by Merry Farmer
She crept deeper into the cottage’s main room, looking around and waiting. Surely Mr. Turnbridge would join her for their secret, romantic moment at any time. He’d gone around to meet her, after all. The two of them were meant to be together. Her body thrilled at the thought of what her friends would say, how they would look at her in awe once they heard all about the assignation. It would be perfect.
But Mr. Turnbridge was nowhere in sight. Alice slumped her shoulders as she walked deeper into the room. Where was he? She crossed her arms and huffed an indignant breath. Even though they were sneaking, he shouldn’t keep her waiting like that.
A thump sounded from the bedroom. Her heart soared, and she rushed to the door.
But as she reached for the handle, a single, pink rose sitting on the table beside the sofa made her stop. She turned back, picking up the rose.
“My favorite color,” she sighed, breathing in the bloom’s scent. “Oh, that’s just lovely.”
Her heart thudded in her chest. Mr. Turnbridge was so sweet to think of something so romantic. Now, if he would just appear and—
A woman’s muffled cry from the bedroom shocked Alice out of her thoughts. She wasn’t alone. That was why Mr. Turnbridge was nowhere to be found. Someone from Winterberry Park must come down to the cottage to clean it on occasion, and they must have run into him.
She couldn’t just leave without giving Mr. Turnbridge a sign of her devotion, though. There had to be something she could do.
Without time to think, she picked up her skirts with one hand and yanked at the lace garter that held one of her stockings up. It came loose right away. She deposited the garter on the table where the rose had been, then, clutching the rose to her breast, raced toward the kitchen door. How romantic to almost be caught in an amorous assignation with her one true love? Although if her papa found out, there would be hell to pay.
She dashed through the kitchen door, shutting it behind her and making sure the lock fell back into place. Then she paused to sniff her rose once more. No one could possibly ask for a better token from a lover. She would have to be sure to leave Mr. Turnbridge a lock of her hair as soon as possible. Her friends would be so jealous.
Ada lay under the bed, frowning and confused. She’d heard Tim and Tad speaking in the main room, then silence. For too long. Then someone had scrambled into the bedroom…and straight into the closet? It didn’t make a lick of sense.
She was in the middle of sliding out from under the bed to investigate, when the window over the bed rattled.
“Oh, no!” she gasped before she could remind herself to be quiet.
Fear clawed at her. Investigating the closet was forgotten. She rushed to the bedroom door, throwing it all the way open, then shutting it behind her as she dashed into the main room, which was now empty.
She glanced around, panicked and desperate. What was supposed to be a simple meeting to explain to Tad why she couldn’t go to a dance with him had turned into what she was certain was a matter of life and death. Tim had been wonderful in the three seconds she’d been able to talk to him. It felt as though there was so much left unsaid, though.
The thought had just begun to distress her when a scrap of white caught her eye. She walked toward it, bending to pick up a handkerchief. It hadn’t been there before. Puzzled, she turned it over.
A smile blossomed on her lips, and her heart felt as though it’d sprouted wings. The handkerchief was embroidered with a “T”.
“Tim,” she whispered, clutching the simple piece of cloth to her chest.
It must have been a sign. It was his way of telling her that their conversation wasn’t over, that he would find her again, and that they would pick up where they left off. She lifted it to her nose and breathed in the scent that was richer than any rose. It was perfect.
With a final glance over her shoulder at the closed bedroom door, she rushed toward the main door and out into the February evening. It was growing dark, and she couldn’t see much around the edges of the house. But that was perfect. It meant no one would see her as she ran back up to the main house.
At last, Tim managed to push one of the bedroom windows open. With a burst of strength, he pulled himself up over the sill and tumbled down onto the bed in a cloud of dust. Fearing he’d made too much noise, he sat still where he was for a moment, listening. The house was full of creaks and sounds, but old cottages often were.
More importantly, Ada was nowhere to be seen.
