Page 46 of Hearts of Locke Hill

“Perhaps when all this is over and I am headmistress, I will grant you permission to explore Locke Hill anytime you wish. You wouldn’t be trespassing then.”

“Violet,” Mrs. Whittemore groaned.

“Very gracious of you, Miss Whittemore.” Perhaps he had an inkling, after all.

Y

Cy stood beside a wide burlwood desk, squinting at whatlooked to be a scrap of moulding trim with penciled writing on it, set upon a shelf with a framed photograph of his sister and her three best friends.

“Iron out the frills,” he murmured as he read. “Women are like … rivers? Thrilling promise of fut—”

Miss Whittemore reached out and snapped the scrap of wood facedown.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Nothing. The school motto. Now, kindly step away from my desk.”

Neither of them moved. The act of reaching for the board had brought her close enough that now, as they faced each other, he could see the gray striations mingling with the pale green surrounding her dark pupils, which enlarged briefly before she stepped back into a shaft of light. How familiar yet strange those eyes were to him. Still direct. Still curious. Still maddening.

He looked down at the satiny wood desk and placed both hands upon it, pressing as if testing its strength. “Yours? Or mine?”

She opened her mouth as if to argue, then abruptly turned to her mother. “This is my desk—”

Mrs. Whittemore held up both hands as if to calm her daughter, and the double doors of the office burst open. Two men in work clothes headed straight for an arrangement of a settee, chairs, and a tea table and quickly stacked and hefted them out of the way as two more men carried in a second large desk.

“That was where I was to have tea with the students and their parents,” Miss Whittemore lamented, her arms flopping at her sides.

“And now,” Mr. Whittemore said, following behind the second desk, “it is Mr. Burke’s side of the office.”

Violet turned to glare at Cy, but all he could do was shrug in innocence and survey the gleaming rolltop.

“You cannot expect us tosharean office,” she said.

“Darling,” Mrs. Whittemore said, “the office is quite spacious. And there are no more rooms available on this level that would serve. Besides, this will simplify communications between you and Mr. Burke.”

“Communicating with Mr. Burke has never been simple.”

“You did all the talking,” Cy muttered under his breath. “I did all the listening.”

She rolled her eyes and folded her arms, her cheeks rosy. Her foot tapped as the workmen left the room. She stepped to her mother. “It isn’t proper, Mama.” She turned to Mr. Whittemore. “Father, surely you agree that I cannot share this space with a man.”

Hugh clucked his tongue and nodded. “I absolutely agree. But make up your mind, daughter. Are you a lady of tradition, or are you ‘your own woman’?”

Miss Whittemore’s eyes grew large, and the office doors burst open once more. In came a tall, multipaneled screen the men quickly unfolded as a room divider between the two desks. After that, the small secretary desk and swivel chair were positioned to the left of the doors, within view of both sides of the screen, and the settee was shoved in front of the bookcase on Miss Whittemore’s side. Lastly, a more robust desk chair was brought in and set before the rolltop on Cyril’s side, accompanied by a potted lemon tree, which was set next to the desk. The men exited as swiftly as they’d first appeared.

A prim middle-aged woman then entered wearing a white shirtwaist and dark-blue skirt. “Mrs. Cole said you were ready for me, Mrs. Whittemore.”

“Yes, thank you.” Mrs. Whittemore turned to Cy and Miss Whittemore. “Not only will you be sharing this office space. You’ll be sharing the administrative secretary as well. Miss Violet Whittemore and Mr. Cyril Burke, meet Mrs. Penhurst.”

“How do you do?” Mrs. Penhurst nodded to them both.

“Very well, thank you,” Cy answered.

“Things couldn’t be better,” Miss Whittemore said through her smile.

Cy suppressed a grin. This was more fun than he’d imagined it would be. Not that he’d imagined it at all fun.

Miss Penhurst eyed the office arrangement and her own desk, then Cy and Miss Whittemore. She straightened. “I’ve worked in a London law office and then as a police magistrate’s secretary. I’m anticipating less drama here at Locke Hill. I hope I’m correct.”