The spinster and the wastrel (6 page)

It was his turn to sputter in astonishment. "A school? For whom? Why?"

She set down her teacup. This topic was becoming familiar territory, and she could handle it with confidence. "The school will be for the local children so that they can be taught reading, writing, and ciphering."

His shocked brown eyes stared at her. "Why would you use my money to teach a pack of illiterate brats?"

Anger stirred within her at his ignorance. Her speech became even more precise as she replied, "They are only

illiterate because they have never been taught to read. Education will change that. It will help them out of poverty."

"It will only give them ideas above their station," he fired back. He jumped to his feet and glared down at her. "The same way women get nonsensical notions when they are placed in charge of money."

She stood also, meeting his gaze directly at eye level. "I can handle a household, and I can certainly handle the money to run a school. You can watch me do it."

"You intend to spend the whole fortune on this school? It's outrageous! Will you be feeding them a roast at every meal?"

She felt herself flush at his disparagement. "I know how to make a farthing do the work of a penny. You need not fear that the school will not be run in a thrifty manner."

He scowled at her a moment longer, but her eyes did not waver. His glance fell away as he mastered his temper.

"Forgive me," he said. "You are obviously a woman quite capable of managing her own affairs. After all, my uncle dealt with you many times and was familiar with your tenacious tendencies. Perhaps it was to keep his afterlife quiet that he left you the money."

The attempt at humor was forced, but Annette recognized it as an effort to reestablish polite footings, and she smiled. "Perhaps I did badger him more than he liked."

"Does anyone like to be badgered?" he asked. Amusement lurked in his eyes, inviting her response.

"No, I think not. Even I do not care for it."

They gazed at each other with rueful acknowledgment of the truth. Annette was determined not to be too quick to judge Sir Gerard this time. Naturally he would be upset at

losing the fortune he expected, but his anger had flared only briefly before his good humor reasserted itself.

Attempting to maintain their cordiality, she said, "I will use the money wisely. The school will not be wasteful, and the results will please you."

He ran a hand through his hair, but its disarrangement still looked fashionable. "You asked me to be a trustee, did you not?"

Alarm cautioned her. Had she mistaken his amicable air for further trouble? "Yes. Mr. Keller explained it would be customary to have a board overseeing the school. He suggested yourself and the Reverend Brown as members. He has already agreed to be one."

"I will take you up on your offer," he told her. "As a trustee, I can verify that you are doing as you promised with your school."

"I keep my word." Annette tugged at her gloves. "Now that my purpose here is finished, I must be going. Thank you for the tea and for agreeing to be one of my trustees."

"I intend to be a very watchful one," he assured her. "But I believe that if anyone can teach those brats, it will be you."

Once again, she exchanged smiles with him. Although she had dreaded this meeting with him, Sir Gerard was much easier to deal with than his uncle. His manner was more pleasant, and when necessary, he possessed the grace to admit he was wrong. She thought she would not fear any future encounters with the baronet quite so much. They might even be pleasant.

For the first time, she looked out the drawing room window. The outside had darkened and lazy snowflakes drifted down. Either she had stayed longer than intended, or that storm cloud had arrived faster than expected. Her

walk home would certainly be wet and cold. It might even be dangerous. Annette bit her lip. The wisest course would be to ask for a carnage to take her. After all her proclamations about being capable enough to handle the fortune, the prospect galled her. Still, she would speak as she must.

"1 find 1 must request another favor, sir.'* she said "May 1 borrow a carnage to return me home 0 '

A frown furrowed Sir Gerard's brow. '"You did not walk here, did you°" he demanded.

1 did. It is the wa> 1 am used to traveling." she explained. Some of her habits would have to change.

"You can now afford to keep a coach and horses reminded her.

"Yes. sir" She agreed and felt laughter beginn. dance within her. "1 will tend to that direct] \ am home "

"1 will order my carnage out to tai ad.

"Thank you." Her grateful demureness did not fool him.

He waved a finger at her in admonishment "You are a managing woman. Miss Coutdk

have been told." She tried to remain humbl: again saw the memment in b ^"hat wa

about this man thai made her want t.

