Just a Marriage of Convenience with the Duke by Hazel Linwood
Chapter 7
“How do I look?” Bridget asked as she finished tying the strings of her bonnet in the glass hanging in the front hall. She surprised even herself by noting the faintest onslaught of fragile nerves.
“Why does it matter?” Harriet asked, looking fairly petulant as she looked around, bored. “The contract is signed, you’re marrying him. Good wishes to you both.”
“Is it wrong that I wish to look nice on our first outing as a betrothed couple?” Bridget replied, already regretting relying on Harriet as a chaperone.
“I’m sorry, Bridget,” Harriet finally murmured. “I’m only jealous, I suppose. I fear I will never be in your shoes.”
“I’ve told you too many times, everything will be fine. You have only been serious about meeting a husband for the space of three days. Permit yourself some room to look around,” Bridget said, readily accepting her sister’s apology and linking her arm through Harriet’s. “Besides, Father told me that His Grace specifically said with you as our chaperone at different occasions, your chances of meeting someone of good quality very well may improve. Does that not cheer you any?”
“A little, I suppose,” Harriet admitted. “Oh, look. The duke is here!”
Bridget came over to where her sister was watching at the drawing- room window. She beamed inwardly when she saw the barouche and pair of elegant horses approach the front of the house, the duke riding in the seat and looking around with interest.
“No Harriet, we musn’t,” Bridget admonished, pulling Harriet back gently by the arm when she hurried towards the front door. “We must wait for him to knock and permit Blake to announce him.”
“Why? The duke is coming to collect us and take us out. Why do we simply stand here like a pair of pigeons on a statue?”
“Because it is the proper way of things,” Bridget explained patiently. After all, it wasn’t Harriet’s fault that she had no mother to guide her through these strange dance steps. “We are to permit him to come to us, remember?”
“This is so silly. Having to wait for a man to ask me to dance? To have a man invite me to promenade in the park? To sit near him on the terrace if he offers me a glass of drink? It’s all so ludicrous. How does anyone ever court and marry if all we do is sit around and wait on a man to decide something?” Harriet demanded.
It was all Bridget could do not to laugh. She had never felt such frustrations herself, as in her view, marriage was a natural step that her parents would assist her in accomplishing. Her mental capacity had been consumed with the school for so long that she had nearly forgotten about other responsibilities.
“He is rather handsome, is he not?” Harriet asked, still leaning to the side so she might view the duke as he descended from the vehicle and came up the walk.
“I suppose he is, but I think you’ve asked me my opinion on that already,” Bridget teased. “If I did not know better, I’d say I should be very careful that you do not attempt to steal my betrothed for yourself.”
“Bridget! I would never do such a thing!” Harriet protested, finally tearing her gaze away from the front window.
“I know, I’m only having fun. Come on, we’ll sit here until the duke is announced.”
Bridget sat on the sofa and patted the seat beside her, indicating Harriet should join her. Together, they sat very stiffly, their gloved hands folded in their laps, forming the very picture of propriety. At long last, Mr. Blake stood framed in the doorway and bowed to the ladies.
“May I announce His Grace, the Duke of Lockhart for Lady Bridget?” the butler asked quietly.
Bridget and Harriet stood up as Patrick entered, curtseying, and lowering their gaze for a moment. Before long, Bridget smiled at Patrick’s confused expression.
“Is something amiss, Your Grace?” Bridget asked.
“No, but I see that you are prepared to go out. Have I come at the wrong time?” he inquired, an adorable crease appearing between his perfectly proportioned brows.
“Not at all, Your Grace. We are prepared to go for a ride with you, as you invited,” Bridget said, and for a fleeting moment she worried that there had been something less than sincere in his earlier invitation.
“Oh, of course! I just assumed that you would not be ready when I arrived,” Patrick said, clearly relieved. “My mother and my grandmother seem to take an interminably long time to get ready, so I thought I would have a few moments to collect myself while I waited for you.”
“I do not believe in keeping anyone waiting on me,” Bridget assured him with a friendly grin. “Shall we go?”
The trio exited the house and walked to the barouche. Patrick waved off the footman politely and helped first Harriet then Bridget into the vehicle himself. He then settled himself on the seat facing them.
“Hold a moment if you please, Mr. Reynolds,” Patrick called over his shoulder to the driver. Facing the ladies once again, he asked, “I did not think to ask if you preferred the hood up during the ride?”
“Oh no, it is such a fine day,” Bridget replied for both of them. “I rather enjoy the sunshine overhead.”
Patrick smiled at this remark. “It is rather uncommon for ladies to prefer the heat and sun, is it not?”
