Page 89 of The Fortune Hunter’s Gamble

“I cannot imagine what you mean.” Sophronia smiled, her heart warming to see that some of Lily’s spirit was returning.

The girl had worn all black to mourn her lost betrothed, and in those first months, Sophronia had feared that Lily would follow in the footsteps of Sophronia’s father, and the Baron, and accept that her life was diminished forever. But Lily had taken a close interest in the planning and building of Sophronia’s school, and at midsummer, she had asked to be considered for a teaching position. Sophronia had put her in charge of musical instruction, and slowly, Lily was coming back to life.

“I believe most schoolteachers would take their students to the opening of a canal as an outing of general interest,” Lily replied. “You are turning it into an opportunity to discuss structural engineering, economics, and identification of fish species.”

Sophronia’s grin broadened. “Papa is in charge of the talk on engineering. I hope he has properly prepared.”

Sophronia picked up her reticule and offered Lily her elbow. Lily took it as they walked toward the main stairs. Sophronia had allowed herself the indulgence of keeping the master suite of rooms for her own, though virtually every other room in Hinton House had been remodeled into dormitories for students and staff and instruction rooms that were pleasantly furnished and properly equipped.

Her winnings from the Albion had gone a long way. And recently, she had received a clear and detailed quarterly report from Hinton’s Bank explaining the state of her investments, their recent earnings, and the bank’s recommendations for reinvesting those earnings. The extremely cordial letter was signed by Mr. Withers, but Sophronia knew Rowden was behind it. Before he left for the Continent, he’d made good on his promise to Bint. Sophronia’s accounts at Hinton’s were restored to full health, and the bank had a new owner to consult in decisions of governance. She had no doubt that all the monies due her would arrive with regularity and ever-increasing volume. Rowden made money as quickly as he gambled it away.

“Your father has been planning his speech for weeks,” Lily said as they descended the staircase. “I have never seen him so animated as when he conducts scientific lectures for the girls. You have given him a new lease on life, Sophronia.”

“That is true,” Sophronia reflected. “I think all this time, his decline after my mother’s death was in part due to the loss of useful occupation. He gave up his trade to become a gentleman for her, but he missed having useful pursuits.”

“The same is true for me,” Lily said softly. “Having a useful pursuit has saved me from being sunk in gloom.”

Sophronia squeezed her hand. “I wish I could tell you that time heals all wounds, my dear. But I have only found that time makes them feel more distant, and increases the outrage that the loss should still hurt as much, no matter how much time has passed. It is the price we pay for giving our hearts fully to another.”

She had once feared to pay that price. She feared it no longer. “But that does not mean we may not also live,” she added.

Lily squeezed back. “Have you heard from Rowden? Will he return soon? The papers say that a truce has been achieved between the rebellious Swiss cantons and the government of the new Republic.”

“His last letter hinted that his business may be concluding.” Her heart gave a strange twist as she said the words, a tangle of hope and caution. She longed for him. Would he long for her the same way? Would he still love her now that she was changed, that her days were no longer taken up with entertainments but in the busy, satisfying tasks of administration?

Giles’s death had made them all sadder and wiser. Had Rowden’s feelings for her lessened in their time apart?

The inaugural class of pupils at the Hungerford Academy for the Instruction of Young Ladies stood in clusters about the marble foyer, chattering as they adjusted ribbons and bonnets, pinning back curls of hair. As Sophronia descended, they rustled like a flock of collared doves into formation, lining up by class and watching her with expectant faces.

“Good morning, ladies,” Sophronia greeted them.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hinton,” they chorused back.

Sophronia’s heart softened like warmed wax. Nothing gave her quite as much pride as seeing the pupils of her very own school eagerly waiting for a lesson, or hearing the soft, girlish voices answering questions or reciting what they had learned. She adored and cherished each one of these girls. She knew a young woman required a strong sense of self to adapt and survive in a world made and run by men, and she meant to cultivate that in them, as much as she could.

She scanned the faces of her staff, lined up behind the girls. At this point, she had nearly as many teachers as students, as she provided a curriculum that included education in literature and the classics, history, natural philosophy, music, and the arts. Sims, not wishing to remain in Clarges Street as lady’s maid without a lady to tend to, had sacrificed the great sprawling mass of London for the quiet lanes of Hungerford and taught the girls the domestic arts and deportment. Sophronia taught mathematics, which had always been her favorite subject.

Selene Falstead, having convinced her mother she had no wish to endure another Season, had accepted a year’s appointment as an art instructor and had planned lessons to involve nearly every kind of artistic medium it was possible to imagine.

“Girls, you all have your journals so you may take notes and sketches. You might also wish to collect specimens for your next botanical lesson and press them between the pages. This is an exciting event for our town, but it is also a moment of historical importance. Can anyone tell me when the Kennet & Avon Canal was begun?”

The faces looked back at her, all a bit abashed they did not know the answer, all hoping she would not call them to account for it. Sophronia adored them so desperately.

“The River Kennet was first made navigable in 1724, when John Hore engineered locks to allow ships from Reading, on the Thames, to reach Newbury.” Sophronia’s father stepped into the foyer, taking off his hat and beaming at the girls. “Hore later went on to construct additional locks on the River Avon to extend navigation from Bristol to Bath.”

“And the canal was extended as far as Kintbury last summer,” said Horatia Bales, one of Sophronia’s new teachers. She was a niece of Lady Darien Bales, the Lady Daring who had befriended Sophronia in London and who had immediately produced Horatia’s name when Sophronia contacted her about her school. Horatia had benefited from a superior education at the famed Miss Gregoire’s Academy in Bath, and she had prepared a history curriculum that Sophronia herself wanted to take courses in. She was a lovely but very self-contained young woman with clouds of black hair and distinctive blue eyes, and she was a favorite with Sophronia’s father.

“Good morning, Mr. Edmons,” Horatia said with a demure smile.

“Good morning, Miss Edmons,” said Selene as Sophronia’s aunt entered behind her brother. Aunt Edmons did her best not to favor any of the girls, and they all loved her for it, Selene most of all.

“I hope you have brought your parasols, girls,” Aunt Edmons announced. She had taken a keen interest in Sophronia’s school and looked in most every day, taking it upon herself to provide lessons in elocution. “There is quite a breeze kicking up outside. But I hope there shall be no rain.”

“I was offering a brief history on the Kennet & Avon Canal,” Mr. Edmons began.

“Oh, do save the speech for later, Edward. We must get to the bridge in time to greet the barge,” Aunt Edmons scolded.

“And then cakes at the Bear Hotel after?” one of the younger girls squeaked, unable to contain her excitement.