“Mary, let us sit.” She motioned to the bench.
“Are you well, my lady? You’re red in the face and short of breath,” her maid asked, worry etched into her brow.
“I believe once we rest, I will send you for the carriage in order for us to continue our journey. I’m more fatigued than I thought I would be.” Sabrina sat and exhaled in relief, resting her head against the wall. Voices drifted out from the building and caught her attention. The window was open, and one voice stood out from the rest. Male, deep, melodic—and mesmerizing.
“It does not matter what you plan to do with your life. Do you wish to be a farmer like your father? Read books. Learn all you can about agriculture, animal husbandry, and excel at your chosen profession. But never stop reading; learn all you can about everyone and everything, if not to learn, then to allow your imagination to fly. How many remember what the imagination is?” Multiple overlapping and enthusiastic replies drifted from the window, drawing her attention even further.
“Good. With the imagination you can see ancient Egypt, the building of the Sphinx, construction of the pyramids, and adorn yourself with pharaoh’s gold. Or you may visit what Shakespeare called—”
“Was his name William?” a child’s voice called out.
“Yes. Correct. William Shakespeare called the imagination the ‘undiscovered country.’ What did he mean by it? Immerse yourself in another world. Escape. For what is imagination? The ability to form a picture in your mind of that which you have never experienced.”
Sabrina was completely enthralled, not only by the man’s enthusiasm, but by his gentle tone.
“Mr. Black, my da can’t afford to buy books,” a young lad said.
“Ah. That is why we will be starting a library right here in our schoolroom. Does anyone know what a library is?”
“A place you borrow books?” a girl answered.
“Exactly, Becky. Well done. I have brought five books to start us off, and hopefully once we get the word out, we will garner donations to permit the library to grow and flourish. It will be a school library. See the empty bookcase against the far wall? We’ll start there. You will sign out a book with the promise to return it in two weeks.”
A harmony of happy young voices all talked at once. Curious, Sabrina stood and turned toward the window, but the top of her head barely reached the sill. Standing on the bench would be too obvious. Instead, she stood on the tips of her toes. Quite a few children of various ages were sitting at tables, their bright faces all riveted to the front of the room. Unfortunately, from her angle, she could not see the honey-voiced schoolmaster who held her spellbound.
She imagined him middle-aged, wearing spectacles, with a receding hairline and a prominent nose. A kindly gentleman, educated, decent. One who might listen to her scheme?
“The first book is Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Who shall be the first to borrow it?”
The children all called out, save one boy sitting near the window. He looked down at his hands. “James? Would you not like to read this book?” the schoolmaster asked in a gracious tone. Blast, she still couldn’t see the man.
“I don’t read good, sir,” the boy replied in a quiet voice.
“Come here.”
The boy disappeared from her line of sight. Sabrina was wholly captivated by the doings in the room. The schoolmaster had complete control of the children, not with strict discipline and the threat of a caning, but with compassion, respect, and eagerness.
“Improving your reading skills is accomplished with plenty of practice. I am here to assist you. We will all help you, will we not, class?” the schoolmaster asked.
The children all nodded and answered yes.
“Shall we allow James to be the first to sign out a library book?” A cheerful chorus of affirmatives filled the room. “Well done. I see it’s luncheon break. Be off home and return in two hours sharp. Remember; take an apple from the basket on your way out the door. Alice, take one for your little sister.”
The room emptied out and grew silent. The door was on the opposite wall, thankfully, or the children would have caught her spying on them.
“Would you like to come into the schoolroom and have a look around?”
The schoolmaster’s close-in-proximity voice startled her, and she gasped. He stood at the window, but thanks to the midday sun, she could not make out his features.
“Yes. Of course,” she muttered in reply.
Clasping Mary’s arm, Sabrina pulled her along with her as she made her way to the front entrance. “Head to the manor and fetch the carriage. I will wait here for your return and then we’ll continue into town.”
Mary had been with her during her marriage, and had chosen to come with her when Sabrina returned to her father’s house. She was a steady presence in Sabrina’s life, had helped her through some of the darkest days of her desolate life with Pepperdon. It struck her that her loyal maid’s fate was now irrevocably tied to hers. If her father turned her out, what would become of Mary? It made her situation all the more urgent.
Mary raised an eyebrow. “Leave you alone with a strange man? I think not, my lady.”
“I am hardly a green girl in need of a chaperone. I can handle a meek schoolmaster. I’ll be fine, I assure you. Perhaps he will give me an apple.”
Mary smiled and headed off toward the line of trees. She waved, and Sabrina returned the gesture. Sighing, she walked around the perimeter of the building and, as she looked up, stopped dead in her tracks.
The schoolmaster was not a docile, plain man of middling years, but a tall, handsome young man who took her breath away. She’d never seen such virility before, never mind been in such close proximity to it. Her heart fluttered, and Sabrina was shocked at her response, for it was strange and foreign.
He dressed plainly, wearing a black frock coat stretched across broad shoulders, with a simply tied black cravat. No spectacles; all the better to see his piercing light blue eyes. His wavy black hair gleamed in the bright sunlight. Good Lord, he barely looked out of the schoolroom himself.
