“How much time did you actually spend in the classroom as a teacher? What percentage of your time at the academy would you estimate you spent teaching?”
Again she opened her mouth in that very distracting way, then closed it without saying anything. He could practically see her doing sums in her head.
“Compared to that, what percentage of time did you spend helping to run the school? Working with the headmistress? Finding ways to make everything run more efficiently? You’re not a teacher, Ash—Miss Hamlin.” He set his cup down. “I submit that you’re an administrator.”
She gaped at him. In a move eerily similar to Aunt Connie, she tilted her head up and to the right, deep in thought, as though studying the frieze of cavorting cupids. Over by the fireplace Clarissa laughed with Norcross. Conversation continued to buzz around the room while David studied Ashley’s face, watching one thought flit by after another. He could almost hear gears turning in her head as he shifted the pastille dissolving in his mouth from one cheek to the other.
Finally she stared at him, her mouth falling open in shock.
He gently tipped her jaw closed with one fingertip under her chin.
“I’m a fool,” she whispered, still dazed.
“Far from it,” he whispered back.
“I’ve wasted so much time and effort,” she said, adjusting the other side of her shawl. “Not to mention postage.”
He chuckled.
She smiled at him, her expression quickly turning to concern. “Give me your arm.”
When he started to offer his right arm out of habit, she took his left arm instead, in a way that felt familiar. Ah, yes, when he barely had the strength to stumble back to bed. He did let himself lean on her, just the tiniest bit, as this was as close to wrapping her in his arms as he was going to get. She led them over to Liam, who was conversing with Parker and Deirdre.
Ashley and Liam exchanged wordless communication, David was sure. He wondered if they had met and talked like this while he lay in her bed, unconscious or asleep.
“I’ve already taken the liberty of requesting your carriage,” Liam said. “I’m sure Parker and Deirdre won’t mind heading home.”
“No, not at all,” Deirdre said. “It’s been a full day.” She and Parker caught the attention of a footman and requested their wraps.
“Home?” Ashley said, looking between the two men.
“To the Ravencroft townhouse,” David confirmed.
Her broad smile and deep inhale, as though she wanted to shout but barely restrained herself, did things to his insides. Warmth spread through his chest. He hadn’t moved home for Aunt Connie, nor for Ashley … but she had certainly played a part in his willingness and ability to finally move in. Move on.
He nodded his head in silent acknowledgment of her unspoken congratulations.
Liam bowed over Ashley’s hand and bid her good night, then took David’s elbow and steered him out of the room, offering farewell and good night as they went.
David was happy to let his friend speak for him, as his reserves of energy seemed to have forsaken him. Starting with rehearsal several hours ago, this was the longest he had been awake and active since that afternoon in the alley behind the butcher shop.
In the coach they let Parker and Deirdre have the forward-facing seat again. Liam gave David a gentle shove so he could sit on David’s left, made a great show of yawning and stretching, then leaned a little toward him. The result was that David, who could now barely hold up his head, rested against Liam with no one the wiser. He almost asked Liam for his flask of brandy but refrained, knowing Gilroy would have willow bark tea and whiskey waiting for him.
The sun was high in the sky when David finally opened his eyes the next morning. Afternoon? He was nearly dressed when a footman knocked on his bedchamber door to alert him that he had a visitor downstairs.
Who even knew he was in residence?
Other than his entire extended family. Cousins in the countryside probably knew by now.
With a sigh, David finished dressing and went downstairs. He stopped in the doorway of the front parlour to observe Clarissa’s fiancé nervously pacing before the window. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Norcross?”
Norcross nearly jumped a foot. David graciously pretended not to notice.
“Clarissa said you are the one who arranged the song her father sings to her stepmother.”
David nodded.
Norcross reached into a pocket and withdrew a folded sheet of vellum. “I want to sing this for Clarissa at our wedding breakfast tomorrow, but I can’t hit some of the notes anymore.” He advanced toward David holding out the paper. “I was hoping you would help me make changes, my lord.”
