didn’t he teach Latin?”
She nodded. “Ancient studies, too. But he lost thatposition and had to find another. We have a school not far from here—Eaton’s Academy for Young Gentlemen. E-a-t-o-n, with an a , that is.” She smiled at his expression. “Yes, the name’s supposed to remind people of that other school. It’s not as elevated or ancient as Eton, of course, but it’s not a bad place. It’s for self-made men who want their sons to rise in the world. Mr. Gascoyne heard about a position opening there. Since he’d lost his job partially because of his…inflexibility, it was said, his friends suggested that having a son himself would go a long way to showing that he really liked and understood boys.
“It turned out to be not only wise, but economical,” she went on briskly. “The foundling home pays a stipend for each child taken off their hands, you see. Mr. Gascoyne taught classics but he had a firm grasp of mathematics and realized that three can eat as cheaply as one. At least, a pot of soup goes very far, and clothes can be handed down. So he took them in size order, Vin, Kit, and Rob. And got the job.” She bit off a thread. “The boys still go to Eaton’s, but they live here. They hitch Thunder to a cart and ride there every day. It’s cheaper and better for everyone that way.”
“How did your mother cope with all those boys?” Drum asked.
“She didn’t,” she said abruptly. “She was long gone. I was the one who took care of them. It was no problem for me because they’re good lads, and weren’t infants when we met. We had a housekeeper for a little while but I soon took over her duties. As I said, Mr. Gascoyne was a frugal man.”
Her sunny mood had darkened. The room seemed darker too. Drum was annoyed with himself. He wasusually more facile than that. “You know about the clubs and galas in London because you read the London papers. Have you ever been there?” he asked, to nudge the conversation down a smoother track.
“Never,” Alexandria said. “There was neither time nor opportunity.”
“I thought not,” he told her. “Don’t believe everything you read. I can tell you some evenings at the best clubs are amazingly boring when none of your friends are there, or even if they are, they may get into some witless argument that lasts for hours. Some nights at Almacks it’s hard to suppress your yawns. Most nights, actually. And not all soirees glitter. Some frankly fizzle, like fireworks on a damp night. Most are held in rooms that are too hot, with the company too loud and the food too scarce, stale, or paltry.”
“I’m sure it must be unendurable,” she said with a faint smile, her eyes on her needle.
He grinned. “Right. I manage. It’s only that the city isn’t always the glittering vision it seems from the countryside.”
“This countryside, at least,” she said with a sigh. “We don’t have stately homes here, so there are no house parties or balls. The local squire lives in a farmhouse. We have a smith’s shop, which the road just reaches before it goes running back to the highway. It serves three other tiny hamlets nearby, or it wouldn’t have enough business to exist at all. Time stopped here once when Good Queen Bess rested for an hour at our well while on one of her processions through the countryside. Then it marched on without us.”
“Did you ever visit anywhere else?” he asked curiously.
Her face grew still, her voice harsh. “Once. I went to Bath. For all of seventeen days. But then I got word that Mr. Gascoyne was sick. He was gone by the time I got back.” She looked up at him. “Please don’t pity me. I have more than many women do. The boys, this house, my own place in life. That’s not inconsiderable.”
“Any suitors?” he asked casually, popping another macaroon in his mouth.
She smiled. “Hordes,” she said. “Now you know everything about me. In all fairness, may I begin my inquisition?”
He pretended to
She nodded. “Ancient studies, too. But he lost thatposition and had to find another. We have a school not far from here—Eaton’s Academy for Young Gentlemen. E-a-t-o-n, with an a , that is.” She smiled at his expression. “Yes, the name’s supposed to remind people of that other school. It’s not as elevated or ancient as Eton, of course, but it’s not a bad place. It’s for self-made men who want their sons to rise in the world. Mr. Gascoyne heard about a position opening there. Since he’d lost his job partially because of his…inflexibility, it was said, his friends suggested that having a son himself would go a long way to showing that he really liked and understood boys.
“It turned out to be not only wise, but economical,” she went on briskly. “The foundling home pays a stipend for each child taken off their hands, you see. Mr. Gascoyne taught classics but he had a firm grasp of mathematics and realized that three can eat as cheaply as one. At least, a pot of soup goes very far, and clothes can be handed down. So he took them in size order, Vin, Kit, and Rob. And got the job.” She bit off a thread. “The boys still go to Eaton’s, but they live here. They hitch Thunder to a cart and ride there every day. It’s cheaper and better for everyone that way.”
“How did your mother cope with all those boys?” Drum asked.
“She didn’t,” she said abruptly. “She was long gone. I was the one who took care of them. It was no problem for me because they’re good lads, and weren’t infants when we met. We had a housekeeper for a little while but I soon took over her duties. As I said, Mr. Gascoyne was a frugal man.”
Her sunny mood had darkened. The room seemed darker too. Drum was annoyed with himself. He wasusually more facile than that. “You know about the clubs and galas in London because you read the London papers. Have you ever been there?” he asked, to nudge the conversation down a smoother track.
“Never,” Alexandria said. “There was neither time nor opportunity.”
“I thought not,” he told her. “Don’t believe everything you read. I can tell you some evenings at the best clubs are amazingly boring when none of your friends are there, or even if they are, they may get into some witless argument that lasts for hours. Some nights at Almacks it’s hard to suppress your yawns. Most nights, actually. And not all soirees glitter. Some frankly fizzle, like fireworks on a damp night. Most are held in rooms that are too hot, with the company too loud and the food too scarce, stale, or paltry.”
“I’m sure it must be unendurable,” she said with a faint smile, her eyes on her needle.
He grinned. “Right. I manage. It’s only that the city isn’t always the glittering vision it seems from the countryside.”
“This countryside, at least,” she said with a sigh. “We don’t have stately homes here, so there are no house parties or balls. The local squire lives in a farmhouse. We have a smith’s shop, which the road just reaches before it goes running back to the highway. It serves three other tiny hamlets nearby, or it wouldn’t have enough business to exist at all. Time stopped here once when Good Queen Bess rested for an hour at our well while on one of her processions through the countryside. Then it marched on without us.”
“Did you ever visit anywhere else?” he asked curiously.
Her face grew still, her voice harsh. “Once. I went to Bath. For all of seventeen days. But then I got word that Mr. Gascoyne was sick. He was gone by the time I got back.” She looked up at him. “Please don’t pity me. I have more than many women do. The boys, this house, my own place in life. That’s not inconsiderable.”
“Any suitors?” he asked casually, popping another macaroon in his mouth.
She smiled. “Hordes,” she said. “Now you know everything about me. In all fairness, may I begin my inquisition?”
He pretended to
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