certainly never described him as such, and it was obvious to her that he wanted to be with his family. Hannah would have to ensure that happened.
It had also been quite clear that Lord Wolford was miserable. Lady Fanny was difficult to draw out even when around the ladies, and Lady Mary behaved like a strumpet, not like a future duchess. Hannah shook her head. Thank God she was not a student at Miss Bell’s!
The Headmistress (Ladies of Miss Bell's Finishing School Book 6) Page 5