Just a Marriage of Convenience with the Duke by Hazel Linwood
Chapter 9
“Here, Lady Bridget,” a young girl said shyly, curtseying quickly when she remembered her manners, “my mother baked this bread today and told me to bring it to you.”
“Annabelle, what have I told you about giving me your bread?” Bridget said with a smile before pulling the girl close for a quick embrace. “Tell your mother thank you very much, but sweet girl, I do wish she wouldn’t trouble herself.”
More like, I cannot stand the thought of taking even a crumb from these children’s mouths, Bridget thought sadly, though she forced a happy countenance for the child’s sake.
“I know, why don’t we all enjoy some of it right now?” Bridget said brightly. “I shall go and see if there is some butter in the larder, then we can all enjoy a little bite to eat.”
Annabelle smiled happily, proud at the thought of sharing with the other young students. Fortunately, the class was small that day and there would be plenty for everyone to have a little piece. As to why the class was small, Bridget knew all too well—wages had most likely been paid out as it was the end of the month, and more than a few of their fathers had a fondness for drink. When the rum flowed, too often so did their parents’ tempers, and their children suffered for it.
Bridget left and returned with not only some butter and a knife, but two apples as well. She set to work slicing the bread first, going down the hearty load lengthwise and then slicing each of the halves into individual pieces. Then she cut up the apples, applied the butter to the bread, and called the students up each in turn to have a slice of bread and a piece of apple.
“Children, what do we say to Annabelle for sharing her mother’s bread?” Bridget reminded them.
“Thank you, Annabelle,” the entire class chimed in unison.
As they enjoyed their small but welcomed treat, one student raised her hand shyly.
“Yes, Corrine?” Bridget asked as she tidied up from where she had sliced the bread.
“Lady Bridget, that man you came here with the other day… is he going to shut the school?” the girl asked hesitantly.
“Why, no! Of course not!” Bridget answered, her brow creasing with worry. “Who told you such a thing?”
No one answered, but eventually several of the children began to look towards the guilty party, a young boy with far more curiosity than was healthy. He turned red and looked down, and Bridget couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“No, students, that man is interested in helping our school, actually. He is very proud of all your hard work and wants to see you continue to learn,” Bridget assured them.
“Is he your betrothed?” one of the older members of this young class asked. Several of the smaller boys groaned in disgust.
“What would make you think that?” Bridget said, laughing in surprise.
“He always got a sort of wistful look on his face whenever he looked at you or whenever you were speaking,” the girl answered with a slight grin.
Bridget couldn’t help but laugh again. She knew there were likely to be questions or rumors from the ton, but even these youngest students were curious about her personal affairs. It did not seem right to bring them into talks about marriage, wedding celebrations, and the like, so she merely nodded.
“I have every intention of marrying in the coming months,” she replied evenly and left it at that.
Or so she thought.
“Will he become our teacher too?” one of the boys asked, the hope in his voice unmistakable.
“I’m afraid not,” Bridget answered, watching his crestfallen face guiltily. “But that does make me wonder if we should seek a schoolmaster? Perhaps someone who is very harsh and makes you recite your sums for hours at a time?”
“No!” the children began to cry out, and finally Bridget was forced to confess that she was only teasing.
“But if you marry, who will look after us while Miss Fitzroy is with the others?” another student asked, his chin quivering.
Bridget was even more bemused. She’d had no idea the children would have such strong feelings about her situation, and she found herself at a loss about how to address it with them. After all, it was still so new to her as well.
“Children, please. Everything will be all right, you shall see. I will marry the duke at the proper time, and then resume my duties here with you,” she assured them, knowing in her heart that she spoke the truth.
* * *
“Father, I know this is a difficult time for us financially,” Bridget said that evening as she and the earl waited for Harriet to come down to the drawing-room. Their guests would arrive shortly, and this might be her only chance to speak to her father so candidly.
“It is indeed, but everything will be all right,” Lord Repington replied cautiously. “I have uncovered several opportunities as of late, ones that I hope to see pay off handsomely. For now, just knowing that you girls will be married soon enough and that your academy will live on gives me much relief.”
“Still, I am most grateful to you for inviting the duke’s family to dine tonight. It was very generous of you to do so, and I’m grateful for the chance to make a good impression on his mother. Her opinion matters to me a great deal.”