He rolled off the bed and headed to the door, crossing into the main room. It was empty and almost the same as how he’d left it. Almost.
Sitting on the table, where Ada’s rose had been, was a simple, lace garter. He rushed to pick it up and turn it over. It was sweet and delicate, exactly the sort of thing he would have expected Ada to keep concealed under her plain maid’s uniform, and it was embroidered with a fanciful “A”.
“Oh, my love,” Tim sighed, raising it to his nose to breathe in its flowery scent. Nothing had ever been so wonderful. Better still, the fact that she’d left it for him was a certain sign that she would be his. He regretted that they hadn’t been able to speak more before they were interrupted, but the token she’d left for him was proof that there could be so much more between them.
He tucked the garter into the pocket inside of his jacket that sat over his heart. It was where Ada belonged, as close to him as he could manage. Then, with a final look at the cottage, he hurried to the door and out into the darkening evening. He had a future to plan, and Ada would be at the center of it.
All in all, Mary was convinced her plan had turned out far better than she could have imagined. The closet had heated in a hurry. She’d stripped off the schoolteacher’s coat, then his jacket and shirt. She’d gotten the man down to his skivvies, and had coaxed his impressive cock into a salute. He wasn’t a half bad kisser either.
He’d tugged her chemise up over her breasts and had his hands full of them, kneading and squeezing, and brushing his thumbs over her nipples. Her drawers were just about soaked through, and she was practically climbing the closet wall looking for purchase so that she could impale herself on his flagstaff.
And Ada thought she had the schoolteacher wrapped around her little finger. Mary wanted to laugh. She’d never been with a man so eager to sheathe his sword. Ada certainly wouldn’t know what to do with a man like this. Ada would probably think baking cakes and sipping lemonade with him was the height of romance. Ada would—
“Oh, Ada,” the man in Mary’s arms groaned, jerking his hips, his cock against her stomach. “Ada, Ada, Ada!”
“What?” Mary exclaimed.
The man gasped, and a splash of something hot and liquid shot against the underside of her breasts. Suspicion slammed into her, and she yelped, pushing the closet door open.
Dim light flooded the tight space, but it was enough to see that the man who’d just come in her arms wasn’t the schoolteacher.
“Tad!” Mary screamed.
Tad opened his eyes. His expression of complete satisfaction tensed to a rictus of horror.
He screamed, jerking away from her.
Mary screamed back at him.
Tad screamed even louder.
Mary bolted from the closet, gathering as much of her clothing and her coat as she went. She clutched the bundle tight as she darted through the house and out the front door. Rather than running toward Winterberry Park, she sped in the opposite direction, making sounds of wretched disgust. She’d wash in the river and dress in the dark, but it still wouldn’t wipe away the horror of what she’d done, or rather, whom.
Chapter 6
“Class dismissed.”
Tim nodded to his students as they launched from their desks in a burst of chaos. The middle grade children scooped up their belongings and bolted for the door first, pushing some of the younger ones, who hadn’t quite grasped the flow of the dismissal routine yet, out of the way. Those younger children scurried after their older brothers and sisters, who, to t
heir credit, helped them don their winter things before rushing from the building. The oldest students lingered, the boys making sure they had all of their assignments recorded and the girls….
Well, truth be told, the oldest group of girls clustered together, whispering behind their hands and staring at him. Tim cleared his throat, heat rushing to his face. Alice in particular was staring at him with a wide-eyed smile. She’d done something with her hair that made it look different from her friends. It was in a bun instead of pigtails. But whatever game the girls were playing, the shocking pink of Alice’s gown marked her as the girl she was.
“You are dismissed, girls,” Tim reminded them, self-consciousness growing as he walked behind his desk to take a look at the grading he’d have to do that evening.
“Yes, sir,” the girls rang out in chorus.
“Yes, sir,” Alice repeated, a sigh in her voice.