“You’ll have to forgive my sister, Your Grace, but you will find that she is nothing at all like other ladies. And she is certainly not common,” Harriet answered, though not unkindly.
“I’m actually quite glad to know that,” Patrick answered before telling the driver to press on. “I had hoped you would show me this school of yours, if it’s not too far a ride for you.”
“That would be wonderful,” Bridget breathed in awe. “I had no idea you would be so interested in it, especially after having only just met.”
“If it matters a great deal to you, then it matters equally to me as well,” Patrick assured her.
Bridget stifled a giggle at Harriet’s sudden grasping of her hand. She turned to look at her younger sister in surprise, only to be moved by the look of adoration on the younger girl’s face for the duke.
They passed the journey to the school’s location in polite conversation, never touching on topics that might be too personal or impolite. They spoke briefly of their childhoods and their schooling, as well as other current endeavors.
“But I fear that you know all about my ambitions, Your Grace, and I have not given you so much as a spare second to tell me about yours,” Bridget began, steering the conversation back to the duke.
“There isn’t much to tell, I’m afraid,” Patrick began with a slightly self-conscious shrug. “My father was obviously the Duke of Lockhart before me, and he held a number of properties that are now mine. Several of those estates contain prosperous farmlands, which yield a modest income. I also inherited a shipping business that has proven to be very successful, despite someone so young and inexperienced as me at the helm.”
“Do not sell yourself short, Your Grace,” Bridget said, laughing softly. “I am certain you are far more capable than you pretend to be.”
“Capable, perhaps. But am I doing anything important, anything that matters to humanity? I cannot think I do.”
“Certainly, feeding the masses through your farms is a noble purpose,” Bridget argued gently. “It matters not that you do not have your hands in the earth, it is at your discretion that those fields are tilled and that those crops are harvested.”
“I suppose that’s something,” Patrick said, though he did not sound convinced. He looked around at their surroundings and said, “I should think we are almost there.”
“Not yet, but rather soon,” Bridget replied. She looked over to Patrick and saw the discomforted look on his face. “Is something the matter, Your Grace?”
“What’s that? Oh, no. Nothing, it’s only that I am rather surprised to find us here… do not tell me you have been spending your days in this part of London, Lady Bridget,” he said in a low voice, glancing around as they continued on. “Did you not fear for your safety?”
“Not at all. But where would you expect there to be a school for impoverished children? Perhaps in the middle of Covent Garden?” she teased. The duke shook his head. “In order to be a place of refuge and learning for those with the most need, it must be situated in a place where they can find it.”
“That makes complete sense, of course,” Patrick admitted. “As I said, I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
By the time they arrived, the duke seemed to be somewhat more at ease with his surroundings. Bridget remembered when she’d first come down here with her father to inspect the empty building; she, too, had been put off by the location and the dismal appearance of the old factory. But as soon as she hired Christina and they became fast friends, there was never another doubt in her mind that this was the perfect place.
“Oh, that reminds me, Your Grace,” Bridget added as the driver veered into the mud-soaked plot in front of the school. “You’ll get to meet my closest friend, Miss Christina Fitzroy. She is the teacher here, and the pupils adore her.”
Bridget and Harriet stepped out of the barouche, ignoring the mud. Behind them, Patrick attempted to tread lightly, though Bridget heard the distinct sound of him muttering under his breath. Still, he smiled broadly when he caught her looking at him.
“This first room is where we store items that we manage to collect from generous donors,” Bridget said, opening the door to a room that held only a few articles of clothing, a wooden chair, and a few crates of odds and ends. Harriet scoffed.
“Generous donors might be stretching the truth a little, Bridget,” Harriet said. “More like, those we can cajole into parting with things they’ve kept stored in their attics for countless years.”
“Harriet, do not be unkind,” Bridget admonished in a whispered voice. She wished to prove to the duke how their efforts were paying off, not seem as though she had brought him here only to plead her case.
“No, I can see how I might agree with Lady Harriet,” Patrick said, walking into the room and looking around. He reached out and put a hand on the wooden chair, giving it a small shake. It wobbled terribly. “It’s no wonder some generous donor was so reluctant to part with this.”
Harriet giggled, but Bridget found herself growing defensive. “There are a great many worthy causes, Your Grace, and ours is but one of them. Our peers do all they can to support them all… at least, that is what I tell myself.”
“I am certain that with my support, we can encourage them to be a mite more generous,” Patrick said, still looking around as though in disbelief.
“Fortunately, the room where we keep stores of food is a bit more well-stocked. It’s this way,” Bridget said brightly.
