The Patricia Kiyono Christmas Collection (44 page)

Robert Townley
swallowed,
hoping to hide his discomfort.
As valet to Phillip Peartree, Duke of Bartlett, he prided himself
on being efficient and able to handle any emergency. He’d often
used his resourcefulness to get his deaf master out of a jam. But
right now his resourcefulness failed him.

The little boy looked up at him with wide
eyes, waiting patiently for an answer to his question.

“
Well, I, er, that is to
say — that’s simply the way it’s done. There are two ways to write
each letter, and you must learn them both.”

“
But why?”

“
This isn’t open for
discussion, young man. You will do as you are told.”

The boy frowned and bowed his head over his
slate.

Robert went on to the next student. He would
rather be almost anywhere but inside the chapel of St. Paul’s
Cathedral, instructing a group of ragtag ruffians how to read and
write. But the little school was the duchess’ pet project, and what
was important to the duchess was important to the besotted duke. In
previous years, the former Lady Amelia Partridge had been the
instructor in the makeshift school, and the duke had often come to
help her. But the impending arrival of the family’s newest addition
meant the duchess could not continue her work in the school.

“
Please, Robert,”
the duchess had implored him.
“You’re the perfect instructor. You taught little Bertie
Crabtree when his mother came here to work. I know you could help
these children too.”

Blast. He’d hoped she’d forgotten about
those tutoring sessions. He hadn’t minded working with little
Bertie, but that was after the boy had been cleaned up. The child’s
grammar was awful, but he had good manners, so he’d agreed. And it
hadn’t been too awful. Bertie had been bright and eager to
learn.

But having to stand close to so many dirty,
bedraggled children — it was almost more than he could bear. If it
weren’t for Jeanne, lady’s maid to the duchess, watching his every
move, he’d be tempted to end the lessons early and stop at a nearby
pub before returning to the townhouse. But the bothersome woman
would definitely inform her mistress, and then he would be in
trouble with the lady of the manor.

After determining the children’s abilities,
they’d agreed to split the children into two groups. Jeanne
instructed the younger students, and Robert took the older ones.
The arrangement suited him just fine. He had no patience for whiny
little brats.

Jeanne crossed over to his side of the room
and stopped behind the urchin who’d questioned the need for upper
and lower case letters. She whispered to him and patted his
shoulder. The boy nodded and straightened his back and shoulders.
How did she get him to work so willingly? Had she bribed him with
an extra treat?

The boy — Andrew, if he recalled correctly —
was bright enough, and he usually behaved appropriately. But his
clothing was even dirtier and more threadbare than the rest of the
children’s. It looked like he wore someone else’s castoffs and had
taken them in just enough that they wouldn’t fall off his body. How
did people live like that? The boy constantly sniffled, as if he
was about to cry. He could use another coat to keep warm in the
winter weather.

Having lived his entire life in the duke’s
homes, Robert had heard plenty of discussions about the various
societies Phillip’s mother and grandmother had promoted. Surely one
charity or another could take care of this child’s clothing, or
lack of it.

Still, he couldn’t help taking another
glance at Andrew. Jeanne took a clean cloth and wiped it over the
boy’s face. What had happened to him? A closer look at the boy’s
hands and arms revealed more of the purplish spots. Bruises?
Perhaps he’d taken a tumble. Little boys were always getting into
scrapes. He’d certainly had his share, climbing trees and running
about the Peartree estate with his master Phillip. Geoffrey
Townley, valet to the Ninth Duke of Bartlett, had received
permission to have his son live with him after his wife had died,
and Robert and Phillip had grown up together. Later on, as young
men, they’d gotten braver, exploring the sordid back streets of
London, where proper gentlemen were not encouraged to go. Until
that disastrous day…

“
Mr. Townley, I believe
everyone is finished with the writing assignment.” Jeanne’s voice
cut into his thoughts, bringing him back to the present.

