“My husband died at sea, and as you must already know I was connected to Lady Devine’s husband through an earlier marriage. I found myself in uncomfortable financial difficulties, and Lady Devine was kind enough to offer me this position. I am content.”
The marquis knew it had not been kindness that had moved Lady Devine to place Miss Sallstone at Netherby. His aunt, who was well acquainted with Lady Devine, had told him that she had given Sallstone this position to keep her out of London. Apparently Lady Devine did not wish to publicly acknowledge their connection. What intrigued him further was the fact that the headmistress did not go by her married name but used her maiden name, Miss Sallstone.
“Content?” He questioned, one brow raised. “How could that be so?”
“There are compensations,” she replied vaguely. “But what of you, if I may be so bold? What attracts you to Netherby?”
“Beauty, Bianca. Your school abounds in it. From its headmistress to its budding flowers …”
Her hazel eyes narrowed, and she responded carefully, very carefully, “Yes, some of our girls are quite lovely.”
“I am curious though. Tell me what happens to the girls when they complete their term—those that are not entered into society by their relatives. They are all orphans here, is that correct?”
“Yes, all our girls are orphans, each, with only a trustee managing whatever estate was left to them. Some have enough to pay their tuition. Others rely on the donations of our subscribers.” She sighed and did not meet his gaze as she added, “Most of the girls will go to stay with a relative after they leave here and will hopefully use the skills they learned at Netherby when they enter into society and are married off.” A sad expression covered her face, and the marquis was struck by the depth of insincerity behind it as she said, “However, we do have girls who don’t have quite a comfortable future to look forward to. We try and find them acceptable positions.”
“What sorts of positions would those be?” the marquis now asked pointedly.
She gave him a thoughtful look and said, “Some girls don’t have the luxury of relatives to go to after their term, so we find they must take on positions as a lady’s maid or a shop girl—whatever is available. Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity. I would like to know what they are able to do with the education they receive here.”
“They are not thrown into the street, if that is what you are worried about. We keep them until they are found just the right placement.”
The marquis got to his feet. After he shrugged into his greatcoat, put on his top hat, and held his gloves in one hand, he bent a bow to the headmistress. “I have thoroughly enjoyed our stimulating visit. Had I not promised myself elsewhere, it would have gratified me greatly to prolong it as long as you would allow.”
Something in her eyes told him she was too well versed to be taken in by him. He could see that not all the charm in the world would turn her head from her purpose. He would have to find another way to discover what he wanted to know.
She inclined her head and said softly, “Perhaps another time you will find yourself in a position to stay longer?”
His smile was meant to soften her, and he could see that, indeed, he had managed to do that much. “Another time then.”
Outside he breathed a word out loud. “Whew.” He then scanned the grounds for Sassy, hoping to find her before he left. He did not, and with an exasperated oath, he went to his tiger holding the reins and his horses steady and said, “You will be happy to know when we get back to my lodgings you will be done for the day, Jerry lad.”
* * *
Sassy watched his departure like a coward from behind the cover of a yew hedge, and when he left she sighed heavily, her heart overcast. What was she to do? Everything she had read in her mother’s book told her that for some unfathomable reason her magic had chosen him for her mate. She was a strong-willed and independent young woman, and yet, in spite of the fact that she told herself she would not be dictated to by magic, she was drawn to him in more ways than she wanted to contemplate.
She made her way back into the school, up the staircase, and to her room, her thoughts at war with that beating organ in her chest. She was fully aware that, magic or not, she was more than a little in love with the marquis. And that—that just wouldn’t do. He was a marquis, and she was a vicar’s daughter. Although proud of who and what she was, she knew he could look higher for a wife. Wife? What was she thinking?
It was simply impossible. Even her mother’s family had disowned her and had made no effort to contact her all these years.
That he wanted her, lusted after her, she knew—her dreams did not lie. Her magic put them together. Did that mean she would end up being his mistress? She felt heat rush to her cheeks at the notion.
Could she throw herself into such a situation?
She could no longer deny that she loved him without reason. She even lusted after him, wanted the dream to be real, wanted to be in his arms … feel his touch, and his kisses. Could she throw away all her principles to be his mistress?
Sometimes, the answer was yes, and that answer made her wring her hands and berate herself. Did she have the right to want more than her present situation for all her life?
Realizing she was pacing, she stopped, took a long breath, and calmed herself. This would not do. She gazed at herself in the looking glass. Did she have the soul of a harlot? Was wanting this one man going to be her ruin? Oh, she didn’t know—she just didn’t know.
Searching for a distraction, she glanced around her room until her gaze landed on the mirror again. It had been tilted sidewa
ys from the day she had moved into the room. She had adjusted it many times, but it always went crooked again. She lifted it off the nail, determined to set it properly this time, and a swatch of folded paper floated to the wood flooring at her feet.
Frowning, Sassy hung the mirror back on the wall and then bent to picked up the paper. She went to her nightstand and held it under the candlelight as she unfolded it.
On it were just a few lines scribbled at what must have been a desperate speed, for the words were barely legible.