Page 42 of The Good Fortune of Miss Robbins

He took my hand and poured the coins into my open palm. His much-larger hand was warm, and I wasn’t wearing any gloves. He stood holding my hand and my gaze.

“If you need more, you need only ask.” His voice was rough and low, but gentle. “You will not leave?”

“No. I won’t leave.”

As soon as he released me, I turned to go, as my eyes were quickly filling with tears.

I practically ran from the room.

Fourteen

There was joy at being back at my duties with Samuel and Annabelle, in teaching. The children were trusting me more and more. Annabelle had begun to hug me every afternoon when the nursemaid came to collect them after our lessons were finished. And Samuel had brought me a tiny flat piece of ivory carved in the shape of a bird that he’d found in the garden.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It probably broke off a hatpin or a brooch. It’s very pretty.” I handed it back to him, but he didn’t take it.

“You can keep it,” he said. “It will be a good marker for a book, to hold your place.”

“You are right. Thank you, Samuel.”

He turned a little red, but I pretended not to notice.

Although I’d seriously considered returning to Mrs. Southey’s school, it felt good to have made the decision to stay.

I did long to see my friends again, to return for a visit to the only place I remembered as home. I longed to see everyone smiling and looking happy to see me again. It might blunt the pain of being treated like a leper by both the other servants and Lord Brookhaven’s guests—or at least being told I wasn’t good enough to marry Lord Brookhaven.

It was summer now, and in the weeks to come, Lord Brookhavenand I met as we’d done before on our walks. Things between us soon became as easy and comfortable as they’d been. We discussed many subjects, including politics, religion, and literature. Our beliefs and tastes were remarkably similar, and when we did disagree, he never tried to force his opinions on me. I always felt as if he respected me, and in fact, he became quite gentle—his voice was softer, and he had ceased to sound commanding and never made demands of me. He never treated me like a servant, but like a friend. And he seemed to go out of his way to show anyone watching that we were taking walks together but nothing more. Everything was proper and aboveboard.

I tried to tell myself it was my imagination that his manner had changed, that he no longer treated me like a servant, especially when he would look at me in a particularly intense or admiring way. My heart would beat fast and my thoughts would soar, and I’d have to scold myself later for my foolishness.

There were a few times when he would point out a stag or a fox or a bird’s nest he had found, and he would lean so close that his shoulder would brush against mine. Or he’d hand me a bunch of flowers he’d picked for me and our fingers would touch. I’d think about it for hours, still able to feel my skin tingling. But always I would tell myself it meant nothing. He was lonely for a friend, and I was more than happy to be that friend.

Although, in my heart of hearts, I longed to be so much more.

Lady Derringer had gone home, but she wrote to me once a week—surprisingly friendly letters, telling me about her life in London, parties or balls or concerts she’d attended, asking me if I’d like to come to London sometime as her guest, talking of the places we would go. It seemed strange but also quite pleasant, to think the widow of a duke would wish to spend time with me, although I considered her thoughts on a future invitation to be just that—thoughts that would never come to fruition. But I enjoyed her friendship, and I would have enjoyed her letters just as much were she not a duchess or even wealthy.

I wrote letters, but I also spent a lot of time writing stories forSamuel and Annabelle. I used these stories to teach the children new words, comprehension skills, decision-making, and problem-solving. And I dreamed of someday having them printed in book form for other children and their teachers to read and use in their lessons.

Many of the stories were about two dogs named Ernest and Maizie who had lots of adventures. Samuel and Annabelle were particularly fond of those.

One day when we were reading one of those stories, I looked up to see a servant beckoning me from the hallway. I excused myself and went to see what she wanted.

“A Mr. Sullivan is here to see you. He says he’s a solicitor from London.”

I couldn’t imagine what business a London solicitor could have with me, but the servant led me downstairs to Lord Brookhaven’s library.

Lord Brookhaven sat behind his desk, looking quite serious, his brows drawn together. A short, balding man stood when I entered the room.

“Miss Charlotte Robbins?”

“Yes.”

“I am Jonah Sullivan. I was hired to find you and notify you ... I think you will want to sit down for this.”

We all sat, me rather heavily, as he pulled some papers out of his leather case. His hands shook slightly, making the papers tremble.

“Were you aware, Miss Robbins, that you had a relative, an uncle of some means, John Robert Robbins, who has died and left you fifty thousand pounds?”