After the lessons, it was time for the
treats. Robert distributed the napkins, and the students dutifully
placed the cloth squares across their laps. He nodded when they
waited patiently for the little sandwiches and cakes prepared by
the cook at Bartlett Manor. Thank goodness the duchess had taught
them some manners. He recalled the first time he’d observed the
class with his master. Phillip had followed Lady Amelia Partridge,
wondering why she’d been dressed so plainly, and discovered her
running the little school. Back then the children had wolfed down
their treats like heathens. Now, at least, they’d learned to take
smaller bites, though they still made terribly annoying sounds as
they chewed.

Jeanne didn’t seem bothered by their noises.
In fact, she didn’t seem bothered by anything they did. She bent
close to them, speaking to them quietly, even touching them. She’d
brush a little girl’s curls out of her eyes, or hug a little boy
when he got frustrated.

When he reached Andy, the boy didn’t reach
for the napkin but shrank back as Robert placed it on his lap. His
stiff posture remained until Robert had gone on to the next child.
Odd. He believed in discipline, but he’d never raised a hand to any
of them. Why would the boy be afraid of him?

Andy showed none of that fear when Jeanne
followed with the sandwiches, but he stiffened again when Giles,
the footman who’d come to assist them, distributed the dessert. Why
would the boy have an aversion to the men, but not to Jeanne?

No matter. It was nearly time to pack up and
leave. Then he could return to his comfortable, sensible world.

“
Children, we seem to have
a few treats left. Why don’t we have a contest? We’ll start with
Mr. Townley’s students. The first to recite the entire prayer on
the back of your horn book will receive an extra sandwich or
scone.” Jeanne’s announcement was met first with silence then
excited murmuring. But none of the children stood.

Except Andy. Hesitating, he slid off his
chair. He kept his gaze down and shuffled his feet. Jeanne knelt in
front of him and lifted his chin. She waited until he met her gaze
then took his hands in hers.

“
I know you can do it,
Andy. Let’s show everyone else.”

In a halting voice so quiet Robert needed to
lean forward to hear, the boy began. “Our Father…” His voice shook,
and he paused. Jeanne kept his gaze, and the boy gained confidence.
By the end, his volume had grown, and the shakiness had
disappeared.

The other children listened patiently, and
cheered when he finished.

“
Excellent, Andy! Would you
like another sandwich, or a scone?”

He puckered his brow. “Sandwich,
please.”

