corrected.
“Pardon, ma’am, but John be me brover.”
She wanted to laugh, but could not muster the energy. “Yes?”
“Well, we be needed for hayin’ on the morrow. But John and me, we—”
“John and I .” She could not let it go.
He scratched his head. “Uh, well, I dunno what your ladyship and me brover did, but John and me wrote this for ye since ye seem so fond of them poems, ye do. Pardon me, yer ladyship.”
He placed a rumpled piece of paper on the old desk and dashed out the door, without taking his leave properly.
She picked up the paper.
Yer ladyship be so kind.
Yer ladyship be so smart.
Yer ladyship be so pretty.
Yer ladyship like funnin’.
Yer ladyship be a grate teacher.
Thank ye fer teachin’ us brats.
For some stupid reason her eyes welled. How maudlin she could be at times. It was not as if she hadn’t received gratitude from the less fortunate in the county. Why, she and her sisters had been delivering food baskets to the needy for as long as she could remember.
But this was different, she realized with sudden clarity.
This was helping the less fortunate build a potential better life for them in the future versus pure charity.
“Are you crying?”
Verity looked up to find Lady Mary Haverty in the doorway. The former smiled. “Yes, I fear I am.”
“But teachers aren’t allowed to cry.”
“I know. That’s why I highly doubt I’ll make it a week before I am either sacked or bundled up and placed in an asylum.”
Mary laughed, and once again Verity was reminded that there was literally not another lady on Earth who was as strikingly lovely as she, with her gleaming dark russet locks, and impossibly elegant face and form, without a single defect.
“What are you doing here—” They both began the same sentence and then stopped to laugh. Verity rushed forward finally to grasp the other lady in her arms. There was a lovely sort of relief when in the presence of a confidante after a drought of companionship.
Verity took a long look at Mary. “Let me gather my things, and then shall we go to Boxwood? Do please say you will come for a visit. A good long one.”
“Well, I am not too proud to admit it is precisely what I had hoped you might offer. You can imagine my surprise when I asked the smithy for confirmation that you were, indeed, at Boxwood as I had heard, but the man pointed to the schoolhouse.”
Verity smiled. “I suspect I am the last of my sisters you would expect to find in a schoolroom.”
Mary’s laugh was a thing of feminine beauty. She shook her head. “Absolutely!”
That was the thing about Mary. She might be brutally honest, but she was so witty and kindhearted that no lady of good character could not help but like her.
“So,” Verity began uncertainly, “I had thought you were ensconced in Scotland.” She dared not say more.
Mary’s chin rose a fraction of an inch. “I would be delighted to accept your invitation to stay on. Just a dab of a visit. I’m not too proud to admit I am in a most perplexing state.”
“Well, that makes two of us,” Verity said ruefully.
Not a quarter hour later it was all arranged. Mary’s affairs were sent on to the estate, while the ladies independently rode to Boxwood. They even raced the last furlong, which made Verity love Mary all the more. How could such grace and elegance also ride like a banshee? It simply was not fair.
Then again, was not life ever fair? How many times would she have to learn that lesson?
In a cozy study in front of a spare fire, meant only to chase the barest hint of coolness in the summer night’s air, the two ladies reconvened after Mary had taken a race victory lie down.
“So, are you ever going to tell me why you are not in Scotland, Mary?”
“Of course. But first you must tell me news of your brother and the other members of the royal entourage. Where are they? The Morning Post was filled with . . . with drivel.”
Verity bit her lip. “Well, the thing of it
“Pardon, ma’am, but John be me brover.”
She wanted to laugh, but could not muster the energy. “Yes?”
“Well, we be needed for hayin’ on the morrow. But John and me, we—”
“John and I .” She could not let it go.
He scratched his head. “Uh, well, I dunno what your ladyship and me brover did, but John and me wrote this for ye since ye seem so fond of them poems, ye do. Pardon me, yer ladyship.”
He placed a rumpled piece of paper on the old desk and dashed out the door, without taking his leave properly.
She picked up the paper.
Yer ladyship be so kind.
Yer ladyship be so smart.
Yer ladyship be so pretty.
Yer ladyship like funnin’.
Yer ladyship be a grate teacher.
Thank ye fer teachin’ us brats.
For some stupid reason her eyes welled. How maudlin she could be at times. It was not as if she hadn’t received gratitude from the less fortunate in the county. Why, she and her sisters had been delivering food baskets to the needy for as long as she could remember.
But this was different, she realized with sudden clarity.
This was helping the less fortunate build a potential better life for them in the future versus pure charity.
“Are you crying?”
Verity looked up to find Lady Mary Haverty in the doorway. The former smiled. “Yes, I fear I am.”
“But teachers aren’t allowed to cry.”
“I know. That’s why I highly doubt I’ll make it a week before I am either sacked or bundled up and placed in an asylum.”
Mary laughed, and once again Verity was reminded that there was literally not another lady on Earth who was as strikingly lovely as she, with her gleaming dark russet locks, and impossibly elegant face and form, without a single defect.
“What are you doing here—” They both began the same sentence and then stopped to laugh. Verity rushed forward finally to grasp the other lady in her arms. There was a lovely sort of relief when in the presence of a confidante after a drought of companionship.
Verity took a long look at Mary. “Let me gather my things, and then shall we go to Boxwood? Do please say you will come for a visit. A good long one.”
“Well, I am not too proud to admit it is precisely what I had hoped you might offer. You can imagine my surprise when I asked the smithy for confirmation that you were, indeed, at Boxwood as I had heard, but the man pointed to the schoolhouse.”
Verity smiled. “I suspect I am the last of my sisters you would expect to find in a schoolroom.”
Mary’s laugh was a thing of feminine beauty. She shook her head. “Absolutely!”
That was the thing about Mary. She might be brutally honest, but she was so witty and kindhearted that no lady of good character could not help but like her.
“So,” Verity began uncertainly, “I had thought you were ensconced in Scotland.” She dared not say more.
Mary’s chin rose a fraction of an inch. “I would be delighted to accept your invitation to stay on. Just a dab of a visit. I’m not too proud to admit I am in a most perplexing state.”
“Well, that makes two of us,” Verity said ruefully.
Not a quarter hour later it was all arranged. Mary’s affairs were sent on to the estate, while the ladies independently rode to Boxwood. They even raced the last furlong, which made Verity love Mary all the more. How could such grace and elegance also ride like a banshee? It simply was not fair.
Then again, was not life ever fair? How many times would she have to learn that lesson?
In a cozy study in front of a spare fire, meant only to chase the barest hint of coolness in the summer night’s air, the two ladies reconvened after Mary had taken a race victory lie down.
“So, are you ever going to tell me why you are not in Scotland, Mary?”
“Of course. But first you must tell me news of your brother and the other members of the royal entourage. Where are they? The Morning Post was filled with . . . with drivel.”
Verity bit her lip. “Well, the thing of it
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