Page 57 of An Arranged Betrothal with a Contrite Duke
Miss Carrick nodded, still smiling.
“I cannot tell you how thrilled I am with this practice run,” she said. “I can hardly wait to open us up officially. It is truly a responsibility and an honour.”
Lydia smiled at the teacher, her eyes sparkling with shared excitement.
“Oh, Miss Carrick, I know you will do a splendid job,” she said. “It looks as though things are already going very well. Tell me, what do you make of the students? Are there any that catch your eye as particularly promising or challenging?”
Miss Carrick's eyes twinkled as she spoke of her pupils.
“Indeed, there are a few who have made an impression already, as you saw,” she said. “There's young Roger Davenport, for instance. He has a keen mind and an admirable thirst for knowledge. I believe he will excel in his studies.”
Lydia’s heart warmed. For a moment, she was able to forget what Michael had done to her. She smiled sweetly at the teacher.
“And what of the others?” Lydia asked, her curiosity piqued.
Miss Carrick thought for a moment.
“Well, there is Sally Francis, whom you met,” Miss Carrick continued, her tone softening. “She is a bit shy and reserved, but her passion for literature is undeniable. And she is very quick to learn arithmetic. I foresee her blossoming under our guidance.”
Lydia nodded encouragingly, her gaze fixed on the kind teacher. “And are there any challenges, Miss Carrick?” she asked.
At this, Miss Carrick paused, her expression thoughtful.
“I believe Larry Thompson will prove to be a bit of a challenge,” she said. “He is a spirited boy, full of energy but somewhat resistant to discipline. However, I am confident that with time and patience, we can help him channel his energy into his studies.”
Lydia’s heart squeezed. She recalled talking to Michael about their rambunctious childhoods the night they met. But she quickly scolded herself back into the present moment.
“You will let me know if you need anything else, especially for our more challenging students, won’t you?” she asked.
Miss Carrick nodded eagerly.
“Oh, yes, Lady Strawbridge,” she said. “I will do that straightaway.”
Lydia nodded, refreshing her smile. But she had to hide her next thought from her face, as well. If Michael had plans to take the school, she had just made a promise to the teacher that she wouldn’t be able to keep.
To keep herself from bursting into tears, Lydia turned to Miss Carrick once more.
“Your passion for teaching and your dedication to your students is clear,” she said. “This new school is fortunate to have you.”
Miss Carrick nodded, her cheeks flushed with pride.
“Thank you, Lady Strawbridge,” she said. “I am eager to see what the future holds for our students.”
Lydia curtseyed, tiptoeing across the room to keep from disturbing the children.
“I best be off for now,” she said, surprisingly reluctant to leave the classroom, even though she had more preparations to make in time for the grand opening, especially since Michael would no longer be a factor financially or timewise. But just as Lydia was about to take her leave, the schoolroom door was flung open with a bang, causing a sudden hush to fall over the room. A tall, imposing figure stood in the doorway, his piercing eyes scanning the room with an air of authority.
Lydia's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the man before her. It was none other than Lord Strawbridge, the man who had broken her heart. She had not seen him since that fateful day, and the sight of him now brought a flood of memories rushing back.
But why had he come to the school, and what did he want?
Chapter Twenty-eight
The sunlight was still settled low in the sky over the rolling hills surrounding Tockenham Castle. The first golden rays of light cast long shadows on the dew-covered grass, as the morning mist slowly dissipated. It was a day unlike any other. Indeed, it was the saddest day so far of Michael’s life. He had barely slept, and his eyes were dry and scratchy from spending so much time staring up at the ceiling.
He had memorized every word of his wife’s departing letter, and it had swirled through his mind all night long. Even as he tried to figure out how he could try to get Lydia back, he could think of nothing but her words and the pain they caused him. He sat up, acknowledging the throb in his head that was attributed to a combination of the alcohol he and Marcus had consumed the previous night and the lack of sleep.
He gently rubbed his forehead, fumbling around his bedside table for the flask he had thoughtlessly brought with him to bed. He needed a clear head for the mission ahead of him. But that included ridding himself of all alcohol sickness, as well. And what better way to do that than to have a little hair of the dog that had bitten him?
