There were at least fifteen boys sitting at tables, listening to a woman, who stood at the front of the room, reciting the alphabet as she wrote each letter on the chalkboard. Her brown hair, tied back with a black ribbon, fell to below her shoulders. When she turned to address the classroom and noticed us in the doorway, I was struck by her beauty. Her blue eyes met mine, and it was several seconds before I was able to move.
I’d wished everyone else in the room gone so that I could talk with this vision uninterrupted, but any courage I’d mustered with the headmaster’s help fled as I looked upon her.
I forced my eyes away, spying young Toby sitting at the back of the room, his attention on his writing slate. His presence reminded me of our mission: creating a distraction so that Isaac could gain access to the ledgers. I looked around the classroom, searching for something I could use as an excuse to capture the headmaster’s attention, keeping him from his office. And then it struck me. “Madam, why are there no young ladies in this class?”
The woman glanced at the headmaster, who suddenly remembered his place and made the introduction. “Forgive me. Mr. Payton, may I present Miss Lydia Atwater.”
She curtsied, and I gave a nod. “Miss Atwater, why are there no girls present?” I repeated.
“A question I have asked since me first day here.”
I looked at the headmaster, waiting for an answer.
“We find,” he said, “that training the young girls to work in the kitchen and the scullery better prepares them for life outside the orphanage.”
Miss Atwater’s chest rose, her cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink, but she said nothing. She didn’t need to. I saw it in her eyes.
Emboldened by her presence, I said, “The young ladies living here are not servants. They’re children. I expect their presence in the classroom at once. And bring these children something to eat. How can they possibly learn if they’re hungry?”
He stared at me, aghast.
“Perhaps you failed to hear my directive?”
“At once, sir.” He hurried out the door.
I was vaguely aware of the boys looking at me with a new admiration. But I only had eyes for Miss Atwater. I wanted to approach, to hold a simple conversation, but all the insecurities of my childhood, a
nd my father’s domineering rule, rushed back. “You’ll forgive me for the interruption, Miss Atwater.”
She smiled. “You’ve done us a great service.”
I wanted to stand there forever. I wanted to ask her to walk with me, to accompany me somewhere, anywhere, even though I knew my father would disapprove of such a match. A viscount’s son and a governess? He wouldn’t stand for it.
And I had never gone against his wishes.
Aware that there were fifteen pairs of eyes watching me, I bowed. “Miss Atwater.”
She gave a slight curtsy. “Sir.”
I wondered if I’d ever have the nerve to talk with her again.
Tempted to turn back, I forced myself out the classroom door, stopping short when I saw my cousin striding down the hall toward me.
His steps faltered when he saw me, a look of surprise on his face. “Payton, old boy. What are you doing here?”
Unable to think of a thing, I blocked his view into the classroom where young Toby sat, telling myself that I’d grown up with Reginald. My cousin was not a murderer.
He couldn’t be.
When I looked back, I saw Miss Atwater continuing her lesson on the alphabet.
Reginald followed the direction of my gaze, laughed. “I’d quite like to see your father’s face when he discovers his dutiful son and heir has fallen for a common governess. You’re likely to send him to an early grave.”
It occurred to me that I’d been given the perfect excuse for being there. I drew my cousin from the door. “You won’t tell Father, will you?”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
“I say, why are you here?”