Chapter 13
At the top of the stairs, Violet turned right and continued all the way down toward the last room on the left.
She felt rather than saw Cyril keep pace with her—the odd frisson of the air between them, his crisp scent.
The place on her arm where he’d touched her still testified of his presence.
She was not usually left alone with men.
At least not indoors. But of all men on this earth, she’d been alone with this one most.
One of the workmen passed them in the tall corridor, carrying a pail of damp rags and trowels, doffing his cap. “All done up here, miss. Mind you stay off the tile until tomorrow. We’ll be workin’ on the staff wing and the cottages if you be needin’ us.”
“Yes, thank you.”
He nodded at them both and continued on.
She watched him walk away and descend the back staircase.
After months of work on this building, Violet was awash with the sense of being set adrift.
This is what she’d waited so long for, and yet she was floundering for her oars.
She reached out to run her fingers along the clean, new paint of the walls and the dustless framed portrait of Ada Lovelace, a mathematical visionary who also happened to be the only legitimate child of Lord Byron.
She gently cleared her throat as they entered the large room. “This is the chemistry and physics classroom. Have you decided which classes you’ll be teaching yourself?”
“Likely these two, in this classroom, though I’m still considering.”
She nodded. “You’ll appreciate the lab tables, then.
We’ve ordered microscopes, slides, glass tubes, flasks, condensers, and burners, of course.
There is a deep double sink in the adjacent lavatory.
You’ll have plenty of space to store everything.
Here.” She moved to a wall behind a teacher’s desk and unlatched a tall, flat door.
With a tug, she pulled the door open, and the rest of the doors along the same wall opened at the same time, revealing cupboards with lab aprons on hooks and shelves for storage above.
She turned to find him agape.
“That is ingenious,” he said.
“Thank you.”
His gaze jolted to hers. “This is your doing?”
She shrugged and closed her door, the others following with a snap. “They’re installed in several of the classrooms where students will need to store specialized equipment. I got the idea from racetrack starting gates. Thought it would save time and ruckus as the girls come and go.”
“Of course.” He stared at her like she was some kind of meteorite fallen from the sky.
To avert his gaze, she pointed to the set of French doors leading out to the balcony. “We thought, with experiments and demonstrations and such, the room would need extra ventilation as well as outdoor access.”
He crossed to the doors and opened them, stepping out onto the balcony.
After several moments, she realized he was going to stay out there for a time.
She followed after, joining him at the balcony’s stone-and-iron railing but keeping a body’s distance between them.
She sensed a change in awareness from him, as if he’d been taking pleasure in the view and her presence had unnerved him.
“I won’t apologize,” she said.
He exhaled, keeping his gaze on the hill’s horizon. “For what?”
She frowned. “For challenging you. For wanting this position. For believing it was already mine.”
He chuckled, his brow wrinkling. “I can’t blame you. But neither will I apologize for needing this job.”
“Why do you need it?”
He turned to her then, resting his hand on the railing.
“I do not wish to be pitied, Miss Whittemore, nor do I wish to minimalize your dreams. But know this, if I could secure another position that would help my family’s situation as much as this one will, I would.
Your father has made it impossible to search elsewhere with any hope of finding matched respectability and compensation. ”
She watched him, unblinking. “Did he even mention me?”
His lower jaw moved beneath his trimmed beard. “He did not.”
She swallowed that bitterly. “So you are the rabbit,” she muttered. Ignoring his bemusement, she turned to the railing again. “Is Ruby in danger?” she asked.
“Not at the moment. She will need her friends, though. I fear—” He stopped himself.
“What?” What did Cyril Burke fear? She couldn’t fathom a guess.
“She’s told you our father is ill?”
“Yes. I’m very sorry to hear it.”
“It is quite serious.”
That drew her full attention. The elder Mr. Burke was a strong, youthful man who’d shown her nothing but kindness and guidance in their interactions. “My fondest recollection of him is learning to play chess.”
He drew his head back. “You remember that? What were you, six?”
“Well.” She gripped the railing with both hands. “He was proud of me. I’ve seldom felt that from …”
“Your own father?”
She glanced at him, then looked toward the view beyond. “From men. But you were saying?”
She felt his study of her, then he continued. “He and my mother left today for a new treatment in London. It will be hard on Ruby, I think.” He looked down. “Great-Aunt Margaret is coming.”
“Ah. Well. That always brings a set of challenges, doesn’t it?”
He gave the barest of grins. “She insists on coming to be of help.”
