Page 100 of Dare to Love a Duke
She crossed herself.Dio, dammi la forza.“God, give me strength.”
The carriage stopped, and Lucia was helped down onto trembling legs. She frowned in confusion to see an array of expensive coaches lined up on the curb outside the Orchid Club’s former home. Even at the height of the establishment’s popularity, vehicles chose to use the stables located discreetly behind the house, rather than advertise their presence. Yet here they were in the bright light of day. The door to the house itself stood open.
Her stomach clenched, but she didn’t wait for Lord Blakemere. Shouldering aside her anxiety, Lucia marched up the front walkway and stepped inside.
Over a dozen aristocratic men stood in the foyer but none of them wore masks. They all turned to stare at her, their collective gazes sharp as stilettos. A tall, lean gentleman with a full head of snowy hair glared at her with so much fury and hatred, Lucia almost recoiled.
“Here she is,” Tom said, coming forward through the crowd.
Forgetting the white-haired man, her gaze devoured Tom. He looked appallingly handsome and quite ducal, if not a little thinner, his eyes ringed by dark circles. The urge to go to him and throw her arms around him—inhale his scent and then absorb the solidness of his body—was strong, but she forced it back.
His gaze flashed when he beheld her. Yet he didn’t reach for her, despite the need in his eyes.
“Miss Marini.” Tom bowed. He addressed the noblemen. “These gentlemen are here to observe your good work.”
“I...” She tried to smile as Lord Blakemere had advised, but her bewilderment made it almost impossible. For her and Tom to be seen together,here,endangered him.
Just then, a black-haired girl in a crisp smock and carrying a sheet of paper ran through the group. She didn’t seem to care that the men she hurried past represented half the wealth in England. But she stopped when she saw Lucia.
It was Mary, her student from Bethnal Green. Her clothes were clean and free of holes, her boots shiny and new, and she proudly held up the paper.
Lucia nearly wept to see the child looking so well—but her astonishment at seeing Maryherestopped her tears.
“Miss! I’m to read a report on toadstools,” she announced grandly. Then, more shyly, she added, “Will you come listen?”
Lucia’s mind could not catch up with what her eyes beheld. Distractedly, she murmured, “In a moment, Mary.”
The girl nodded and sped off into the room that had been the parlor. Lucia refrained from casting a puzzled glance in Tom’s direction, but Heaven above, it was a challenge. Confusion made her dizzy. It was as if she’d been thrown into the sea but could suddenly breathe underwater.
“Let’s move on, gentlemen and lady.” Smiling, Tom motioned that they should follow Mary.
Move on towhat?
Lucia walked down the corridor she’d patrolled countless times, but never with an unmasked audience comprised of noblemen. That’s clearly what they were—from their stiff bearing to the cut of their clothes, everything about them proclaimed their wealth and privilege.
She reached the parlor and barely contained her shock. The room had been completely transformed. At one end, a slate hung from the wall, and was covered in chalk writing and diagrams. Before the slate stood a woman in spectacles, who was reading aloud from a book.
Arranged in front of the slate were twelve desks, and at each desk sat a girl with her own book. They looked up at the bespectacled woman, their expressions attentive. Lucia recognized half of the girls from her tutoring but the others were new to her. In a corner, an orange tabby cat dozed on a patched cushion.
It was a school. Here. In what had once been the Orchid Club.
Heart hammering, she turned at Tom and the other men’s approach, yet she schooled her features to make it seem as though seeing a sex club transformed into a home for girls was an everyday occurrence.
“Miss Marini has provided the girls here with everything they will need,” Tom said to the noblemen. “There are more classrooms, a refectory, dormitory rooms, and an abundance of supplies, some of which I have financed, and others that receive funding from private donations.”
“And what do these students learn?” one of the men asked.
Tom looked expectantly at Lucia.
Madonna!“Mathematics,” she stammered. “Grammar, literature, the sciences.”
“What of sewing, cooking?” an older gentleman prodded. “Anythinguseful?”
A steadying bolt of anger anchored her. She straightened. “The subjects they studyareuseful. The enrichment of their minds is valuable enough, but their fluency in these subjects will, at the least, ensure they can be employed as teachers and governesses.”
“Which is highly respectable employment,” said a young woman with reddish-brown hair and dressed in black, coming forward. She looked to be in her late teens, and the vivid blue of her eyes matched the hue of Tom’s. Beneath her arm, she carried several hornbooks. Her smile was warm as she nodded at Lucia—but Lucia was certain she’d never met the girl.
“Ah, my sister, Lady Maeve.” Tom wrapped an arm around the young woman’s shoulders. “She assists several days a week.”