Tim peeked up at her. He’d hoped beyond hope that Alice would forget their odd encounter at Violetta’s cottage the day before. He’d certainly like to forget it. What had possessed Alice to be anywhere near that part of the river in the first place? And why did she have it in her head that there was some sort of understanding between the two of them? He really ought to sit her down and set things straight.
The very thought of having that intimate a conversation with a girl of Alice’s age and inexperience made Tim green at the gills. He would rather take a cricket bat to a hornet’s nest than speak of delicate subjects with girls of that age. Perhaps he should have opened a boys’ school instead of allowing all children to learn under his roof.
No, that wasn’t fair. Some of the girls were his best students, like Ursula. He couldn’t short-change them because he was squeamish about the wrong ideas a few of the older ones might have. Wasn’t it common for impressionable young people to nurse tender affections for their teachers?
All the same, Tim cleared his throat. “I will see you on Monday, Miss Jones.”
“The Valentine’s Day dance is tomorrow,” she said, taking a half step forward.
The dance. Tim had forgotten. He’d forgotten to ask Ada to the dance as well. Their conversation had taken an entirely different turn. He’d been thinking about far more than a simple, country dance.
“Are you attending?” he asked Alice.
She blinked rapidly, almost as though she were offended. Then she burst into a coy smile. “I understand,” she said. She stood straighter, tilting her chin up in an affected way. “Yes, Mr. Turnbridge, I will be attending.”
Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. But for the life of him, Tim couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, it was. Surely, Alice couldn’t imagine they would socialize at the dance…could she?
He cleared his throat again, uneasiness prickling across his skin. “Very well then.” He feigned disinterest, nodding toward the schoolroom door. “I will see you all then.” He made sure to glance past Alice to her friends lest she get the wrong idea.
Alice giggled—the sound struck fear into Tim’s heart—and spun back to her friends. They rushed down the aisle, all of them giggling, to don their coats and scarves.
Tim blew out a sigh of relief when they were gone. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and soaking in the glorious silence of the schoolroom. At last, the bustle and strain of the day was over. He was pleased with the progress that most of his students were making, but there was no denying that he needed Ada to join him in teaching. She would make such a magnificent schoolmistress.
He sagged deeper into his chair, a fond smile tickling across his lips. She would make more than a good teacher. Ada Bell would be the perfect wife. She’d looked so beautiful the evening before, and he could picture her looking even more lovely, once he purchased a few nicer dresses for her. Uniform black was not a suitable color for her. With her blonde hair, he would kit her out in blues and greens, bright colors of spring.
His thoughts carried him away on a cloud of affection, and he leaned forward to pull open the top drawer of his desk. The garter Ada had left on the table at the cottage had been nestled there all day. He took it out and breathed in its feminine scent. So what if he was as sentimental as…as Alice. His heart couldn’t help it. He loved Ada, and if that turned him into a poet, so be it. He would have to speak to her again as soon as possible to make his feelings clear. It was a damn shame that they’d been interrupted at the cottage, or he might have dropped to one knee and proposed to her right then and there.
Deep in his heart, he was certain she’d say yes. If they were organized, they could be married this spring, after school let out. They could stay in his apartment above the schoolhouse for the summer, but as soon as he could, he’d write to his family to see if there was any money he could have to purchase a small house for his bride. He couldn’t wait to give Ada his name, to hold her in his arms freely and kiss her as she’d never been kissed before. He longed to peel away the layers of that dreadful uniform to expose her rose-petal skin. He’d kiss every inch of her, sucking on her breasts and—
He’d moved his hand to his stiffening cock in reaction to his thoughts just as the schoolhouse door crashed open. The sound and the fact that he’d almost been interrupted in such a position had him jumping out of his skin. He threw the garter into the still open drawer, slammed it shut, and jumped to his feet. Shock and embarrassment took care of whatever lingering rigidity that might have given him away. So did the sight of Samuel Jones, Lanhill’s butcher and Alice’s father, storming up the aisle to his desk.