Robert nodded his approval when the boy
thanked Jeanne politely.

~~~~

The walk back
to the duke’s rented townhouse was rather quiet. A
few years ago, the duke had sold his London home to defray the last
of the debt his father had incurred. He and the duchess spent most
of the summer and harvest time at Bartlett Manor, his estate in
Lincolnshire, coming to London only during the months when the duke
needed to fulfill his Parliamentary duties. Until her pregnancy,
the duchess had spent her London time with the Ladies Literary
Society and writing, in addition to teaching the poor children at
the church school.

The group made an odd procession walking
back to the townhouse. Robert and Jeanne took the lead, Giles and
one of the maids behind them. Normally he would follow his master
and mistress, but tonight, as an upper servant of the household, he
led the way. He was half-tempted to offer his arm to Jeanne, but
thought better of it. They weren’t a couple, and the people behind
them weren’t their servants.

Still, the idea of being one half of a
couple held a certain appeal. Curious. He’d never given any thought
to marriage and a family for himself. Perhaps it was a passing
fancy.

The next morning
at breakfast, the servants’ dining area was filled
with the usual clatter of cutlery and small talk. Utley, the
butler, held court as he droned on about the day’s requirements,
but Robert heard none of it. He focused on Jeanne. The young lady
sat daintily near the foot of the table, next to Mrs. Floyd, the
housekeeper. She kept to herself, not really cold, just —
alone.

The previous night, after returning to the
townhouse, he’d bid the other servants goodnight and had gone to
his room. But he hadn’t been able to dismiss the notion of himself
as the head of a family. He’d probably never have servants of his
own, but he could marry. His father, having served the previous
duke for decades, had left him with a tidy nest egg. The
inheritance, added to what he’d been able to save during his own
years of service, would be enough to purchase a small home near the
Bartlett Estate in Lincolnshire.

He and Jeanne would suit well. She was
rather pleasant in appearance, and her interactions with the
children at the school indicated that she would be able to handle a
brood of her own. After working hard for the Peartrees, he had no
use for the silly concerns most women tended to burden their
husbands with. Jeanne kept the duchess’ day running smoothly, so
logically she would be able to run a household.

He watched as she ate. She sat up straight,
the way a lady would. She chewed with her mouth closed, so that the
chewing didn’t make noise. She didn’t talk, waiting until she
swallowed before answering a question someone asked her. Manners.
She showed excellent breeding, as his father would say.

Where were her people? She’d never talked
about family. Though Brown was common enough, her given name was
most unusual. Occasionally he caught a trace of a French accent in
her speech. Had she come from the continent? Did her refined
manners and speech stem from a background as an impoverished noble?
The revolution and Napoleon’s romp across Europe had caused
countless members of the ruling class to go into hiding — those who
had managed to escape the guillotine.

No matter. Whatever she’d been in the past,
she was on his level now and would make an excellent wife. She
would be able to instruct their children on proper deportment, and
he could be proud of them. Now all he had to do was convince
her.

The tricky part was to get her to see things
his way. She obviously adored the duchess and might be reluctant to
marry and leave her service. But surely the woman wanted a family
of her own, didn’t she? Didn’t all women? She could live in a nice
little cottage, and could run it as she saw fit. When the duke and
his wife came to London, Jeanne could remain in Lincolnshire with
the children.

Finished with her meal, Jeanne rose. Robert
left the rest of his meal and rose as well. He caught up with her
just as she reached the stairwell.

“
Miss Brown.”

She froze before turning. Surely she wasn’t
afraid of him. The expression she presented to him was pleasant
enough.

“
Yes, Mr.
Townley?”

“
I truly appreciate your
assistance with the children in the chapel class,” he
began.

“
Of course. You provide the
knowledge, and I am there to ensure the children are treated
well.”

Robert’s jaw dropped. The rest of his
planned speech left his mind. Jeanne’s expression remained placid,
but behind her quiet voice was a thread of steel, and he felt as if
he’d been cut down. “Whatever do you mean?”

“
Forgive me, but it is
painfully evident that you are not comfortable working with the
children. They have questions you don’t answer. They have needs
that you’re not willing to listen to. And they’re not neat and
tidy, like everything else in your world. They know you would
rather be anywhere but with them.”

“
I — but—”

“
Excuse me, Mr. Townley,
but I must attend to my duties.” She disappeared before Robert
could utter another word.

Her puzzling comments halted him in his
tracks until someone coughed quietly behind him.

“
Begging your pardon, Mr.
Townley, is something amiss?”

Robert realized he blocked the stairwell, so
no one could get around him. Giles Newsome, recently promoted to
first footman, waited to pass.

“
Pardon me, Newsome. I was
just — woolgathering. The late evening at the school rather put me
behind.”

Giles nodded. “I understand. I don’t quite
know why, but the duchess has been passionate about the school
since before her marriage to His Grace.” Like Jeanne, Giles had
been employed by the former Lady Amelia’s family and had come with
her to the Bartlett home after the duke and duchess had wed. “It’s
a good thing you were able to fill in for Her Grace while she’s,
er, confined.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed. “If you’ve been
accompanying the duchess since the beginning, you should know how
it’s done. Why didn’t she ask you to teach the urchins?”

Giles cheeks colored. “I never learned to
read. Everything I know about letters and numbers is what the
duchess and you taught the children.” He nodded and went on his
way.