Chapter Eight
Teaching, Penelope decided, was rather like hat-wearing. It looked charming from afar—decorous, poised, terribly respectable—but after five minutes, it gave one a dreadful headache.
“Now, girls,” she said brightly, tapping the large wall map with her pointer, “these are the Alps. Very tall, very snowy, and, if you squint, remarkably like a pile of lemon sponge.”
A bevy of hands shot up.
“Do they taste like lemon sponge, Lady Penelope?”
“I expect not,” she said gravely, “as one would chip one’s teeth, but the comparison is spiritually correct.”
Behind her, Edward made a choking sound. “Spiritually correct? They’re mountains. Not heavenly beings, Lady Penelope.”
She wanted to tilt her head and say thank heavens that he was speaking to her again, even if it was to correct her.
After last night’s kiss, he became quite sullen and was no longer his usual jovial self. Then, when he said he would stay as long as she desired, she thanked her lucky stars. She had even offered the same to Edward, only with a little more profusive acknowledgement.
Only he knew how horrible it would be for her if he left her alone.
But Edward hadn’t spoken a word. He only nodded, verified the door was locked, then announced that they were retiring.
She’d tried repeatedly to make him laugh, but to no avail.
When they went to bed, she’d received her wish that he would sleep with her.
But to her greatest disappointment, he slept on top of the bedding while she was underneath it.
They didn’t even touch once. When she opened her eyes in the morning, his side of the bed was cold.
He had said maybe five words to her all day.
For the first time since she’d let home, she’d felt utterly alone without anyone.
If she lost Edward, she didn’t know what she should do.
Perhaps she should not have pushed him to kiss her. However, he’d kissed her with a passion that rivaled her own. She didn’t understand where the distance between them had come from. They had always been close and could discuss everything and anything.
She swallowed the unease that threatened to result in tears. She was stronger than that. Besides, what kind of teacher cries in front of her students?
She turned, offering him what she hoped was her most patient smile. “You’ve never seen them from the right angle, my good sir. From a distance, the resemblance to sponge is undeniable.”
“The resemblance to geography, however, is not,” he muttered.
“We much prefer Lady Penelope’s academics to the more boring pedantic pursuits,” someone called out.
The girls giggled, and Penelope basked in the attention. Truly, even if Edward didn’t enjoy her, at least her students did. Perhaps she had finally found her footing as a teacher. If the goal was to inspire laughter rather than learning, she was an unqualified success.
“Now then,” she continued, gesturing grandly at the globe with her pointer, “Italy lies just below the Alps. Very fashionable, Italy. All those lovely silks and ribbons and the occasional scandalous neckline. If you ever visit, do pack a fan and your most forgiving corset as the food is divine.”
The girls sighed dreamily.
“Lady Penelope,” said one earnest blonde child, “is that where your lord husband buys your hats?”
Penelope’s pointer clattered to the floor. “My—what?”
“Your husband,” the girl repeated innocently. “Lord Penelope. Does he bring you hats?”
Edward coughed violently. “Lord Penelope? What the devil?”
Penelope recovered with admirable speed. “Ah, yes, well. My husband—Mr. er, Thornton—is very supportive of my hat habit. He says the bigger, the better.” Almost as if he preferred her bigger as long as she didn’t kiss him. Thankfully, she didn’t say that aloud.
The girls giggled again. “How romantic!”
“Terribly,” she agreed, flashing a triumphant grin. “He once said I looked as big as the northern hemisphere because it had blocked the sun.”
Disheartened grumbles ricocheted around the room as several of the girls’ mouths fell open in shock.
He gave Penelope a long-suffering sigh. “No. I said your hat looked like the northern hemisphere because it had blocked the sun.”
“Perhaps you should refer to that as regional shading, Mr. Thornton,” she replied airily. “Very geographical and very avant-garde.”
The girls erupted into delighted laughter. Even Edward’s mouth twitched, though he quickly masked it with a cough.
“For the next portion of our geography lesson—” Penelope declared, picking up her pointer and swishing it like a scepter—“we shall discuss the world in fashionable terms.”
A ripple of delighted gasps ran through the girls’ benches. Edward groaned and muttered something that sounded like “Heaven preserve us.”
Penelope pretended not to hear him. “Now then, France.” She tapped the globe with enthusiasm.
“The birthplace of lace, extraordinary bread, fabulous sauces, and good taste. If you take away nothing else from this class, remember that the French understand two things better than anyone else—crusty bread and ribbons.”
One of the younger girls raised her hand. “Is that why everyone there wears ribbons, Lady Penelope?”
“Exactly so, my dear! It’s quite impossible to be cross with anyone wearing a properly tied bow.”
Edward, who’d been scribbling notes, looked up. “Is that your experience, my lady?”
“Of course,” Penelope said serenely. “France has built entire treaties on silken ribbons. Diplomacy by silk, one might say.”
