Page 86 of Oddity of the Ton
Her heart leaped as his mouth curved into a smile. “Quite so—Eleanor.”
After they’d returned from the picnic yesterday, he’d asked Eleanor whether she’d be disposed to attend the school on the estate to teach the children about drawing. An odd request—quite out of the blue—but it had been delivered with such honesty and enthusiasm that she hadn’t the heart to refuse, even though the prospect of a room full of strangers, albeit children, struck fear into her soul.
The eagerness in his eyes, which shone a brilliant blue in the morning sunlight, reminded her of an enthusiastic child, anxious for an adult’s approval of a scheme dear to their heart.
“No, Montague,” she said, and his eyes sparkled with joy at her use of his name. “I don’t mind at all.”
She lifted one leg over the pommel of the saddle, then slid to the ground. For a moment, her legs, still stiff from yesterday’sride, crumpled beneath her, then a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist and held her against a solid wall of muscle. For a delicious moment, she inhaled the woody, spicy scent of him. Then he dipped his head and pressed his lips in her hair.
“I say, Whitcombe, old chap,” Marlow said, amusement in his voice. “There’s a time and a place.”
“Aye, there is.” Whitcombe’s voice, a low growl, reverberated throughout Eleanor’s body, igniting a slow pulse of heat deep within her center that threatened to swell. And…sweet heaven, the very male body pressed against her was hard and ready—though for what, she couldn’t fathom.
At length, he released her. “You can leave us to it now, Marlow,” Whitcombe said. “Lady Marlow.”
Lavinia narrowed her eyes and glanced toward Eleanor.
“Your friend is safe with me, Lady Marlow. I can hardly dishonor her in a schoolroom filled with children. If you pass here on your return, we can all ride back together.”
He spoke in the tone of a duke who expected to be obeyed, but Lavinia continued to stare at him.
“I’ll be all right, Lavinia,” Eleanor said.
“In which case, let’s introduce you to the children.” Whitcombe tethered their mounts to the gate, then steered Eleanor into the building.
Hoofbeats clattered on the road outside, fading into the distance as Marlow and Lavinia rode on, leaving them alone in a dark, narrow hallway. Voices came from behind a door—tiny, high-pitched voices, chanting in unison.
“Two twos are four, three twos are six, four twos are eight…”
He knocked on the door, and the voices stopped.
“Come in!” cried a female voice. Whitcombe pushed open the door and ushered Eleanor inside.
An array of chairs and desks of different shapes and sizes filled the room, seven of which were occupied. At the front, standing beside a large desk with a pile of books, stood a woman in a plain muslin gown and a pinafore. She looked about Eleanor’s age, with delicate features, blonde hair fashioned into a neat braid, and wide, dark brown eyes.
“Oh—Your Grace!” She let out a cry then gestured to the children, who scrambled to their feet. Eleanor winced as they scraped back their chairs in their eagerness to stand to attention—apart from one child who sat apart from the rest, near the door. A little slower than the rest, he stood, then turned and carefully lifted his chair to set it back.
“How are you today, Olivia?” Whitcombe asked.
Olivia?A familiar address for a schoolteacher. Eleanor looked at the woman with renewed interest and—to her shame—envy. Was she one of his lovers? He’d had lovers in London—doubtless he’d broken several hearts in the country, also.
“I’m well, Your Grace.”
Whitcombe steered Eleanor toward her. “I’ve brought someone I particularly wish you to meet, Olivia,” he said. “This is Miss Howard.” Then he turned toward Eleanor. “Eleanor, this is Miss FitzRoy.”
FitzRoy…
Why was that name familiar?
The woman dipped into a curtsey. Eleanor did likewise.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss FitzRoy,” Eleanor said. “Were you expecting us?”
“Oh.” The woman glanced toward Whitcombe, her eyes widening. “No, my…” She hesitated. “I mean, His Grace didn’t mention it.”
“I thought Miss Howard could help you with the children’s drawing,” Whitcombe said.
“Sothat’swhy all that paper arrived this morning! I wondered if there’d been a mistake, and I didn’t want to tell the children in case I was obliged to return it. They’ll be so pleased.” Her eyes sparkled with joy, and her mouth curled into a smile.