“Good afternoon. My name is Riordan Black. How may I help you?”
His voice, like melted butter, smooth and delicious. Could he assist her? She should leave immediately, keep her mad machinations to herself. But her feet would not move. Yes, the sight of a handsome man made her heart skip a beat—it still stuttered with an uneven cadence. Sabrina was surprised she even had a heart. All nonsense. The last gasp of long-lost, never-to-return emotions. They had no place here. Straightening her shoulders, she gave him a brisk nod. “Help me? That remains to be seen.”
Chapter 3
Riordan’s smile twitched in amusement at her brusque tone. James had whispered to him that a lady was peering in the window when the boy stood before his desk. Since Riordan’s arrival three weeks past, he’d remained an object of curiosity. Not only for his youth, but for the major changes he implemented right out of the gate. And, he supposed, his dark hair and blue eyes sparked an interest with the young ladies in the nearby town. He wasn’t conceited, but he’d been lucky when it came to inheriting certain family features.
This lady was no blushing maiden, could be his age or older. He would guess older, as she possessed an air of maturity. Casually, he glanced at her hand, looking for a ring, but she wore gloves. Riordan let his gaze linger on her trim form, guessing her height was six inches over five feet. Her attire was fashionable, and, shamefully, he quite enjoyed observing how the buttons of her short jacket strained across an impressive bosom.
Moving upward, he made a study of her face. Fine, pale, porcelain skin, and a light brown shade of hair that shimmered gold in the sunlight. She wore a fashionable hat with green plumes sitting atop her stylishly arranged hair. Pretty features and a pert nose. Her hazel eyes met his, boldly holding his gaze. The coldness he saw in their depths startled him. To be unhappy and weary at such a
young age, what could have caused it? “And you are…?”
“Sabrina Durning Lakeside, widow to the late Earl of Pepperdon. My father is Baron Durning. Our small estate is beyond those trees.”
A widow. The news caused his smile to widen, he wasn’t sure why. But, being the gentleman he was brought up to be, he took her gloved hand and bent over it, skimming his lips across her knuckles. “My distinct pleasure, Lady Pepperdon.” He dropped her hand and met her gaze once again. “How may I assist you?”
“May we speak inside?”
He held out his arm, bidding her to enter first. She stepped across the threshold and looked about the spartan room. “Forgive the state of the place. The school was built over the summer months, and I’m overseeing various alterations. These windows are a perfect example.” They both walked to the opposite side.
“I do not hold with the idea of children learning in a windowless, cold room,” he continued. “It’s done in order for them not to be distracted from their lessons, but I believe large windows should allow sun and fresh air into the learning environment. If a child is to be here most of the day, they should not be cut off from nature and the out-of-doors. They should smell the flowers, feel the heat from the sun, listen to the birds sing.”
“And in the winter?”
“The wood stove there will provide heat, while gently falling snow will cast a tranquil, magical mood,” he replied in a light, teasing tone.
Lady Pepperdon turned, studying him closely, though for what reason, Riordan had no idea. She strode over to the tables, her fingers brushing across the slates. “It must be difficult to teach children of different ages and learning levels. Do they all use slates?”
He followed her, clasping his hands behind his back. “No, the older children use pen, ink, and paper. I have not found it difficult. I treat them all the same, regardless of age or stage of knowledge. I find children respond better when you do not talk down to them.”
“From what I heard you had them in thrall, in the very palm of your hand. There is no need for discipline, then?” she asked, still sauntering leisurely between the tables.
“I’ve only been here three weeks, but I am not a believer in the concept of the old adage ‘spare the rod, spoil the child.’ Children in this day and age have hard enough lives; they do not need me screeching at them or beating them with a cane or ruler in order for them to behave. I don’t mind if children become boisterous once in a while. Learning should be fun.”
Lady Pepperdon swung about and gave him a brief smile. “You are unlike any schoolmaster I’ve ever heard of. Your views are…refreshing.”
He smiled in return. “Good. Then, my lady, you will not be averse to donating to our school library fund.”
“My, you do not waste an instant.”
“No, I do not. I wish to start an arts program. Music and painting, for example. Children should not spend hours hunched over their slates taking endless, repetitive notes. I’m in the process of convincing the board to approve the purchase of paints, brushes, and sugar paper.”
She arched a perfectly shaped brow. “Sugar paper? And what is a board?”
Riordan crossed his arms. “Sugar paper is the heavy brown paper used for sugar bags. If we buy a large roll, we can tear off pieces for the children to paint pictures on. The board is a group of local officials and prominent persons who oversee the collection of fees to run this school. When you told me your name, I assumed your father wished to become involved. I was told he initially turned down a position on the board.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Ah. Then you are not here to inspect the school on behalf of your father, my lady?”
Lady Pepperdon bit her lower lip, and he found it fascinating, as it drew his attention to how lusciously plump they were. She gave off a cool, haughty aura, but he’d observed heated interest flare briefly in her eyes when she first rounded the corner of building. Perhaps he’d imagined it.
“No. Not in any official manner. I was out for a walk and took a rest on the bench. I became quite caught up in your lesson.” She sighed. “I wanted to converse with you for another reason, though now it seems flighty and silly. What is your age?”
