Chapter 4 #2
Sophia accepted the book, and this time, when she placed it on her head, the ghost of a genuine smile played about her lips.
They practiced for another quarter hour, their steps becoming a sort of dance around the room.
With every attempt, Sophia's shoulders lowered a fraction more, her fingers unclenched a little further from their tight grip.
When Lavinia pretended to lose her balance and nearly collided with a chair, Sophia's laugh rang out.
It was small but genuine, a bell-like sound that transformed her solemn face entirely.
A knock at the door interrupted their progress. A footman entered, his expression carefully neutral despite the sight of his duke's daughter with a book balanced precariously on her head.
"Lady Lavinia, His Grace requests your presence in his study," he announced with a bow.
Lavinia glanced at the clock on the mantel—barely eleven.
"I see. Thank you." She turned to Sophia, whose face had already begun to close like a flower at sunset, the brief bloom of animation fading.
"Lady Sophia, you've made excellent progress today.
We shall continue tomorrow—perhaps with a more challenging volume. Something by Shakespeare, I think."
"Yes, Lady Lavinia." The formal mask had returned, but not entirely, because a hint of warmth remained in those eyes.
"Until tomorrow, then." Lavinia gathered her reticule and followed the footman into the hallway, her mind already racing ahead to the upcoming confrontation with the duke. Three hours early for their scheduled meeting—this could not bode well.
The footman left her at the study door with another bow. Lavinia smoothed her skirts, adjusted the lace at her collar, and knocked.
"Enter."
The duke was once again behind his desk when she entered, though he rose at her appearance—a courtesy she hadn't expected. The morning sunlight had shifted, casting half his face in shadow, the other half illuminated with startling clarity.
"You sent for me, Your Grace?" She was politely inquiring, though her heart had accelerated to a most unladylike pace.
"I did." He gestured to the chair before his desk. "Sit."
Lavinia complied. "I had thought we were to meet at four o'clock."
"I decided not to wait." He remained standing, his height allowing him to look down at her from a position of clear advantage. "What progress have you made with Sophia this morning?"
"We've only just begun our acquaintance, Your Grace," Lavinia replied carefully. "I focused primarily on establishing a rapport."
His fingers tapped against the surface of his desk. "By balancing books on your heads? My butler reported this... unusual method when he passed the schoolroom."
Of course he did, Lavinia thought. Aloud, she said, "Deportment exercises are a standard part of a young lady's education. I find that approaching them playfully often yields better results than strict drilling."
"My daughter isn't sent to the schoolroom for play, Lady Lavinia. She is there to learn."
"And she will." Lavinia met his gaze directly. "But a child who is at ease will learn more readily than one who is afraid."
His expression hardened. "Are you suggesting my daughter fears me?"
"I'm suggesting that Lady Sophia is an exceptionally reserved child who has had three governesses in a single year," Lavinia replied, choosing her words with care.
"Such upheaval would unsettle any young person.
My first priority was to create an environment where she feels secure enough to engage with the material. "
"And how did you determine this to be necessary? What signs did you observe?" His tone was skeptical, but she noted the genuine inquiry beneath it.
"Her posture—rigid, defensive. Her gaze—always lowered.
Her responses—minimal, designed not to invite further conversation.
" Lavinia leaned forward slightly. "Your Grace, I cannot teach a child who is afraid to speak.
Today was about earning her trust, not filling her head with facts she would be too anxious to retain. "
The duke paced to the window, his back to her as he gazed out over the grounds. "You believe you've made progress, then?"
"A beginning only," Lavinia admitted. "But yes. By the end of our session, she laughed."
He turned abruptly, surprise evident in his features before he schooled them back to neutrality. "She laughed?"
"Yes." Lavinia allowed herself a small smile. "It's an encouraging sign."
He returned to his desk, studying her with that penetrating gaze that seemed to see past all her careful composure. "You have an unusual approach, Lady Lavinia."
"I prefer to call it adaptable, Your Grace. Each child requires different methods."
"And how would you adapt your methods to better understand Sophia?" he asked, his voice carrying a new edge. "Would you, for instance, question her about her past experiences? About her mother, perhaps?"
Lavinia sensed a trap closing around her, though she couldn't quite see its shape. "Understanding a child's history can be valuable for—"
"One condition of your continued employment, Lady Lavinia," he interrupted, "you will not mention my late wife or ask questions about her. That subject is forbidden."
The vehemence in his voice startled her, as did the flash of raw pain that crossed his face before being swiftly buried.
Lavinia felt a surge of curiosity—what had happened to the late duchess that made the mere mention of her so forbidden?
What shadow did she cast over this household, over the solemn child with downcast eyes?
But the duke's expression made it clear that pressing further would be disastrous. Whatever wound lay beneath his stern facade was still bleeding, still painful enough to transform his carefully controlled demeanor into something fierce and wounded.
"As you wish, Your Grace," she said finally, inclining her head in formal acceptance. "I shall respect your boundaries in this matter."
He studied her for a long moment, as though searching for signs of insincerity or rebellion. Finding none, he gave a curt nod. "Good. You may return to your duties. I expect a full report at four o'clock as originally planned."
"Of course, Your Grace." Lavinia rose, curtseyed, and turned to leave, feeling his gaze follow her to the door.
As she walked back toward the schoolroom, her mind buzzed with questions. What had happened to Lady Sophia's mother? Why was her memory so carefully guarded? And what effect had this silence had on the reserved, watchful child who'd briefly laughed over falling books?