He grinned. “Immensely satisfying.”
“Yes!” She started down the steps, and he fell in beside her.
He held the gate for her, then followed her through. “I predict the school will have no further trouble.”
“Not from that quarter, at any rate. Or for that matter, from the rest of the street.” Feeling jaunty and carefree, Sylvia walked toward the mouth of the runnel.
Sliding his hands into his pockets, Kit ambled beside her. “If one were so inclined, you could view that—the intangible ongoing protection the school has gained—as the silver lining to today’s cloud.”
Sylvia slanted him a bright smile. “Indeed, one could.” She paused and beamed at Ollie, waiting inside the entrance to the runnel with a bundle at his feet. “Along with this young man. Well, Ollie, are you ready to start your new life?”
Ollie grinned up at her. “Yes, please, miss.”
“In that case”—Kit waved him to the hackney—“lead the way.”
As Ollie scampered ahead of them, Kit looked at Sylvia, drank in the bubblingly happy smile that lit her face, then he offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
She slipped her arm through his. “Let’s shall.”
They strode for the hackney beside which Ollie was now waiting.
Kit helped Sylvia up, then nodded for Ollie to get in and followed. After he and Sylvia had settled Ollie between them, Kit called to the driver to take them to Sylvia’s lodgings.
Thoroughly satisfied with his day, he sat back as the carriage rocked toward the city. And he still had seeing Sylvia to her door to look forward to, before taking himself and his new bootboy-cum-message-runner home.
CHAPTER 8
Sylvia couldn’t resist calling at the school on Sunday afternoon. She told herself she needed to check on stationery supplies and see how much ink they actually required, but in reality, her motivation owed more to a simple wish to reassure herself that no further attack had occurred.
To convince herself that Mrs. Stenshaw had been successful in impressing on her wayward sons the magnitude of the risk they now courted in even thinking of harming the school.
But all was well at the hall. She checked the rear yard, and it was clear Jellicoe and Cross had been back; the woodpile had been reassembled against the rear fence, the cobbles had been swept, and there was little to show for the previous day’s drama—just a few blackened and blistering streaks on the paint of the back door.
Making a mental note to have a workman in to strip and repaint the door, Sylvia relocked it, then returned to the hall to do a quick stocktake of the stationery supplies.
As she sorted and made notes, her mind circled through the events of the previous day. Reviewing her feelings and the way she’d reacted, not just to the happenings but also to Kit and his role in them.
He’d been...more than supportive. He’d been a rock, unwavering in his commitment to what, in her heart, was her school. Her creation.
She snorted softly—at herself. When he’d offered to put his name on the school, she’d instantly seen the benefits, but had wondered about what drawbacks might also accrue. Such as him taking over.
After all, his role in his yacht-building enterprise was very much the mirror of hers at the school. He organized and made things happen.
She’d been alert to the possibility that he might decide to organize her and the school as well.
But he hadn’t.
All through yesterday, he’d referred to her—sometimes with just a glance, yet invariably, he’d checked that he’d had her approval before taking action regarding the school. Indeed, throughout the various incidents and interviews, they’d made an effective team.
Perhaps through filling a similar role in his own business, he was more sensitive to how she saw her role with the school.
Regardless, his assistance had been an unalloyed boon; the downside she’d feared hadn’t eventuated in even the slightest degree.
Of course, he had tried to shield her from the nastiness of Mrs. Stenshaw, but from all she’d learned from Felicia and, even more, from Felicia’s sister-in-law, Mary, that was only to be expected of men of his family—men of his background; apparently, they were bred to be protective to a fault.
After checking the shelves of the small cabinet Miss Meggs used to store the stationery, Sylvia scanned her notes, then closed her notebook and slipped it into her reticule. She tugged the reticule’s strings tight as she cast a last glance around the hall.
All appeared in prefect order for Monday’s lessons.