Page 66 of Not his Marchioness
They proceeded onward, her boot continuing its unfortunate squelching. Cursing her misfortune, she attempted to walk on her heel, which seemed to produce less noise. Rhys was still suppressing his laughter, but she saw the grin on his lips every time she looked at him.
He opened a small iron gate, and they approached the main building.
Upon entering, they found themselves in a spacious sanctuary where several pews remained, though they were arranged haphazardly, as though some had been removed while others were left behind. A pulpit occupied the center, and at the rear stood what appeared to be an ornate cabinet with a singular candle fixture suspended from the ceiling.
The windows were large, letting in plenty of light.
There was a kitchen at the rear, with enough space to accommodate a large table and chairs for the children’s midday meal. Three additional chambers—one at the back and two flanking the main room—were of decent sizes and could be converted into a study for the headmistress and additional classrooms, or perhaps sleeping quarters for teachers, should they wish to live on the premises. Offering room and board may well help keep down the costs.
“I thought, should you select this property, we might have walls erected within the sanctuary to transform the single space into four separate classrooms,” Rhys explained. “Then, you could allocate the side chambers to any teachers who wished to reside on the premises.”
“It is ideal,” Charlotte declared after they had examined not only the building but also the extensive enclosed garden.
The grounds were at least thrice the size of the previous property, and mercifully contained no hidden ponds whatsoever. She could almost envision the children playing here.
“The location is absolutely perfect.”
“Indeed. I like that it is not between two buildings like the second one. After all, children are prone to mischief,” Margot remarked.
“And yet here is even space for carriages, should people wish to drive their children here.” Rhys nodded to himself while Charlotte exchanged a glance with Margot.
“I do not believe that the poor own carriages to drive their children anywhere,” Charlotte commented. “In fact, it may be a problem, no matter which location we select.”
“You are quite right. Sometimes I forget my privileged circumstances. We would need to devise some means of transporting the children who do not reside in the immediate vicinity. Perhaps we could engage a gentleman with a cart to collect the children each morning.”
Charlotte examined the building once more from the outside. She could see it all so clearly—the sanctuary divided into two or three rooms furnished with desks and chairs, the kitchen where the children could take their meals, and the gardens where they could play and exercise.
She turned to Rhys. “This is it,” she announced, interrupting whatever conversation he was having with Margot. “This will be my school.”
“What will Lady Woodhaven say to that? Will she not have opinions regarding such a decision?”
“She need not know what the building used to be,” she replied. “I will simply present it to her. She will find it as charming as I do, and then she will give her approval.”
“You place considerable faith in people who are known to harbor certain… prejudices,” Rhys cautioned. “I do not want to see you disappointed.”
“If you truly wished to spare me disappointment, you ought not to have shown me this building, to begin with.” Charlotte paused. “Why did you, if you harbored such reservations?”
He shrugged. “Because I believed it to be perfect.”
“And so it is,” she declared. “Perfect, indeed.”
CHAPTER 25
Two days later, Rhys found himself in rather too much company for his liking. Lord and Lady Harcourt, Margot’s parents, had invited half the ton to an afternoon tea party, and he’d been compelled to attend.
Fortunately, Gideon had also received an invitation. Otherwise, the day might have been rather dreadful, indeed.
It was not that Rhys disliked Margot. It was the opposite, actually. She was spirited and had that fire that seemed to run in the family. But he had no desire to subject himself to her scrutiny once more.
“By Jove, this is pleasant,” Gideon noted as he downed his second sherry of the day. “What ho, Lord Harcourt certainly knows his spirits. I cannot wait to try the others.”
“It is early yet,” Rhys reminded him dryly. “It would be much better if you waited a little. We ought not make a spectacle of ourselves.”
“Goodness gracious.” Gideon laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Who are you, and what have you done with my friend? Look at him, so grounded. I believe that you are turning into your father.”
Rhys shook his head. “That may be. But that is not altogether a bad thing.”
Gideon chuckled. “Indeed not. If I recall, your father was quite popular among his peers and revered for his wit and intelligence.”