This time, Bridget went in ahead of the duke in order to have a look for herself. The shelves contained a small variety of things, including some fruits and vegetables that had seen fresher days and several small sacks that contained meal and grains. Several jars contained stored up goods that waited to be handed out to the children.
“As you see, we make good work of distributing things that did not sell at the market,” Bridget said, ignoring the small swarm of flies that lingered over a basket of apples that were beginning to turn brown.
Patrick looked nearly as horrified as he had in the previous room. He turned in a slow circle, reaching out from time to time to lift an item and inspect it before putting it back on the shelf.
“This will not do, Lady Bridget. This cannot be sufficient for the number of pupils this school has,” he answered, duly distressed by the state of things.
“Well, to be honest, we are not the families’ only source of sustenance. There are other entities that help, too. The churches, the aid societies, those sorts of places.”
“From now on, my farms will also contribute,” Patrick said earnestly. “I have never in my life had to eat anything that looked to be in such a dreadful state, and neither should the students.”
Bridget looked to be on the verge of tears, so full was her joy at his offer. She was struck speechless as she watched him looking around, and it fell to Harriet to respond.
“That is very generous of you, Your Grace,” she said, stepping forward until she stood shoulder to shoulder with her sister, nudging Bridget sharply.
“Yes, it is incredibly generous of you!” Bridget added breathlessly.
“Consider it done then,” he said firmly, nodding. “I will speak to my stewards at my earliest convenience. Now, where is the classroom?”
“There are three, Your Grace,” Bridget answered, leading the way out of the storeroom and down the hall. “The younger pupils are together in the larger room, then the older boys are just there, the older girls across the hall. Miss Fitzroy travels between the rooms throughout the day to give lessons, and other caretakers help the students complete their assignments. It’s really a lovely system.”
They reached the first room, and Bridget’s heart melted at watching Patrick’s look of complete awe. In the younger room, a woman made the rounds as children read together in small clusters, each sharing a single book. They passed the book between themselves in each group, every student taking a turn at reading aloud. Where a child faltered, their peers were quick to help them decipher the word.
“It’s astonishing,” Patrick gasped. “Not a single child shoving or shouting, all of them sharing and working so diligently.”
“The very first lesson that we impart here is that education is the only way out of squalor,” Bridget explained, her tone serious. Even Harriet was somber at her words. “They also know that if they are put out for bad behavior, there is a queue of eager students who are ready to take their place.”
“And not a dullard chair in the corner or a schoolmaster’s whip in sight!” Patrick said reverently. “I suppose that is the difference in handing a spoiled child an expensive education that he despises rather than offering hope to a child who had none.”
“Precisely, Your Grace. The students here are willing and eager to do whatever is asked of them as this is their respite from a life of physical toil and filth. Their faces and hands must be clean when they arrive, and their clothes not soiled or torn. Their parents see to it that they are present and prepared to learn.”
Bridget looked on as Patrick continued to observe, his interest wholly absorbed with the young students. When it was time to move on to the older classes, he was dumbfounded once again.
“A woman to teach the older boys?” he asked with a bemused smirk.
“Who would you prefer?” Bridget asked, clearly challenging him.
Patrick shrugged; his expression now sheepish. “I don’t know, but the usual way of things is that a schoolmaster takes charge of the young men in order to fully prepare them for the world ahead of them.”
“And do you not think women have just as much knowledge and experience to impart? Or is it that you do not think women know the sorts of subjects young men need to learn?” Bridget asked evenly. “I will tell you, Your Grace, the world would be a far calmer, more charitable place if young men were brought up solely by women. Name five women throughout history who have invaded other lands, who have begun futile wars, who have passed cruel laws that punish the poor and embolden the wealthy. I wager that you could not, even if you had all day to think on it.”
Patrick turned to look at Bridget, and for a moment she feared she had gone too far. After all, there were limits to what any man may tolerate in conversation with a woman, and there may well be limits to what the duke would find amusing as well.
Instead, his stony-faced expression slowly transformed into one of interest.
“Lady Bridget, I must confess that I did not expect you to say that… but now I cannot help but wonder why no one has explained it so succinctly to me before,” he said slowly. “It does seem sound when you state it in such a way. All of the years that I was in school, our lessons were focused on expanding the British Empire, on learning which battles had led to our great victory and which ones had been dismal failures so that we may never lose that way again. I find that I must question nearly all of my upbringing in light of that single, profound statement.”
