Page 90 of Grave Expectations
"You'll be safe there—and busy. At the end of a year, you'll have more opportunities than you do now. The headmistress has assured me a position will be found for you in France or Italy as a governess or companion, preferably to an English family. Or you can stay on at the school as a teacher. The choice will be yours."
"Some bloody choice." I stared at him, trying to take it in. It all seemed too unreal, like a nightmare I would wake up from. "You and Marchbank have been making plans even though I told him I wasn't going."
"Marchbank mentioned the school to me months ago, but not since. I haven't discussed this with him recently. I haven't told him, or anyone, that you're going. This decision was mine alone."
"But you must have been planning it for a long time if you've already corresponded with the headmistress."
"I looked into it after you first came here but decided against it at the time. The headmistress assured me there would be a position for you if I change my mind."
"Lincoln, stop this." My voice was barely above a whisper. It was all I could manage through my tears.
He turned away and continued to the door. "You won't be without a home, and it's likely you'll make good friends there."
"Thisis my home! I have friendshere!"
"You need to meet young women your own age."
I thrust my hands on my hips. "I won't go."
"A year at the school will present you with opportunities you wouldn't have had otherwise. It'll be good for you."
"I'll decide what's good for me. And I meet people perfectly well here."
"Not the right sort."
"The right sort?" I echoed. "You mean people like Lady Harcourt?"
His hand rested on the doorknob. He paused, his back to me. "You can't stay here. You'll be safe at the school."
"I'm not going to a damned school! I'd rather move back in with Stringer's gang and stay in London."
His knuckles turned white around the doorknob. "If you run away from Lichfield, I might not be able to find you again. At least if you're there…" He jerked open the door and walked out, closing it behind him.
I crumpled to the floor and drew my knees to my chest. This wasn't happening. He was hurt and worried, and that was making him do foolish things. He wouldn't go through with it, surely. He loved me, and he knew I loved him. He must know, deep down, that sending me away would destroy us both. I had to find a way to remind him of that. I had to get through to him.
I don't know how long I sat there. I only picked myself up off the floor when there was another knock at the door. My heart in my throat, I opened it, only to see Doyle standing there with a tray.
"Your breakfast, miss."
I took the tray and thanked him.
He cleared his throat. "I've been instructed to assist you with your packing and selecting a suitable outfit for traveling."
It seemed petty to not let him into the bedroom. The poor man was only doing as his master requested. It was Lincoln I needed to talk to, not Doyle.
I nibbled at the bacon, but didn't touch the egg. I wasn't hungry. Pulling my wrap around my shoulders, I joined Doyle in my bedroom. The trunk was full and a dark green woolen dress and underthings had been laid out on the bed.
"Forgive me," he muttered, coloring slightly. "A maid ought to have done this, but…" He trailed off.
"It's quite all right, Doyle. It wasn't fair of him to ask this of you. You may go."
He bowed and went to walk off.
"What did he say to you about all this?" I asked.
"Only that you were going away, miss. He didn't say where or for how long."
"Has he told the others?"
