“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 their 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.

He rushed up to his apartment first, tossing the garter onto his bureau with a sneer of disgust, more for himself than Alice or anyone else. He was a fool to have fallen for…well, not exactly a ruse, but a mess of topsy-turvydom. He wouldn’t be fooled again.

He brushed his hair and straightened his clothes, then headed back downstairs to fetch his coat, hat, and gloves. The more he thought about things as he marched up to Winterberry Park, the more he was convinced some sort of subterfuge was involved. He wondered if that footman—he should have asked the young man’s name—was involved. Had the man taken his letter to Ada at all?

But of course he had. Ada had sent an answer by way of the maid, Mary.

Unless Mary was somehow complicit in everything that had happened at the cottage.

Only, if Mary were part of the scheme somehow, why had Ada been exactly where she said she’d be at the exact time she’d promised? Mary had been nowhere in sight.

He could only conclude that Ada’s plan to meet him at the cottage had been genuine, though that still didn’t explain the footman. Or Alice. The whole thing was a horrific jumble, but one he was determined to get to the bottom of.

When he reached Winterberry Park, he headed straight to the front door without thinking. He’d always been welcome at the front door, both as a respected member of Lanhill’s community and as someone with a vague claim to the nobility. It wasn’t until after he’d rang the doorbell and stood back to wait that it dawned on him how much better it would have been if he’d gone around to the kitchen door. He wasn’t there to see the Croydons, after all.

Sure enough, Mr. Noakes answered the front door with a glowering frown. “Can I help you?” His tone wasn’t at all encouraging.

Tim cleared his throat. “I’d like to speak to Ada,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”

Mr. Noakes straightened to his full height, narrowing his eyes. He was equally as intimidating as Sam Jones, but in an entirely different way.

“I realize I should have gone around to the kitchen door,” Tim added when Mr. Noakes said nothing. “Sorry.”

“Ada is not available at the moment,” Mr. Noakes said, as solid as a brick wall.

“I see.” Tim squirmed on his spot. “It’s just that I truly do need to speak to her. It’s a matter of life and death.”

Mr. Noakes didn’t look remotely impressed. “The servants of Winterberry Park are not at liberty to entertain guests whenever they so choose. Particularly guests of the opposite gender.”

Desperation itched down Tim’s back. “Yes, but it’s imperative that I speak to Ada right away. There seems to be some confusion about….” He stopped. How could he explain the meeting at the cottage the day before without landing Ada in even hotter water?

Mr. Noakes sighed. “There seems to be some confusion about what is proper and improper when it comes to visiting hours and appropriate guests for maids to have. Good day, sir.”

“But, I—”

Mr. Noakes closed the door on him before he could gather his thoughts.

Tim turned away from the door, stepping slowly down the front stairs to the lane. He debated going around to the kitchen door in spite of Mr. Noakes’s dismissal, but didn’t think he’d receive much better treatment there. Besides, knowing how things worked in a big house, word of his presence would probably reach the kitchen before he did.

There didn’t seem to be any choice but to head home to regroup. He still had an entire day before the dance. Perhaps he could figure out a way to get a note to Ada the next morning, or perhaps she’d be in town on an errand. If that failed, he’d have a chance to see her at the Valentine’s dance. Perhaps if he arrived early.

“Yoo-hoo!”

Tim spun out of his thoughts and pivoted at the call. For one blissful moment, he thought the woman in the black maid’s uniform running toward him as he reached the gate was Ada. But as she grew closer, he could see in the dimming light that it was the other maid, Mary.

“Oh, Mr. Turnbridge, stop!”

With a disappointed sigh, Tim did exactly that. He stopped and waited for Mary to catch up with him. Darkness was closing in, and with it irritation. He just wanted to get home before night fell completely. His day had been hard enough as it was.

“Mr. Turnbridge,” Mary said, breathless from running, as she reached him. “I just wanted to see how things went.”

“Things?” Tim frowned, out of sorts in every way.

“With your secret rendezvous,” Mary said. Even in the fading light, Tim could see a sparkle in her eyes. The woman was mischief personified.

But that just sent Tim’s mind spinning all over again. “What do you know about it?” he asked.

Mary swayed closer, fingering the buttons on his coat. “I know that secret rendezvous can be deliciously fun.”

“How much fun?” He frowned, his suspicions growing. Mary had to have something to do with the cottage incident. He was certain of it, but he didn’t know how.

“Well, private corners,” Mary said, inching closer to him. “Hidden glances. Without anyone to watch, there’s no telling what a man and a woman could get up to.”

She grabbed the front of his coat and pulled herself flush against him. Before Tim knew it, she’d tilted her head back and opened her mouth for a kiss.

“Madame, I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong,” he said, pushing her away. “My heart belongs to another, and I’ll thank you to respect that.”

“Aw, come on, love.” Mary tried to grab him again. “I’ll make it worth your while. I don’t play so hard to get, like other people we know.”

“I’m not interested,” Tim said, turning and stomping off into the growing dark.

“I’ll let you finger my fanny,” Mary called after him.

Tim made a noise of disgust. It was incomprehensible that a woman like that could have a position at a house as fine as the Croydons’. He’d have to have a word with Mr. Croydon when they returned in the summer. And how was it that, as soon as he’d made up his mind to pursue Ada in earnest, two other women had thrown themselves at him?

He needed time to think about it, and he needed to cool off. So rather than turning toward Lanhill when he reached the road—someone else was coming from that direction anyhow—he stormed off in the other direction. Nighttime be damned, he needed to think.

Mary let out a disappointed sigh as Mr. Turnbridge rounded the corner of the gate and marched out of view. Her shoulder slumped, and she kicked the ground. Men usually fell all over her when she made them an offer like that. It wasn’t like Mr. Turnbridge was any better than the lot of them. He—

“Oy! You!”

Mary gasped at the angry shout and flinched when Wat stormed around the gate. “Shite,” she muttered before pasting on her brightest smile and rushing toward him. “Wat, sweetheart. What are you doing here?”

Wat stormed up to her. His massive, muscled body excited her most of the time, but when he was in a temper, she wasn’t so sure.

“I heard what you said ta that toff walkin’ past,” Wat grumbled.

“That?” Mary laughed. “You must have heard me wrong.”

“Offerin’ ta let him touch you?”

“No, no.” Mary laughed and slapped his shoulder playfully. “I offered to….” She scrambled for something, anything that would appease Wat. “To let him linger and talk to the nanny.”

Even in the dark, Wat’s scowl was intimidating. “Yeah?”

Mary thanked God that her beau was all brawn and very little brain. “Which is silly, as I’m sure we both know, because there is no nanny in residence right now.” She swayed into him, splaying her hands across his chest and batting her eyelashes at him. “And you know I only have eyes for you, Wat. You’re my man.”

“Yeah?” he rumbled, reaching an arm around her to grab her backside and squeeze her against him. “And you’re my woman.”

“Always.” She pressed up on her toes to kiss him, making it as hot and tempting as she could.

“That’s more like it,” he said, grinning at her. “That’s the Mary I like.”

“Would you like a little more of it?” she cooed. As long as she could keep him distracted and make him forget what he’d overheard her say to Mr. Turnbridge, things would be all right.

“’Course I would,” Wat hummed. He scooped her up around the waist and carried her over to the shrubs beside the gate.

Mary giggled with excitement as he unfastened his trousers. A little tumble in the bushes, up against the gate, was exactly what she needed to top her day off. Especially since it looked as though Mr. Turnbridge wasn’t enough of a man to stick around and fight for Ada. She’d drive that wedge all the way between the two in no time.