The question threw him, as he did not expect it. “I recently turned twenty-six. Why, do you believe me too young for such a position?”
“No. Perhaps too young for me,” she muttered.
He stepped closer. “I beg your pardon, my lady?”
“I am in a bit of a fix, Mr. Black. A dire situation needing immediate attention.” She wrung her gloved hands together in agitation. “Oh, bother. There is my maid, Mary, with the carriage. When may we speak in private?”
His curiosity was piqued, to say the least. “Why not come again at the same time tomorrow, my lady? The children return to their homes for a two-hour luncheon break. Is that sufficient time to have a private conversation?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. That will do. Good afternoon, Mr. Black.”
Riordan gave her a brief bow, but she had already swept from the room, leaving an enticing scent of lemon and orange blossoms in her wake. Easy, lad. His grandfather’s stark warning came to mind. This was no place for finding any woman attractive, especially a widow to an earl. A schoolmaster could not afford to become entangled with any lady; he must be above reproach with no whiff of scandal.
Then why in hell did he arrange a clandestine meeting with her tomorrow?
* * * *
Sabrina had hardly slept at all. The trip to town turned out to be a complete waste, as the men she managed to seek out could not hold a candle to the appealing schoolmaster. Such a motive as his good looks should not matter in the least for her plan. But from their brief conversation, she had the distinct feeling that Mr. Black could be trusted to keep his word.
What if she was wrong? Many men, regardless of station, presented their best face forward when dealing with women. It was only after they gained possession of you that their true natures appeared. Cruel bullies. Heartless authoritarians. Disgusting reprobates. Sabrina shook away her disturbing thoughts.
Could this plot work? It was not as if she longed for a real marriage, as in physical relations. The idea was abhorrent to her. All she needed was to stay married long enough to apply for an annulment. She knew little of the subject, and asking the solicitor, who she discovered was in her father’s employ, would arouse suspicion. Couples were able to obtain annulments, weren’t they?
Whatever the response, Sabrina had to give her father an answer tomorrow morning regarding her marriage to the moldering marquess. The conversation with Mr. Black could not be delayed, no matter how uncomfortable the topic.
Before breakfast, Sabrina made a visit to the kitchen, instructing the cook, Mrs. Kempson, to pack a small hamper for luncheon, enough for two, and to make a goodly amount of ginger biscuits for the children. Though the older woman frowned, by the time Sabrina was ready to depart, everything had been prepared as ordered.
At the last minute, she decided to leave her maid behind, taking George the footman instead. As the carriage emerged from the woods, her nerves started to spark. The children were already pouring out of the school and heading toward the town proper. For the sake of propriety, she should return to the estate and accept her fate of sitting in a dark room on a deathwatch, waiting for the old marquess to pass on.
The thought of wrinkled, cold hands touching her caused her insides to lurch—she could not endure it again. Thankfully, after five years and no pregnancy in sight, Pepperdon had left her alone. At least, the physical torture had ended—but not the verbal. She would not allow any man to mistreat her a second time.
The carriage came to a stop. George opened the door, assisted her out, then lifted the large hamper to his shoulder and followed her into the school. Mr. Black sat at his desk, scribbling energetically. He looked up and gave her
a genuine, warm smile, and it caused her heart to flutter once again. Sabrina dismissed the reaction immediately.
“My lady. Good to see you.”
“And you, Mr. Black. George, please set the hamper on the desk and wait for me in the carriage.”
“Of course, my lady.” George bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him.
“What have we here?” Mr. Black asked, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Luncheon. Please, open it and help yourself.”
Mr. Black got to his feet, picked up a nearby chair, and carried it to the front of his desk. “Have a seat, my lady.”
As she made herself comfortable, Mr. Black unpacked the lunch. “Cold salmon sandwiches. A rare treat. Cheese, biscuits, sliced strawberries.” He held up a jar. “And lemonade. Shall I serve?”
Sabrina nodded, and Mr. Black quickly loaded food onto the stoneware plates, passing one to her along with a paper napkin. He took his seat, bit into the sandwich, and smiled. “Very tasty.”
“I believe Mrs. Kempson adds dill weed to the salmon mixture. There are four dozen ginger biscuits for the children. For teatime this afternoon.”
“No teatime, I’m afraid. The children work until five.” Mr. Black finished his sandwich and reached for another wedge. Goodness, she should have brought more food.
“There should be a break, at least in my opinion, to rest or play for ten minutes. Or to have a biscuit. Or an apple.” Sabrina pointed to the basket of fruit by his desk. “Do you provide them yourself, or does this board you spoke of?”
“I paid for this, but am hoping it will become part of the budget. Many of the children have little enough to eat, and an apple can provide many needed nutrients.” He poured them glasses of lemonade. “I must say, I like your idea of a break. Ten minutes. It would be a recess from learning, to allow for play or quiet time, or to eat a ginger biscuit. Thank you for bringing them.” His words were cordially spoken, and despite her determination not to react to this man, her cheeks flushed. “Now that we’re settled in, what do you wish to discuss with me?” he asked.
Marriage with a Proper Stranger Page 3
