“About how to summon the Bogeyman?”
Ashley felt barely a pang of conscience as she shook her head. “Have you talked with your sister about what it would be like to live as Mr. Giovanni’s wife if he truly hasn’t a feather to fly with?” She pinned up Miss Kenyon’s recalcitrant curl as she spoke. “Can she sew her own wardrobe? Because she wouldn’t be able to afford a modiste. Does she know how to prepare meals? They probably couldn’t afford to pay a cook, either.”
Miss Kenyon grinned. Miss Bettencourt looked thoughtful.
“They wouldn’t have many servants to help with the housekeeping at all. Perhaps none.” With satisfaction, Ashley watched the swift play of emotions on Miss Bettencourt’s face. During her time at the academy she had successfully convinced several girls not to elope. She glanced from side to side and leaned in. The other two checked that they were still alone and leaned close as well. “She might even,” she lowered her voice as though imparting a great secret, “have to empty and clean their chamber pots herself.”
Miss Bettencourt gasped, then laughed. “My sister wouldneverwant to do such a thing!”
They straightened as two ladies entered and nodded to them in greeting.
“Thank you so much, Miss Hamlin,” Miss Bettencourt said as the trio exited the room. “I’ll have another talk with her tonight.”
* * *
Before bed, Ashley gave Maggie and Sally their usual reading lesson. Both had made marvelous progress. Neither of them said a word about her not letting them change the pillowcases on her bed. The afternoon Ravencroft left, she’d lain down on her bed clutching one of the pillows that smelled faintly of him, and slept straight through to the next morning.
She clutched a pillow now. The other scents were fading, only the rosemary still distinguishable. After allowing herself to wallow a minute longer, she set the pillow aside.
Sitting at her desk, she took out a sheet of paper and drew a line down the middle. On one side she wrote down all the men she had danced with or otherwise been introduced to who could remotely be considered matrimonial prospects.
Lord Ravencroft – had decreed he would never marry. Ignoring the stab of pain in her chest that made breathing difficult, she crossed his name out.
Lord Fairfax – an incorrigible flirt who showed no interest in pinning his attentions on only one woman. Listening to his deep voice would continually remind her of Ravencroft. Crossed him off.
Mr. Westbrook – handsome, humorous, and musically talented, she could be friends with him. But she could not marry a close friend of Ravencroft. Even the idea made her heart ache. Crossed him off.
Lord Grantham – ugh. At least twice her age, and he sang off-key.
Hmm. Perhaps she had requirements for her suitor after all, like the Linford family, in needing him to have at least a modicum of musical skill.
Mr. Huntley – definitely had musical talent. He was also prettier than she, could sing higher, and had nicer hair. Shallow of her, she admitted, but she crossed him off, too.
The widower with eight children … what was his name? She wroteWidower w8and crossed him off.
She stared at her paper, cudgeling her brain, trying to think if there was anyone else whose name she could add.
While she tried to come up with someone,anyone, else, she turned to the other side of the paper and listed all the positions she’d applied for, consulting her journal to remember which potential employers had already replied and which she still waited to hear from. The only posting for an administrative position she’d been able to find was in Berwick. Located just a few miles south of the Scottish border, Berwick was so far away that visits with Mrs. Rafferty and other friends from the academy would be out of the question. Letters would take weeks to reach each other. She’d hope to make new friends, of course, but she’d be isolated from her current circle of acquaintances.
She browsed through her other journals, skimming the meticulous notes she’d kept as she assisted Madame Zavrina in operating the academy. Bartering with local farmer’s wives for hand cream the students made in exchange for manure for the academy’s garden had increased their crop yields and cut their food expenses, and gave them a more varied diet. Changing the wording and placement of advertisements had increased enrollment while spending less. Efficiencies in the kitchen had allowed the scullery maid to attend classes part time.
She slammed the journal shut and stared at it. Ravencroft was right. Shewasan administrator. Someone who could teach as needed, but her specialty had developed into helping the school run cost effectively and efficiently while still giving the students an excellent education.
Georgia was not the only girl she had rescued from a too-ardent suitor. She’d persuaded several others not to run off with their groom, footman, or other person their family deemed unsuitable, and had taught many of them the judicious use of a knee, elbow, or teeth if a man was too forward in his attentions.
Her mind racing, she got a fresh sheet and started making notes.
Near dawn she finally fell into an exhausted sleep, clutching a pillow to her chest. When she awoke, she knew exactly what she needed to do.
* * *
“Come in,” Uncle Edward called.
Ashley stepped inside his study. “I wish to discuss a business proposition with you,” she said, sitting in the chair across from him and setting several of her journals on the desk as well as pages of notes.
He pushed aside his account book and set the quill pen in its holder. “I’m listening, my dear.”
Dear, sweet Uncle Edward. “You have been most kind and generous to me this Season. However, even with the dowry you bestowed, I have been unable to find a suitable match, and given my experiences of late, that’s not likely to change.” She tapped the top journal. “I’ve been trying to secure another position at a school, as I do not want to live with Cousin Niles after you return to Jamaica. That’s not going well, either.”