He shook his head "To make certain you arnve home safely. 1 will escort you in the coach "

He .lened. "Without a chaperon

not turn missish on itu now Miss Courtney A woman with your strength of character has u. as a

chaperone."

looked at him a little uncertainly She had intended to request a nde home from him. but it had been no pan ol her plans that he would come along In too mai

■

an in-

However, he was not indistinct like a shadow. She was very aware of his presence in the carriage.

With a jolt, they jerked forward and the trip began. To himself, Sir Gerard smiled with amusement. In the gloom, he could see Miss Courtney sitting stiff as a poker, her hands tightly clasped on her lap. He doubted she held them there for warmth. A typical spinster, thinking every man ready to attack her. She was safe in his company. He preferred his women to be far more sophisticated and witty. Yet, this one held his fortune, so he would woo her as if she were someone other than a managing old maid.

He began a conversation with his companion just as if they were seated at a fashionable dinner party. "Have you lived all your life in Upper Brampton?"

"Almost all of it. When I was very young, my father obtained this living. After he died, my mother and I continued here because it was familiar and my mother became ill."

"Your father was the rector?" he inquired politely. "When was that?"

"He died about twelve years ago." She sighed. "He was a very good man and taught me to care for my fellow man."

"A good lesson for a rector to teach," he commented. "Your father must have been here when I was sent to live with my uncle after my parents died."

"Did you ever meet him?" Excitement tinged her voice as if she were eager to share her father with him. "Was he the one who prepared you in your studies before you went off to school? Or did you have a private tutor' 7 "

In spite of himself. Sir Gerard laughed. Her assumptions about his uncle's care were so wide of the mark. "No, Miss Courtney, there was no private tutor nor did I

. -i >- •>:-£; -.••: --i * ;_ ; e_

(Me r%(

boy cm be

5 =

doubled her idea of a school would work. The ■ is I:«: pent

"I hope you will care for your people better." she said. Through the shadows, he could feel her gaze upon him.

judged whether or not he up. Tub time, though, she asked about something he had long wanted to do. He had waited his wh o l e life to Unw the baronet so he could be the one to

1 want to help them." be told her. The sincerely made declaration fek good because it was the truth. He had not forgotten the lessons Nat the groom taught ton inthesta-

"There is much that needs doing. I am glad you are not like your uncle portrayed yon. He was very wrong, and Upper Brampton is very fortunate you are the

for his h was not only his uncle who named him a wastrel: there were those in Inarlnu who looked down on htm for his avoidance of betting. He in the outrageous dares thai amused the i of his set. He had only gone to Mortimer Wallace for an advance to celebrate his first chance to fully participate in society's folbes. The actual foDy was how Ins lack of foresight caused turn to gamble so waste full > before the

to rain her positive image of ton by

"I have been away in order to avoid my uncle." Sir Gerard told her. "I will need advice on bow to help these people, and I believe yon are the one capable of

me."

In his anger and fear, he exploded. "Forget your school for a moment! I need the money. You must give it back to

OT.A "

me.

She did not shrink from him. Even though he could not see her eyes, he knew her gaze stared directly at him without fear. "Your uncle left the money to me. I will use it for my school and elsewhere—to help the unfortunate. I will be responsible for it. You can spend your money on the estate. It brings in quite a bit in rent."

He nearly laughed. Or was it a sob? He did not know or care. She thought he had other resources. How could she know he faced ruin for his debts? The estate had no rents coming due any time soon. His uncle had died after the quarter payments were made, and those monies were part of the fortune this spinster inherited. Hathaway Hall's farms would not provide any income until the next quarter. He could not wait that long.

"Miss Courtney, please, can we not come to a settlement? By all rights, that money belongs to me. I am willing to be reasonable and leave an ample amount in your care. I will even fund your school," he added desperately.

"I appreciate your offer," she said, "but my school is already fully funded."

The carriage jerked to a halt. They had arrived at her home. The servant climbed down and opened the door. She gathered her skirts and stepped out. Before leaving, she turned to curtsy to him. "Thank you for the ride home. I am grateful I did not have to walk and shall check into acquiring a carriage of my own."

Then the door slammed shut, and he was alone. The blackness in the carriage was nothing compared the blackness of the abyss of ruin before him. All his life he waited

to be in this position of respect, yet because of a miserly old man and the stubbornness of one woman, his dreams would be destroyed.

The carriage rolled down the main street of the village. Distracted, he gazed out the window at the stores and homes.