Page 38 of Hearts of Locke Hill

“Ah.” Cy wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Speaking of noisy and aggressive—”

“And in the way?”

Cy tipped his head. “Funny you should add that part. Anyhow, I need some advice.” He got to the point. “I’ve recently been hired to act as headmaster of a new girls’ school over at Locke Hill—”

“The hill with the old stone tower? That is Mrs. Whittemore’s holding, is it not?”

“The very one.” He put up his hand as Andrew opened his mouth to ask another question. “Please, hold all questions until I’m finished.”

Andrew acquiesced with a nod.

“Miss Violet Whittemore is also acting as headmistressof the same new school.”

Andrew paused. Then set down his coffee cup. He leaned forward and opened his mouth.

“I’m not finished,” Cy warned.

“Oh,” Andrew said, a low chuckle in his words, “but I fear you may soon be.”

Cy’s jaw clenched. He had no argument.

After sharing the finer points of his predicament, including Pimms Mill, he sat back in his chair and threw his napkin onto his plate. “I don’t even know if I’m doing the right thing. And I’m meeting with my family in”—he checked his pocket watch—“one hour. Blast. At least Ruby knows a bit of it.”

“A bit of it? Those ladies know more than a bit of anything.”

Cy sighed. It was true. Ruby had likely gotten an earful from Violet by now. “Am I doing the right thing? Am I acting rashly?”

Andrew leaned forward. “It sounds to me as though you’ve done very little in the way of acting anything. You simply took one tentative step, and the situation found you. Part solution. Part—”

“Land war.”

Andrew nodded sagely. “Indeed. When do your parents leave?”

“Noon today. I talked Mother into staying a bit later so I couldenlighteneveryone together.”

“I see. And you have no idea when they might return?”

Cy shook his head. “I’m hoping they’ll be gone for as long as it takes for Father to recover.”

“Of course. Hmm.” Andrew leaned back and folded his arms. A waiter cleared their plates away, leaving a fresh carafe of coffee. When he was gone, Andrew shook his head. “I cannot claim any understanding of the female mind—especially four particular female minds—but I do claim a friendship with Miss Whittemore, as you know. She can be very charming, and her wit is rapier sharp. Pair those with her fetching countenance and iron will, and you have quite a formidable opponent.”

Cy narrowed his gaze, his gut tensing. He knew all of this, of course, but to hear it from another man caused a discomfort he did not like. “You find her fetching?” he heard himself ask, a nonchalance masking his inner turmoil.

“Yes, in a very honest sort of way.” He chuckled. “She is genuine, no doubt. Her natural flush of cheek is especially becoming, I think.”

Cy sat up straight. “Do you, now?”

Andrew studied him briefly, then picked up his coffee cup and shrugged. “Just observing, old boy. Miss Whittemore has been a fixture at Briarwall since Lydia was barely out of leading strings. One can’t help but notice our womenfolk growing up. In a completely appropriate way, of course.”

“Of course.”

The men stared at one another. Never had Cy felt any modicum of this—challenge—toward his friend during the length oftheir acquaintance. Surely, Cy knew Violet better than any other man would. Though, he could not divulge that information.

“In any case,” Andrew continued after a sip from his cup, “I think you’ve chosen well. I’ve been listening to Spencer Hayes and others. Mr. Janes has built an empire on embracing this changing of times, as I will call it. We are men of a new age. Are we going to fight against the rising tides? Or harness that power toward bettering this world?” He cleared his throat and adjusted his seat. “Those are Spencer’s words, not mine,” he muttered. “How did I do? Did I sound convincing?”

Andrew Wooding’s sudden and rare case of self-doubt broke the tension Cy had been fighting. He blinked. Then coughed a laugh. “Yes,” he said. “Very convincing.”

“Good,” Andrew grumbled. “I’ve never been very good at change.”