“Do not trouble yourself with what others may think,” Lord Repington said ominously. Bridget wished to ask him what he meant by that, but Harriet came downstairs.
“Harriet, you look lovely!” Bridget exclaimed happily, hoping to make her sister feel better about wearing Bridget’s old gown.
“Do you think so?” Harriet asked politely, holding out the gauzy layers of the pale pink overskirt. “It’s not too short? I am a bit taller than you were at my age.”
“No, it’s perfect. It was always a little long for me, but I wouldn’t have it taken up because it was Mother’s favorite on me, and I didn’t want anything to happen to it. Here, turn around.” Bridget inspected her sister’s gown as Harriet turned slowly. “Doesn’t she look wonderful, Father?”
“You look so much like your mother, both of you do,” the earl said wistfully. “I wish she were here to take charge of these matters, for I certainly do not know what I’m doing.”
“You’re doing wonderfully, Father,” Bridget assured him, hoping that she sounded convincing. “Now Harriet, I must make a good impression on the duke’s family, of course, but he and I are already betrothed. Short of climbing on the table like an animal and throwing food about, I doubt there’s much I could do this evening that would undo such an agreement. You, on the other hand, are going to be every bit the inspected specimen that I shall be.”
“Me? Why would His Grace’s mother care about me?” Harriet asked, though she sounded intrigued rather than argumentative.
“Because this is your chance to leave your mark on the duchess,” Bridget explained as their father listened, equally interested. “If she is impressed with you, she will surely recommend you to her own friends whose sons are of marriage age. So don’t pout or look put out, smile and be cheerful and interesting. I will ask that you play the pianoforte for us after dinner, so don’t think I do it to move you away from our conversation. I am doing so in order to show you off a little.”
Bridget was prepared for her younger sister—one whom she adored but who could often see things differently—to argue, but instead Harriet smiled and took her hand.
“Thank you, Bridget. I know this is an important night for you, but to be thinking of my future as well is very generous of you,” Harriet said sincerely.
“Of course, I am. I want what’s best for you, too,” Bridget promised her, smiling.
At that time, Mr. Blake appeared in the doorway of the drawing room. He bowed formally, then said, “My lord, the Duke of Lockhart has arrived, accompanied by his mother, the Duchess of Lockhart, and his grandmother, Baroness du Scarde.”
The butler stepped to the side to permit the three guests to enter the room, and Bridget felt her nerves instantly begin to wither. Patrick entered first and smiled directly at her, but he was soon followed by two of the most commanding, imposing women Bridget had ever seen.
The younger of the two, clearly Patrick’s mother as they shared the same curly black hair and green eyes, stood very tall as she slowly sauntered in. She appeared to be looking everywhere but at the hosts as she appraised the room. Behind her, a woman with straight gray hair that had possibly once been blond entered as well, the severity of her features tempered slightly by a thin smile.
“Your Grace, welcome to our house,” Lord Repington began, greeting Patrick first and then speaking to his family. “Please, sit.”
The entire scene was unnervingly formal, almost like a tableau of a visit rather than living, breathing people coming together for a pleasant evening. Bridget was unaccustomed to such seriousness in their house, and she felt as though she were a performer on a stage rather than a young lady inviting guests to dine.
“You look beautiful this evening,” Patrick said softly in her ear, startling her as he came up behind her and held her chair for her.
“Thank you,” Bridget answered warmly, though her sudden thrill of affection was diminished when she noted the look of disapproval on the duchess’ face.
After everyone had been seated, Bridget looked over to where Patrick had taken his seat. He was saying something to his grandmother beside him, who was clearly gesturing to Harriet across from her. He smiled a little, and Bridget’s breath caught. He was truly handsome, but more than just his looks, there was an air about him that made him seem friendly, inviting.
He looked up at her as though he’d felt her watching him and smiled just for her. She couldn’t help the slight rush of heat she felt in her cheeks at having been caught watching him, but his grin calmed her and made her feel glad that they were all seated together at last.
They spoke about unimportant things throughout the first courses, and Bridget couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at seeing how both the duchess and Baroness du Scarde seemed to admire Harriet. The girl spoke about her trip accompanying her great-aunt to Prussia the year before, and both women seemed impressed that she had traveled so extensively.
