The previous evening, he had arrived in time to oversee the additional guards he had arranged. It was thoughtful of him to lend her the footmen. Four men and three women now made up the employees at the school. The topsy-turvy nature of the household struck her as funny, causing her thoughts to turn fanciful. It was quite obvious that Mary had set her cap at Amos Woods, who clearly returned the attraction, and their burgeoning friendship was exciting her own sense of longing for a close relationship. Of course, Nora had not shared that she and the handsome Lord Shefford were betrothed. Still, theirs was a convenient arrangement—not the connection her heart desired. If she were honest, her heart desired him for reasons she failed to comprehend.
That only left Mrs. Simpkins spouseless. She snorted. Just supposing…? No, that is just nonsense. Still, she could not deny the amusement. The matchmaking mamas of the haute ton would marvel at the success found under one inauspicious roof in less than one week’s time.
Nora avoided going downstairs to meet the company, reluctant to squander her time, and certain Woods could handle whatever presented itself. Instead, she visited the children to see how they did. They had finished their early meal and according to the schedule; it was time for watercolor painting. Easels and stools were being placed about the room by the children. Mary had already mixed the paints and set out the brushes. Paper and a pile of smocks were on a table by the door, for the girls to pull over their dresses. The boys had aprons that her grandmother had thoughtfully supplied. The Dowager Countess was an avid supporter of the arts and made sure supplies were plentiful, even encouraging all the children to take part.
Nora had her own supplies at the ready and positioned her chair across from her easel, choosing the space in front of one of the tall windows which lined the outer wall. She moved the curtains out of the way to allow for more light.
“There you are!” Colin sauntered in sporting an impudent grin and gave her a quick bow. “I am here to do your bidding, my lady.”
Her bidding? She had looked forward to spending an hour or two with Amy and the other children. Frustration welled inside her and she felt confused why. This man was everything that most women would clamor to claim. He was a gentleman; he was handsome and according to gossip, he was rich. She looked up and his grey eyes found her own brown eyes. As he held her gaze, she realized that what she had called grey was actually a very pale blue with silver flecks. His eyes held her captive. Damn it. She wanted him, too. Once again, he was taking over her plans.
“I am quite sure I have professed no bidding,” she snapped. What was it about this man that could make her eager to see him and also wish him elsewhere? He looked hurt. She immediately regretted her short-tempered response but did not apologize.
“I can be a quiet observer,” he coaxed. “I thought it a good time to meet the other children—perhaps get to know them a little.” He studied her face. “I can see you had not expected me, so please allow me to apologize for not speaking of my intention last evening. However, I am serious about our bargain and if I am to uphold my part of the bargain, I need to understand everything about the orphanage, and that includes the beneficiaries.” He regarded the room about them. “You are setting up for a class.” It was an observation.
The state of annoyance kept her more alert and distant. Yet, despite her wariness, his unabashed honesty negated her efforts.
“Yes, I plan to start with simple painting techniques to see who has a talent for the subject. As a society, we expect girls to love art and endeavor to gain a certain skill. My own observations do not support that contention. Famous painters are usually men. We intend to give all the children a good basic education in reading, writing, and arithmetic. In addition, I think some tuition in the arts, and perhaps music, would give them an advantage in the world. My mother always told me that art encourages the finer ability to discern and read your surroundings. I feel the skill would be helpful to the children.”
“You are sure it is wise?” His voice drifted off towards the end of the question.
Nora started to snap a retort, but sensed his comment seemed a more discarded thought than a proper question. The Earl had busied himself perusing the supplies, picking up the aprons, the papers, and looking at the table easels.
“I am heartened by your effort.” As he spoke, his eyes remained focused on the children’s efforts. “All the same, I fear you will need more paint and brushes. I shall have them delivered—paper, too. As I think about it, your reasoning makes sense. Children need to be alert to their environment, perhaps these children more than most, and if painting can aid that, so be it. You mentioned music.” He paused and turned his head. “Do you have an instructor for that?”
Nora opened her mouth to respond and closed it before finally answering, “Eventually, my lord, I might do some rudimentary teaching using an older pianoforte. T’would be nice to have one in the parlor for small recitals, that is an aspiration only. There is so much more we need. Painting is our first endeavor.” She still had much on her mind. Perhaps his wish to observe would, after all, not be too obtrusive. While