“I apologize, Your Grace, I did not mean to be so adamant… nor did I mean to destroy your memories of your own education,” Bridget confessed, though she could not help but feel an odd sort of affection for someone who could so readily accept a view that was not their own.
Patrick looked behind him through the window into the girls’ classroom. There was an assortment of maps littering several rough-hewn tables and a teacher was evidently explaining something of Ancient Egypt.
“What is this then? Am I to understand that these young ladies are intent on taking on the shipping industry?” Patrick asked, laughing lightly.
“No, I believe Miss Fitzroy is conducting a lesson on the flooding along the River Nile, as well as how irrigation ditches alleviated the flood waters while aiding the crops,” Bridget said.
Patrick whirled around. “You are certainly the most amazing creature,” he said without thinking, his embarrassment serving as proof that he had not intended to say so. “I mean, that is to say—I’m simply astonished. But at the risk of sounding like so many of my peers, what is the purpose in teaching them these things?”
“Many of these young ladies may take up a life of service to the Crown,” Bridget answered with a shrug. “Others may go on to seek positions as governesses. Still, others may simply marry, and should they marry men who are fortunate enough to own or work the land, this may simply be useful information. Miss Fitzroy believes—and I concur wholeheartedly—there is nothing wasted in knowledge, even if it doesn’t seem purposeful at the time.”
At that moment, Miss Fitzroy took notice of them peering in the window and waved them in. Bridget opened the door to the classroom and smiled as the pupils all stood at once and curtseyed.
“Good day to you, ladies,” Bridget began. “I am so proud to see all of you hard at work.”
“Thank you, Lady Bridget,” they chimed in chorus before returning to their seats and resuming their work.
Miss Fitzroy issued instructions for them to continue at their maps, then approached. She curtseyed to the newcomer and smiled at Bridget.
“Welcome to our class today,” she began happily.
“Your Grace, may I introduce Miss Christina Fitzroy, the teacher at our school and my dearest friend?” Bridget asked. She looked to Christina and said, “This is Patrick Arnold, Duke of Lockhart.”
“Your Grace,” Christina said, curtseying once more before adding, “We do not get so many visitors here. Perhaps you would be willing to speak to the students about your occupation or your business?”
Bridget turned to Patrick and explained, “We are very intentional about informing the students of all manner of work. The purpose here is that no one is condemned to work as a laborer simply because it was their parents’ occupation.”
“I would be delighted to,” Patrick began, but Harriet covered her disdain for the idea with a cough.
“On your head be it,” she mumbled, causing Patrick to turn with a perplexed expression. He was prevented from inquiring by Christina’s clap and calling for the students’ attention.
“Ladies, His Grace, the Duke of Lockhart will speak to us for a few moments about what it is that he does. If you will turn this way, please.”
The girls moved several stools and crates into a shape encircling the front of the room and waited patiently, their silence almost unnerving as they stared at the newcomer. Despite his obvious nerves, Patrick spoke for several minutes about his agricultural interests and his shipping business.
“Does anyone have any questions for the duke?” Christina asked in summary.
Hands went up around the room.
Patrick nearly stumbled backwards a step, but he recovered quickly and pointed to a girl with her hair done in two long braids. She stood up and asked, “What are your thoughts on Emperor Bonaparte’s abandoning of the project to dig out the Isthmus of Suez in order to connect the Mediterranean Sea to the Red Sea and Indian Ocean?”
The duke’s eyes went wide, but Bridget and Christina exchanged a knowing smirk.
“I… I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I am not very familiar with the Emperor’s plans,” Patrick stammered, clearly taken aback.
Another girl stood to ask, “The French government believes that the project will be too costly due to the need for locks along the channel. But with a difference in sea level of less than ten meters between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean Sea, this should not prove to be an issue. Do you agree?”
Patrick looked astonished. “I’m sorry, again, I am not very familiar. You see, my boats travel to the Americas, not to the Far East, so—”
“Ships, you mean,” another girl said. “Your vessels are full-sized ships if they are to make the Atlantic voyage, are they not?”
“Mind your manners please, Elizabeth. It is not polite to correct someone when they have made a simple error,” Christina reminded the girl, who immediately apologized and resumed her seat. The teacher smiled at the class and turned back to the guests to say, “Thank you so much for telling us all about this very interesting work you do. I’m afraid we must return to our studies now.”
The class thanked the guests in unison then silently moved their furniture back into place to continue their work on the maps. Bridget and Harriet led the way out of the classroom but looked back to find that Patrick was still staring at the group, a thunderstruck look on his face.
“Your Grace? Are you coming?” she asked politely.
Patrick only nodded mutely, then slowly turned and followed her from the room.
