The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

Seeing the tight-lipped woman who filled the doorway with her ample presence, Daphne’s questions vanished.

“Oh, pardon me. ’Tis you, Vicar. Come in.” Miss Redmund’s frigid tone was as unappealing as her demeanor. Stiffly, she stepped aside, gesturing for the vicar to enter.

Her reproachful gaze fell on Daphne.

“Miss Redmund,” the vicar interjected, guiding Daphne ahead of him. “May I present Lady Daphne Wyndham.”

Miss Redmund’s frosty stare became positively glacial.

“Wyndham? Are you, perchance, related to the Marquis of Tragmore?”

Daphne raised her chin. “The marquis is my father.”

“Look around if you wish, but I’ll save you the trouble. If one of your tenants’s children is missing, he isn’t here.”

“Pardon me?”

“I assume your father sent you. Tell him there’s no need. I haven’t allowed anyone from Tragmore into this school since the marquis ordered me not to. Much as I dislike teaching these ruffians, I need my position. So assure your father I’m adhering to his wishes.”

“Miss Redmund,” the vicar began.

With a gentle shake of her head, Daphne silenced her friend. She understood the significance of the school mistress’s assumption—as well as her father’s tactics—only too well.

“I’m not here as my father’s messenger, Miss Redmund,” she refuted, trying to keep the quaver from her voice. “Were I to have my way, all the children living at Tragmore would be among your students. Unfortunately, I have no say in my father’s decisions.” Tentatively, she held out her basket. “However, I am trying to make a difference, in whatever small ways I can. If you’ll allow me, I’ve brought the children some food and clothing.”

“Oh.” Miss Redmund’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “I see. Well, naturally I assumed…Forgive my impertinence, my lady.” The flabby cheeks lifted in a more cordial, if not actually warm, welcome. “Come in.” She turned, her voluptuous bosom nearly knocking Daphne to the floor. “Children, we have guests.”

Two dozen pairs of curious eyes stared at Daphne.

“If we’re interrupting your lesson—” Daphne began.

“Nonsense,” the teacher broke in hastily, as relieved by the interruption as Chambers had predicted. “Put your slates away, children. The vicar has arrived. And he’s brought a very special visitor, Lady Daphne Wyndham. Say how do you do to Lady Daphne and the vicar.”

Two dozen mumbled “ ’ow do ye do’s” followed.

Swiftly, Daphne assessed the boys and girls who filled the benches surrounding the classroom’s long wooden desk. Ranging in age from approximately five to thirteen years old, they were all terribly thin, all dressed in worn clothing, and all staring at Daphne as if the portrait of Queen Victoria that graced the schoolhouse wall had just come to life before their very eyes.

The familiar ache tugged at Daphne’s heart.

“Would you like me to introduce you, Snowdrop?” Chambers asked, acutely aware of Daphne’s distress.

“No. Thank you, Vicar.” Daphne shot him a quick, grateful look, telling him without words that she was determined to obliterate this particular wall on her own. “I’ve awaited this day for a long, long time.”

“Very well.” The vicar nodded sagely, praying she would accomplish all she sought, praying that his presence could give her the strength she needed to bridge these long-established class lines.

Daphne turned and walked toward the children. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to meet all of you,” she admitted with a shy smile. “The vicar has spoken of you so often I feel we’re already friends.” Deliberately ignoring the ponderous silence, Daphne searched the sea of faces.

Her eyes fell on a lad of about ten. “You must be Timmy,” she guessed, taking in his freckles and unruly black curls, swiftly matching them with the description Chambers had provided. “I hear you have a lizard.”

Meeting the boy’s astonished stare, Daphne held her breath, counting each endless second until he replied.

At last, the freckled face thawed, “ ’is name’s ’enry,” Timmy supplied. “I used to bring ’im to school, but Miss Redmund made me stop.”

“That’s probably because she was afraid Henry would distract you.”

“No, it’s ’cause she was afraid ’e would bite ’er.”

“I see.” Daphne stifled a smile, feeling Miss Redmund’s glare bore through her back. “Tell me, Timmy, do lizards like mince pie?”