The Secret Pearl(140)

It was understandable under the circumstances that they had ended up in each other’s arms.

Perhaps for her there was no more to it than that. Genuine as her feelings had been at the time, perhaps they had faded in the days and weeks that had followed his departure. He must be prepared to find her cool and embarrassed by his visit.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be lulled by the motion of the carriage. He must not expect that she had thought of him every moment of every day—not consciously, perhaps, but deep down where feelings and meanings are. He must not expect that she had made him part of her dreams, both waking and sleeping. He must not expect that she was like him.

Fleur. He would see her the next day if she had not moved away.

At last. Ah, at last. The more than fifteen months since he had squeezed her hands and said good-bye and jumped into this very carriage to be taken away from her seemed longer than forever. Far longer.


FLEUR WAS TEACHING READING to a group of the youngest children while Miriam was conducting a geography lesson with the others.

But it was doubtful that anyone was learning a great deal, Fleur thought, smiling at one little boy to bring his attention back to the lesson. There was an air of suppressed excitement in the room. It did not take a great deal to excite these children. They were to go on a nature ramble as soon as morning classes were over, taking their luncheon with them. It was the end of September, the last opportunity they would have for such an outing before the weather grew too cold.

She and Miriam were to accompany the children, as well as Daniel, who often came into the school to give a scripture lesson, and Dr. Wetherald, who had been showing a marked preference for Miriam in the past several months, though Miriam declared in her usual cheerful, forthright manner that they were just friends. Fleur had been interested to note, though, that her friend blushed when saying so.

There really was no need of so many adult chaperones, Fleur thought, but it was a treat for them, too, to get out into the fresh air and the countryside for the whole of an afternoon.

A knock on the door destroyed the last vestiges of the children’s attention. Fleur smiled and shook her head as the eyes of her group of children, and doubtless their minds too, followed Miriam to the door.

“Is Miss Hamilton here, please?” a polite young voice asked.

Fleur spun around on her chair.

“I am afraid there is no one of that name here, my dear,” Miriam said. “Are you …?”

“Pamela!” Fleur was up out of her chair and hurrying across the room, her arms outstretched. “Here I am. Oh, how tall you have grown, and how good it is to see you.” She bent down to hug the child and was instantly aware of a tall, dark figure standing some distance behind her, against the crested carriage.

“Papa says the air of the Continent has made me grow,” Lady Pamela said. “Tiny is in the carriage, Miss Hamilton. Wait until you see how she has grown. She is not tiny any longer.

And I was not sick coming across in the boat from France, though some of the ladies were.”

Fleur was stooped down in front of her. “I am very proud of you,” she said. “And are you on your way home?” If her life had depended upon it, she did not believe she could have shifted her gaze to the man standing a few feet away.

“Yes,” Lady Pamela said. “I can scarcely wait. But Papa wanted to come here first. I am not to tell why. I got to tell you about not being sick on the boat.”

Fleur laughed. And she was aware suddenly of the hum of voices behind her. She straightened up and turned.

“This is Lady Pamela Kent,” she said, taking the child by the hand and drawing her into the schoolroom. “She has just come from a year of traveling on the Continent. This is Miss Booth, Pamela, and all the children of the village.”

Lady Pamela smiled about her and moved closer to Fleur’s side. Miriam was curtsying—to Lady Pamela and beyond her.

“Good morning, your grace,” she said. “Children, make your bows and curtsies to his grace, the Duke of Ridgeway, if you please.”

And Fleur turned her head jerkily at last and met his eyes.

And she felt instant shock. He was taller than she remembered, his hair blacker, his eyes more piercingly dark, his nose more prominent, his scar more noticeable. All had been softened in memory. She felt an unexpected surging of the old fear.

She curtsied to him. “Your grace,” she murmured.

He inclined his head to her and to the room in general. “Good morning,” he said. “I hate to interrupt classes, but if I know young people and the way their minds work, I would guess that I am the most popular man in the village at the moment.”