Violet smiled, knowing how much help Aunt Margaret could be. Odds were, Ruby would be completely occupied with caring for the elderly woman. “Perhaps she’ll serve as a nice distraction.”
“Perhaps.”
“I’ve offered Ruby a job, here at the school. Teaching harp.”
“Yes, she told me.”
She nodded. “I believe she would enjoy it immensely.”
He turned back to the view, his hand running over the back of his neck. “She would,” he admitted.
“Perhaps it will help serve as a distraction from Aunt Margaret.”
“Aunt Margaret, who is to serve as a distraction from our father’s illness?”
“Yes. A distraction from the distraction. So she isn’t quite so …”
His gaze flickered to hers. “Distracted.”
She laughed and rolled her lips closed. She turned to the view again. It wasn’t fair how kind he was being. “Yes, exactly.”
The silence between them thickened, and she moved to break it. “Is it true you’ve inherited Pimms Mill?”
He blinked. “My mother has, yes. I’m in the process of moving in. With its proximity to the school, I thought it convenient. The caretakers seem quite happy to have owners present. Or at least in England. Are you familiar with it? Did you trespass that property as well as a child?”
She glared good-naturedly. “I did not. But Pimms is like a dear old grandmama to this neighborhood, once a center of agricultural industry for its time, where distant neighbors met while their corn was ground, the waterways unfettered and strong enough to move the giant wheels. Now long retired and just hoping for a visit. Hoping to be remembered. It’s a piece of history. ”
He studied her. “And here I thought we’d only been handed a wreck of a cottage.”
She dropped her hands from the railing. “You can’t be serious.”
His brow twitched.
She shook her head and looked away. “You’ve been handed a dear grandmama. Treat her with care, and she will brighten every time you return to her.”
“Would you like to see her?”
She quickly turned back to him. “Pimms?”
He chuckled. “No, my dear grandmama.”
She exhaled a laugh.
He sobered and looked down. “Truly, if you’d like to see Pimms, I’ll show her to you.” He lifted his gaze, searching.
Her chest tightened. “Perhaps. Someday.”
“Perhaps I’d even grant you permission to explore her anytime you wish.” His mouth curved in a smile. “You wouldn’t be trespassing then.”
She rolled her eyes. “Gads. I suppose I deserved that.”
“You did.”
“But did you mean it?”
His cool green eyes dared her to look away. “Perhaps.”
She smothered a smile and turned to the view before them. Narrowing her gaze, she pointed. “There, just there is Locke Tower.”
He stepped closer, his head leaning to follow her finger’s direction. “What am I looking for?”
“Golden stone parapets on that highest right-hand slope.” The scent of limes and something amber-like touched her senses as he drew nearer and oriented himself.
“I think I see it. Near those cypress trees.”
“Yes, you have it.” Her gaze was caught by the fine wool of his jacket, the starched cuffs of his white shirtsleeves, and the graze of dark hairs along the outside of his wristbone to the lower knuckle of his small finger.
His hands were that of a man, not the boy she’d learned to waltz with.
Same long bones and olive skin but broader somehow.
And leaner, in a way she couldn’t define.
He dropped his hand to the iron railing. “That’s not far at all.”
She cleared her throat. “No. A six-mile run from here to there and back.”
His brow rose and he glanced at her. “A run?”
“Or walk,” she said quickly. “Or bicycle. Horse. Canoe. Any way you wish to go, still six miles.” She turned away from the rail and rubbed her forehead as he chuckled.
“That glasshouse there, is that a swimming pool?”
She turned again and nodded at the iron, glass, and stone structure that had caught his eye beyond the garden glasshouses.
“Yes, an indoor pool. The water can be heated in the winter. Each girl will take swimming lessons. Even if she’s terrified, I’ll work with her until she learns.
We’ve the lake as well. Some find that friendlier, depending on the season.
” She knew his thoughts. Her fingers fiddled with the damselfly brooch on her bodice.
“You’re no longer afraid of the water,” he said, as if drawing a conclusion.
“No.” Her pulse picked up as his eyes steadied on hers. “I had an excellent teacher.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, though I’m sure I was an ungrateful student at the time.”
His brow crinkled and he stepped closer. “Ungrateful?”
She dropped her hand from the brooch. “Surly. I was a surly student.”
He waited, watching her.
She inhaled and exhaled quickly. “And a bit … splashy.”
His gaze warmed, his mouth twitched, and she bit her lip trying to hide her amusement.