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.
Lord, where to begin? Finishing her sandwich, she dabbed the corners of her mouth and laid the napkin on the plate. “I recently came out of mourning. My late husband, the earl, did not provide for me in his will. His heir and nephew tossed me out, and I had no choice but to return to my father.”
Mr. Black frowned. “I am sorry this happened to you. It’s a travesty that women do not have any rights, whether inside of marriage or out.”
“No, we do not. None at all. My hateful father no longer wishes to provide for me, as he has his own plans to remarry. To paraphrase, he does not wish his widowed, ancient daughter lurking about the house.”
Mr. Black’s mouth quirked with amusement. “You’re hardly doddering, my lady.”
“According to society, I am. I’m thirty years of age. My father believes I’m only fit for old men. Pepperdon was more than thirty-five years older. I will not be forced into such a union again.” Sabrina exhaled. She had come this far. Might as well lay it all out. “The baron has given me an ultimatum: marry another prehistoric peer, or find my own way in the world.”
Mr. Black’s friendly smile turned into a frown. “Damn. Pardon, my lady. I am sorry to hear this.”
“Good. Then you can aid me by marrying me. Right away.”