On these matters, Philippa had shared some of her personal views.
“When I queried Mrs. Oakley about His Grace’s behavior, she said that this was perfectly normal for a member of the Ambrose family, who are renowned for being reserved. But between you and I, Miss Meyer, I thought it quite odd. How can anyone not weep for their own mother?”
That last question sent a shiver down Meredith’s spine. Indeed, Philippa had a point. Meredith did not even remember her own parents, but she still wept for them, whereas the Duke had the privilege to be cared for by his parents, and in an impressive house such as this one, for that matter. And yet, he spared not a single teardrop for either one of them.
“And what about Lady Cecilia?” Meredith had asked.
“Oh, bless her little heart!” Philippa had exclaimed with a hand on her chest. “She takes after her mother, you know. Everyone said that the late Duke was a very cold, distant person. But I tell you, Miss Meyer, I had the privilege of waiting on Her Grace, the late Duchess—and she was a most tender and expressive noblewoman. Lady Cecilia wept uncontrollably when she died.”
According to Philippa, the general impression was that Lady Cecilia—who was far more expressive and emotive than the Duke—had inherited much of the late Duchess’ countenance and charm. However, she had also inherited quite a large portion of her father’s frostiness despite never really knowing him. She was only about a year old when he passed away.
Meredith looked at the stack of history books she had chosen from the library. How could she possibly find any lessons or truths in their pages that would be relevant to Lady Cecilia? Despite only having two living members in this house, the Ambrose family already seemed significantly more complex than it did when Meredith first arrived. Initially, she had hoped to be a guiding influence and a positive role model for the young child.
But now, with a sigh Meredith resignedly thought,“Perhaps I should just stick to teaching general history and geography.”
* * *
Anthony and Kenneth were practically bent over double from laughter. They were reminiscing about their days at university and Kenneth had just done his flawless imitation of Professor Scriven’s voice and rigid mannerisms.
“Oh, he hated us so much, do you remember?” Kenneth said in-between breaths as he wiped a tear from his eyes.
“Of course! And the feeling was mutual. Besides, he only picked on us because we were close to Colin,” Anthony said with an eye roll.
Looking at Kenneth’s face, he started to laugh again because in all honesty, they looked quite ridiculous for they had both turned as red as apples and were lounging in his study gasping for breath. Unfortunately, Colin was not present to share in this laughing fit. He had to go home almost immediately after luncheon because of a terrible headache. According to Kenneth, such headaches were becoming quite frequent for Colin, possibly because of their almost nightly drinking bouts back in town.
“Do you remember what Colin did to tick wretched Scriven so?” asked Kenneth with a chuckle.
Furrowing his brows, Anthony replied, “Oddly enough, no. I can’t, for the life of me, seem to recall exactly what had happened for the three us to deserve Professor Scriven’s wrath.”
Kenneth doubled over from laughter again, when he had regained his composure, he said, “But how could you forget? Colin was the first person to prove that Professor Scriven was bald.”
“What? That wasn’t Colin. Everyone suspected Professor Scriven was wearing a wig. It wasn’t the most convincing.”
Shaking his head, Kenneth sat up in his chair, “Yes, wesuspectedit. Even the upperclassmen did. But Colin was the only one to prove it. It all seems quite petty in hindsight.”
“Yes, but how on earth did he do it? Don’t tell me he snatched the wig right off of the poor professor’s head?”
“Of course not! This is Colin we’re talking about. He likes doing things with a… certain finesse. No, Professor Scriven confronted Colin on one of the school lawns and proceeded to scold him for missing another lecture. Exasperated and vexed, Colin retaliated by pointing at the top of Professor Scriven’s head and exclaiming, ‘Spider, sir! There’s a spider on you! Get it, sir!’”
At this point, Anthony could see another laughing fit on its way by the looks of Kenneth’s face, but Kenneth staved it off for the sake of finishing the story.
“Naturally, the old chap proceeded to yell and slap his own head in a most unhinged manner. He ran in circles while Colin pointed and updated him on the whereabouts of the imaginary spider. It caused quite a commotion, and it culminated with poor Professor Scriven’s wig flying off his head into a nearby bush.”
Unable to control their hilarity any longer, both friends erupted into another laughing fit as they imagined the scene.
But a gentle knock at the door cut their laughter short. Anthony’s expression immediately changed and became totally serious. “Come in.”
It was just Mrs. Oakley with some tea.
After she had left, Kenneth cleared his throat, “I hope you don’t mind me asking, Anthony. But why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Change the way you behave whenever anyone apart from me or Colin is in the room.”
“It’s a habit, I guess. Mrs. Oakley and Mr. Fletcher have both been with our family for as long as I can remember, but I still feel like I need to maintain distance from them.”
“Well, naturally, of course. You are, after all, the Duke of this estate. Distance is a part of our society, old boy. But what I don’t understand is this: why do you feel the need to hide all of your emotions? Whenever other people are around, be they servants or our peers, your only expression is a measured—dare I say, insincere—half-smile.”
