The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

“She is indeed.” Daphne placed her in Prudence’s arms. “Now it’s up to you to cherish her. And, of course, to name her. Have you thought of a name?” Prudence shook her head.

“Well, take your time in doing so. Her name must fit her perfectly.”

“Like Snowdrop fits you?” the child asked with a shy smile.

“Like Snowdrop fits me,” Daphne agreed, feeling a warm tug at her heart. “Now, for the rest of you. I had hoped to bring you baskets of food and clothing for the winter. Unfortunately, that appears to be impossible at this time. H

owever,” she removed the stack of notes from her pocket, “I want you each to take a portion of this money and bring it home to your parents. I’ll leave enough with Miss Redmund to distribute to the other students tomorrow. The rest will be spent on a sturdy new roof for the school and new books and slates for everyone. How would that be?”

Miss Redmund’s eyes bulged at the sight of the enormous sum. “My goodness! There must be—”

“Five thousand pounds,” the vicar supplied. “Every pence of which Lady Daphne is contributing to our school and its children.”

“I see.” The schoolmistress’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” she blurted.

Daphne flinched, silencing the vicar’s oncoming protest with a gentle touch of his arm. “Because you’re my friends,” she replied simply. “And friends help each other.” Lowering her gaze, she began counting out bills.

“That’s an awful lot of money, Daphne,” Timmy said, his freckled face delighted and amazed all at once. “Where’d ye get it?”

“That’s my little secret.”

“Like the Tin Cup Bandit!”

A private smile played about Daphne’s lips. “A bit, yes. Only not nearly as exciting and mysterious.” She moved from child to child, carefully placing several hundred pound notes in each of their hands. “Guard these carefully, and make certain to deliver them to your parents, all right?”

A series of heads bobbed up and down. “That’s quite a generous sum Lady Daphne is donating,” Miss Redmund muttered to the vicar.

“Yes, it is.”

“What does the marquis have to say about it?”

The vicar turned to regard her soberly. “I think you know the answer to that question. Lord Tragmore has no knowledge of Daphne’s contribution. You also know that, should he learn of it, he’d swoop down upon us in an instant and seize every last shilling—not to mention what he’d do to his daughter. Daphne is taking quite a risk, bless her tender heart, and asking for nothing in return. Therefore, I strongly urge you to forget the source of your endowment. Permanently. Am I making myself clear, Miss Redmund?”

“Perfectly, Vicar.” The schoolmistress flushed in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to appear ungrateful.”

“Perhaps not. But it would serve you well to open your heart, at least enough to recognize true goodness when it stares you in the face.” With that, he walked off, coming to stand behind Daphne. “It’s getting late, Snowdrop. We should be on our way.”

“I know.” Reluctantly, Daphne nodded.

“Already?” Timmy protested. “But ye just got ’ere.”

“The sun is beginning to set, Timmy,” Miss Redmund intervened. “We want Lady Daphne to have a safe and uneventful walk home. That way she’ll be more inclined to continue indulging us with her visits.”

Daphne looked up in surprise, seeing the schoolmistress’s pudgy cheeks lift in a semblance of a smile.

“Well, all right.” Timmy chewed his lip. “Daphne, do ye think Russet will come with ye next time?”

“I hope so,” Daphne grinned. “But remember, foxes can be as difficult as lizards. You understand.”

“I sure do.” He stood up tall.

Prudence tugged at Daphne’s skirt, clutching the flaxen-haired doll to her chest. “Thank you,” she said in a breath of a whisper.

Daphne hugged her. “Now remember, Prudence, you have to love her with all your heart, and choose just the right name for her. All right?”

A wide-eyed nod.

“Good. Then you can properly introduce us on my next visit.” The school clock chimed and Daphne’s smile vanished. “I must be getting home.”