Page 11 of The Good Duke
“Is that a question, Mrs. Forsyth?”
Persephone folded her hands primly on her lap. “I wasn’t sure whether yours was a rhetorical one.”
“It wasn’t,” the headmistress snapped. She continued her questioning. “How many formal art lessons have you provided to young ladies?”
“Here or elsewhere?”
“Either.”
“None.” Persephone looked sheepishly at her employer—or, as it became increasingly apparent, the woman who was moments from becoming Persephone’sformeremployer.
“That is correct. Your entire work these past years has consisted of helping young ladies and their families identify and make the most advantageous match.”
It was all she could do to keep from pointing out that outrageously dull, purposeless assignment accounted for the ennui which had led her down the path of talking art with her students.
Tentatively, Persephone lifted a single finger.
“Whatisit, Mrs. Forsyth?”
“It is just, given the circumstances and my deep affinity for art, perhaps you might consider this an opportune time to offer me the role of art instructor?”
“Art instructor?”
Mrs. Belden flared her eyebrows. “Mrs. Forsyth, I cannot determine whether you are mad, arrogant, or stupid.”
Given the elevated timbre of the usually unflappable woman’s voice, Persephone was about to be unemployed, hungry, and desperate.
“I cannot go about having young ladies of the nobility looking at and possibly drawing these salacious renderings,” Mrs. Belden whispered. “If word is got out about what you’ve done here and what those young ladies have seen…?” She shuddered and let the thought go unspoken.
Coming swiftly to her feet, she collected her cane, marched over to the hearth, and lowered that page to the flames.
Fire licked at the corners, charring them black, curling the sheet…and then the drawing was consumed.
And no more.
Mrs. Belden returned to her chair and, once seated, dusted her palms together. “Good riddance.”
“I agree. Good riddance to penises everywhere.” All they did was land a lady in all manner of trouble.
That was it: the precise moment when Persephone realized all her efforts were in vain. That there was no going back…from speaking that forbidden word aloud.
Horror filled the headmistress’s sharp features.
Oh, hell.
Persephone gulped. “You were referring to the—”
“Do not, Mrs. Forsyth,” Mrs. Belden hissed. “In all my time, I’ve severed the employment of countless women. They have sat before me humbled, shamed, teary-eyed, and weeping. You are the first to ever face the prospect of your demise with this…this…gumption.”
Hope soared. Gumption. That was a good thing.
“No, that is not a good thing,” the older woman said brusquely. “The other former instructors who found themselves in your position pleaded for their posts and vowed to not again do whatever it was that resulted in their being in the very position you find yourself now.”
Pleaded? “Did it make a difference?”
Mrs. Belden cocked her head.
Persephone clarified her question. “In the cases of any of those other instructors, did you rethink your decision?”