“Lady Bridget, why don’t you tell my guests about your academy? It was quite the marvel,” Patrick suggested, drawing the focus of the conversation to her, precisely where she did not want it.
“Certainly. As I showed you the other day, we have three classrooms—two are for the younger students, then one each for the older boys and older girls,” Bridget began. “The pupils learn all manner of subjects, and much of the discussion centers on improving their diction while helping them gain an understanding of what is happening in the Empire.”
“What good does that serve them?” the duchess asked, sounding as though she were challenging Bridget on the matter.
“Your Grace?” Bridget asked, confused. “I’m not understanding your meaning.”
“My son has informed me this school is for the children of the lowest class. What does it serve them to tax their mental faculties with reading and maths and science when they are destined to become laborers?”
Bridget did not know how to answer at first. She looked around the table for any sign of assistance, but finally her gaze came to rest on Patrick. He gave her a slight nod and grinned at her, as though urging her to continue.
“Well, Your Grace, the mission of academy is to better the children. Perhaps they will not be mere laborers if they are given an education, taught to speak properly, provided an awareness of what is happening around them,” Bridget explained, trying not to sound defensive.
“And what are we to do when you convince all of the poor that they are too good to be laborers?” the duchess pressed, looking particularly sour.
Bridget glanced again at Patrick, but this time she did not wait for his urging before continuing.
“There will always be poor people for us to look after, never fear. Scripture even says so,” Bridget said, her voice stronger now that she was speaking of her students. “But what does it harm a family to have a child grow up to become a banker, or a solicitor? To have a daughter become a governess, a schoolteacher, or even a practitioner of the sciences or arts? Our students are driven to learn by a desire to be more than what society has long thought them to be.”
The table went silent, and for a moment, Bridget feared she had caused some irreparable harm with her vehement outburst. But one look at the pride and admiration on Patrick’s face told her all will be well.
“Well, you do make a very worthwhile argument in favor of education,” the baroness said slowly, and Bridget could tell that the older woman must often be thrust into the role of peacemaker in her family.
“Thank you, Lady Claire,” Bridget said, refusing to back down. “I have imparted to the students from the very beginning that there is no such thing as wasted knowledge, even if it is only learning for the sake of learning. Should they choose to use the education they’ve been given to improve their situations, that is for them to decide.”
The rest of the meal continued with less heated exchanges, thanks to Harriet regaling them with a story about nearly humiliating herself at Lady Colton’s garden party due to a bee that had stung her ankle right through her stocking, just high enough that she dared not expose it to tend to it.
After dinner, as promised, Harriet was asked to play while the others listened and chatted. Bridget watched her proudly until Patrick came and sat beside her, the older people in the room engaged in their own conversation.
“That went well,” he joked lightly, keeping his voice low.
“I’m terribly sorry. I think I’ve made an awful impression on your mother,” Bridget confessed, now feeling some measure of remorse. “I don’t think she likes me very much.”
“That’s true,” Patrick agreed, causing Bridget to look up at him in alarm, “but she wouldn’t like anyone I’d chosen to marry unless she had personally selected them herself. She came here specifically to find fault with you—”
“Which she will now be able to do, thanks to my lack of manners,” Bridget interrupted.
“—but my grandmother seems quite taken with you,” Patrick reassured her, “and my mother will have no choice but to defer her own mother-in-law’s wishes.”
“Oh, well that’s good, I suppose,” Bridget answered, trying to peek at the guests on the other side of the drawing room but unable to read their expressions. “At least they are speaking to Father.”
“No doubt grilling him about your terrible upbringing,” Patrick teased to Bridget’s horror. He couldn’t help but laugh quietly. “They’re perhaps wondering what sort of daughter flits about the worst parts of London with the vagabonds, then comes to the table and contradicts her betters. It’s quite the scandal, I’m sure.”
The three older members laughed suddenly, and Bridget visibly relaxed. “Oh good, he’s telling them terrible things about me, commiserating with them to win them over.”
“I doubt that,” Patrick said lightly before turning serious. “I cannot believe there is any terrible story that someone could tell about you. You are quite the marvel, Lady Bridget.”
She looked up at him shyly, moved by the compliment.
“I could say the same about you, Your Grace,” she answered, hoping she didn’t sound too forward. But it needs to be said, though I do not even know why, she thought, their eyes meeting for the longest time.