“What is the meaning of this?” Sam demanded, shaking a meaty fist. His face was red, and the sight of his blood-stained butcher’s apron made Tim swallow convulsively.
“What is the meaning of what, sir?” Tim prayed that it had nothing to do with Alice’s sudden, intense fascination with him.
“Discipline in this school is a joke,” Sam railed.
Tim nearly melted in relief. Issues of discipline he could handle.
“Some jumped-up Johnny is interfering with my daughter,” Sam went on.
Tim’s stomach dropped to his feet all over again. “Sir?” He cursed his voice for wavering. He was a teacher, a respectable man, a man in love with a good woman. He’d done nothing wrong, and he had nothing to fear. So he stood straighter and faced Sam with an even, questioning look. “What makes you think so?”
Sam seemed to respond well to his mannerism. He lost some of his ferociousness as he rested his hands on his hips. “She’s been all moony-eyed lately,” he said. “Daydreamin’ and such. Her schoolwork has suffered.”
“Yes,” Time agreed slowly. “I had noticed that.” Blast. He’d thought it had more to do with the way she and her friends had been spending so much time gossiping. Now he was afraid it was because of her fascination with him.
“And she’s been trying to hide something from her mother and me,” Sam went on. “Nancy snuck into Alice’s room last night after she’d gone to bed and found….”
“Yes?” Tim leaned forward to ask as Sam’s face reddened with anger again.
“A rose,” Sam growled through clenched teeth. “And there’s more.”
“More?” Tim’s voice cracked, and he had to fight not to wince.
“Nancy says one of Alice’s garters is missing. A fancy, frilly one. She begged like mad for those silly things for Christmas, and Nancy worked her fingers to the bone to make them. Stupid, if you ask me.”
Tim swallowed hard, sure he’d turned green. “Oh, dear.” He swore he’d never turn into a poetic fool over a piece of lace ever again. All this time, he’d been sniffing and swooning over a garter that belonged to Alice Jones? It was all he could do not to shiver in revulsion.
“Do…do you have any thoughts on who Alice’s secret admirer could be?” Tim asked, dreading the possible answer.
“I must be one of those boys,” Sam growled on. “One of them studious ones who pretends to be all high and mighty.” He sniffed. “My Alice has fine taste. She�
��d never go for a day laborer or boy outside the school.”
“Wouldn’t she?” Tim asked halfheartedly. If his suspicions were true, he could be in a heap more trouble than he’d bargained for. His gaze darted to the blood-stains on Sam’s apron once again.
“She did it before, you know.”
“What?” Tim’s attention snapped up, and he met Sam’s eyes.
Sam sniffed. “She’s turned boy-mad, if you ask me. Kept sneaking out last summer to meet with that Bobby, the crofter’s son.”
Tim remembered the boy well. He’d been a good enough student the year before, but hadn’t returned to finish his schooling this year. When he’d asked why, he’d been told Bobby had been shipped off to an uncle in Dorset to learn his trade there. He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but now….
“I haven’t noticed your daughter showing any favorable treatment to any of the boys,” he said. That much was true.
Sam humphed and narrowed his eyes. “Well, if you do, you let me know. I’ve got something for whoever is messing about with my daughter.” He raised his fist and nodded.
Tim was suddenly ten degrees too warm, and his collar was tighter than it’d been seconds before. “Absolutely, sir,” he said in a hoarse voice.
“Good day to you, Mr. Turnbridge.” Sam nodded one more time, then turned and marched out of the schoolroom.
As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, Tim groaned and sank against his desk. He blinked, wide-eyed across the schoolroom. How had things spun so far out of control so fast?
He needed a real answer to that question, not just speculation and dread. With a burst of determination, he pushed away from his desk, rounding it to yank open the drawer. He would get to the bottom of this if it was the last thing he did. Nothing was going to stand in the way of his intentions toward Ada, but in order to make that true, he was going to have to sit down and talk the whole thing out with Ada, figure out what was real and what wasn’t.