Laughter bubbled around the room.
“Moving along,” she said, pointing dramatically to a different part of the globe.
“Here we have Egypt. Very hot, very sunny, and blessedly full of linen garments. No one should venture there without a wide-brimmed hat and a sensible parasol. The pyramids are impressive, yes—but so is surviving the heat without wilting.” She tapped her chin twice as she stared at Egypt.
“Perhaps that explains why Egyptian statues look so stoic. They’ve accepted their fate of suffering the heat without hats and parasols. ”
“For the love of pyramids everywhere,” Edward murmured.
“Kind sir, no judgments, please. Remember that they have linen,” Penelope chided. “It’s civilization’s most forgiving fabric.”
The girls giggled again.
One raised her hand. “My mother says linen creases dreadfully, and she would never own such material.”
“Your mother has probably never sat through an English summer ball,” Penelope replied. “Creases are the price of survival.” She turned back to the map and frowned, squinting. “Now for the Arctic…”
A pause. Her eyes raced over the sphere before her. Where in the blue blazes was the Arctic?
“It was right here,” she mused. “Blasted ice block.”
Another pause. Was it north or south?
Edward cleared his throat politely. “Lady Penelope, the blue smudge, I believe.”
“Yes, definitely. Of course,” she said briskly, though she hadn’t the faintest idea which smudge of blue he meant.
“Yes, well, the Arctic—quite cold, I hear. Absolutely dreadful for satin slippers. One step outside, and your toes would surrender to frostbite. Practicality over prettiness, girls. That’s the moral of the story when you visit anywhere cold like the Arctic.
That includes the northern highlands and Northumberland.
” She shimmed slightly. “All absolutely freezing.”
One of the older pupils raised her hand. “Would fur muffs be acceptable, my lady?”
“Strongly encouraged,” she said. “Preferably trimmed in ermine, but only if the ermine volunteers.”
Edward buried his face in his hand. “I can’t believe this counts as education.”
“It’s the best sort of education,” Penelope said cheerfully. “The sort that people actually remember. Now—who can tell me which country makes the best gloves?”
“France!” cried the girls in unison.
“Precisely!” Penelope beamed. “The French make gloves, the Italians make gowns, and the English make gossip.” She winked at the girls. “There, my darlings, you are now practically geographical scholars.”
Edward stared at the floor, wearing a perfect smirk. “You have either revolutionized geography or weaponized it,” he muttered.
By the time she concluded the lesson, several girls were sketching hats inspired by volcanoes, and one had declared she wished to visit “the pastry mountains.”
A faint handbell rang in the hallway, signaling the end of class.
“Lesson complete!” Penelope announced, dusting chalk from her gown. “Well done, ladies. You may now proceed to feel worldly and vastly educated.”
The girls curtsied and filed out, still tittering and chattering about pastry mountains, bread, the Sphinx wrapped in linen, and ribbon diplomacy. As they filed out, one sighed dreamily, “I do hope my future husband buys me hats from Egypt.”
Penelope smiled after them. “Well, that went marvelously.” As the door closed, she turned to Edward with smug satisfaction. “There. Nothing was set on fire, nor did anyone faint. A triumph, I’d say.”
Edward arched a brow. “You just convinced an entire classroom that glaciers clash with evening wear.”
“They do,” she said with a haughty arched eyebrow of her own. “I dare you to deny it.”
He leaned against a desk, arms crossed, the corner of his mouth curving into that smile that made her melt every time. “Not to forget that you’ve just convinced a roomful of children that Switzerland is made of cake.”
“No. Actually, it was the Alps. Such a notion, if you think about it, would vastly improve tourism,” she said sweetly.
He shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes—but then, for just a heartbeat, it was replaced by something else. Something unreadable. He looked at her the way he sometimes did when he thought she wasn’t paying attention—guarded, hungry, and far too careful.
Her smile faltered. She couldn’t bear it if he withdrew from her again. “What’s troubling you?”
“Nothing.” His voice was rougher now. “You did well, Penelope. You are a natural and gifted storyteller. The children adore you.”
“Thank you for the compliment.” She grinned at his kind words, then immediately frowned. “But that doesn’t answer why you sound as though you just attended a funeral?”
Before he could answer, the door creaked open again.
Miss Eloise’s voice cut in from the doorway. “Lady Penelope, Mr. Thornton.”
Both of them turned, guilty as schoolchildren.
The schoolmistress adjusted her spectacles, eyes sharp as pins. “I trust the geography lesson was enlightening?”
Penelope delivered her brightest smile. “Utterly transformative.”
Miss Eloise’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I expected as much.” She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving behind a faint scent of starch and doom.
Penelope blinked. “Well,” she said after a beat, “I suppose that is one way to make an impression.”
Edward sighed. “Unfortunately, I suspect that impression might be permanent.”