Page 88 of Oddity of the Ton
“You may sit now, children,” Miss FitzRoy said.
“Might I make a request before they sit?” Eleanor asked.
“Please do.”
Eleanor addressed the children. “Shall we see how quietly you can sit? Imagine there are pirates—or dragons—outside, and if they hear the chairs moving about, they’ll come in.”
“Children, can you do as Miss Howard says?” Miss FitzRoy asked.
“Oh, yes!” William, the boy in the front row, cried. And Eleanor placed her finger on her lips.
“Hush!” she whispered. “You must be quiet. Now—if you all do as I say, I’ll draw a picture of a ship, which I’ll give to whoever is the quietest pupil today.”
This was met by a volley of whispers, which were silenced when Miss FitzRoy raised her hand. Then the children took their seats, taking care not to scrape their chairs. But Eleanor’s attention was focused on the boy at the back, who continued to cast shy glances in her direction, curiosity in his intense blue eyes.
“Perhaps I should leave you to it,” Whitcombe said.
“Don’t you want to spend time with your sister?” Eleanor asked. “I’m sure she’d prefer you remain here.”
Miss FitzRoy gave a shy smile as she opened a drawer and drew out several sheaves of paper.
“Very well,” he said. “But you must let me make myself useful. Here—I’ll hand these out.”
The children stared, transfixed, as their duke and landlord moved among the desks, handing out pieces of paper.
Who was this man who had, at first, seemed like an otherworldly creature insurmountably far above her—but now was assisting in a classroom of his tenants’ children?
“What shall we draw today, children?” Eleanor glanced about the classroom and spotted a cracked vase on the windowsill, filled with dried grasses. “Aha!” She picked up the vase and placed it on the front desk beside the pile of books. Then she glanced toward Whitcombe. “Your Grace—may I borrow your hat and gloves?”
He handed them over, and Eleanor added them to the arrangement.
“Must we drawallof that, Miss Howard?” the red-headed boy in the front row asked.
“No, William,” she replied. “Draw as much, or as little, as you want. But first, you must look at your subject before you begin drawing.”
“What do you mean—look?” William asked.
“Let me show you.”
Eleanor glanced toward Whitcombe and his sister, who smiled and nodded encouragement. Then the lesson began.
*
The lesson wasless traumatic than Eleanor had feared. Miss FitzRoy managed the lively children with a kind, but firm hand, leaving Eleanor to demonstrate some simple sketching techniques—while aware of the silent, imposing man watching her from the corner. By the time she’d finished her demonstration, and the children began drawing, she was almost ready to admit that she was actually enjoying spending time in a room occupied by more than two people.
She settled herself at the front desk and began to sketch a ship—the prize for the quietest pupil.
Whitcombe approached. “That was well done. I’ve learned a great deal about drawing this morning.”
“I’m no teacher,” Eleanor replied. “Not like Miss FitzRoy.”
“If I may be permitted to disagree,” Miss FitzRoy said, “you’ve been able to instill your passion for drawing into seven young minds. I doubt any of them—save, perhaps, young Joe—would have taken notice of anythingIsaid on the subject.”
Eleanor glanced at the silent little boy at the back, hunched over his desk, concentrating on his work.
“Joe seems an extraordinary child,” she said.
“He’s Farmer Swift’s youngest,” Miss FitzRoy said, “but he’s terribly shy, and rarely talks—his mother warned me that he doesn’t speak at all to strangers. He cried so much the first time he came here. Sometimes I wonder if he’s listening to anything I say, but he can read any book I give him, though he won’t read aloud in class.”
