Page 93 of When She Was a Governess
“We most certainly will not,” James said.
Sophia stood, brushing off her skirts. Her brothers rose with her. For a moment, the three of them locked arms and stood there, looking down at the flowers—a splash of color against the gray stones. Then, suddenly, the sound of a lark, singing from up above filled the silence.
Papa. He came. He sees us.
Her brothers let go, turning to their wives. She placed her hand in Henry’s, noticing that he was crying too.
They climbed into the carriages. As they pulled away from Newgate Prison, Sophia looked back one last time. Soon, the flowers would be washed away or trampled by footsteps, but it did not matter. For now, they marked the place where a loving father had once been taken from his children. They would not forget. Or forgive. Yet, they could still love with all their hearts. Which, in the end, made them the true winners of the battle.
Chapter Twenty-One
The moment thecarriage turned onto the long drive leading to Montrose Manor, Henry relaxed. They were home.
Beside him, Sophia leaned forward, her face lighting up at the sight of the house emerging from the trees. “Oh, how pretty it looks.”
“Two weeks felt like two months,” Henry said. Though in truth, the time in London had been necessary. They’d faced his mother, won their battle, and emerged stronger. But now he wanted nothing more than the quiet peace of their own home.
The carriage had barely stopped before Amelia came flying out the front door, Mrs. Bromley hurrying after her.
“Mama! Papa!”
Amelia launched herself at Sophia the moment she descended from the carriage, wrapping her arms around her legs. Sophia knelt and pulled the child close, her eyes bright with tears.
“Hello, love. We missed you so much.”
“I missed you too. Mrs. Bromley said you were fighting dragons in London.” Amelia’s face was solemn. “Did you win?”
Henry caught Mrs. Bromley’s eye. She gave a slight shrug, as if to saywhat else was I to tell her?
“We won,” Henry said, kneeling beside them. “The dragons are gone now.”
“Good.” Amelia threw her arms around his neck. “Don’t go away again. Not for so long.”
“We won’t,” he promised, though he knew it wasn’t entirely true. There would be other trips to London, other obligations. But for now, they were home, and there was no other place he wished to be.
*
His plan fora village school had come to him in a dream in which Sophia’s father had asked him to build a school for the village children. After he woke, he’d lain there in bed, wide awake, imagining it, knowing it was a message from Sophia’s father.
He kept it a secret from Sophia until they had erected the sign.
On a warm spring morning, he asked his wife to walk with him to town. He led her out of the house, through the gardens, down the lane toward the village. They walked hand in hand, in no apparent hurry. Sophia was clearly curious but not pressing him with questions. So like his gentle wife to do so.
When they reached the village green, Henry stopped. On the far side, near the small parish church, stood a newly cleared plot of land. A cornerstone had already been laid, and several workmen were measuring and marking out foundations.
“What’s this?” Sophia asked.
“Come see.”
They crossed the green to the construction site. As they drew closer, Sophia could see the cornerstone more clearly. Engraved in elegant letters were the words:
THE DUKE OF ASHFORD MEMORIAL SCHOOL
Founded 1819
Sophia stopped walking. Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Henry, what is this?”
