Partridge and the Peartree Page 4

  The girl frowned. "I suppose you're right. It is only for a little while. Nicky says he doesn't enjoy the social life, but perhaps he'll attend a ball or two to please me."

  "Undoubtedly."

  "I'm still not certain I should dance with other men besides Nicky, but I suppose I could go through with the presentation at court. Just to please my parents, of course."

  "Of course," Amelia replied. "And I know they will be so proud of you."

  The girl surprised her with a quick hug, and then launched into a flurry of plans, pacing excitedly in front of the bench. Amelia listened for a few seconds, but her attention was diverted to her other side when Phillip leaned toward her and whispered, "Well done, Lady Amelia."

  Despite the cool weather, Amelia felt a definite rise in the temperature.

  Chapter Seven

  Phillip sat beside the young boy, his large hand gently covering Bertie's smaller one, helping the child form the letters of his name. The lines were shaky, but the letters were recognizable.

  "Excellent, Bertie. Now, can you do it by yourself?"

  The six-year-old nodded and pursed his lips as he gripped the quill tightly and concentrated on his task.

  Phillip wasn't sure how he'd come to actually help Amelia in this makeshift schoolroom. He'd merely wanted to see that she'd received the supplies he had sent. And then suddenly she'd had to deal with a little girl's tears, and Bertie had needed help. She'd turned to him, but he'd hesitated. He'd turned to her footman, who had shrugged.

  "Beggin' Your Grace's pardon," Giles had said. "I'd like to help, but I can't read. I help Lady Amelia carry her supplies and watch out for pickpockets and lowlife, but I can't help her in here."

  With a sigh, Phillip had seated himself next to the child, showing Bertie again and again how to form the letters of his name.

  A sixth sense told him someone stood behind him. He twisted around and saw a man watching Bertie's work intently. One hand was raised, his index finger tracing a path in the air.

  Realizing the duke had spotted him, the man put his hand down and lowered his eyes. His cheeks reddened. "Sorry, Yer Grace. little Bertie's me nephew, and since we share the same given name, I thought so's I'd learn along with 'im how ta write it. That way, I can sign me own name, rather than just a mark."

  Phillip's mind whirled at the man's words. Reading and writing were so much a part of his life that he couldn't imagine not having the ability to do so. And being able to sign one's own name to a document was a basic skill this man didn't have.

  "I have plenty of paper here and another quill," he told the older Bertie. "Why don't you sit down and join us?"

  The older Bertie's jaw dropped. "Me? Sittin' down wi' a duke? Truly, Yer Grace?"

  "Truly. I'd be honored to help you."

  Big Bertie promptly plopped himself on Phillip's other side. "Thank ye, Yer Grace," he said. "Me name's Bertie Jones, and if ye ever need yer chimney swept, I'm yer man." He was soon hard at work writing the letters of his name, his face as determined as the younger Bertie's.

  The boy finally finished writing the last letter and looked up with pride shining from his dark eyes. "I wrote my name all by myself," he cried. "Mama will be so proud of me."

  Phillip shared in the boy's joy. "Perhaps she'll give you a treat."

  Bertie's face fell. "Maybe. If Mama can get enough washing to buy food this week."

  "What about your father?"

  "Papa is sick. He got hurt at his work. He has marks like yours all over his whole body." He pointed to the scars on Phillip's face.

  "How did he get them?"

  "He was working in a factory, and the furnace exploded. Now he can't walk. Mostly he just stays in the bed, because he can't see and he can hardly hear." Bertie reached up and gently traced a scar on Phillip's cheek. "Does it hurt?"

  Phillip shook his head. "Not any more."

  Bertie nodded. "Mama said someday soon, Papa's sores won't hurt him any more." He turned his hopeful eyes back to Phillip's. "Do you think that will be soon?"

  Phillip's heart ached. Bertie's father didn't have long to live. What were a few facial scars compared to the agony this boy's father had had to endure? He swallowed. "I hope so, Bertie. I sincerely hope so."

  ****

  "Thank you again for helping little Bertie Crabtree, Your Grace," Amelia said as he escorted her out of the cathedral to his waiting carriage. "I know he looked up to you. He misses interaction with his father."

  "Yes, he told me about his father's accident. I would like to do something to help his family."

  "How generous of you, Your Grace. I know they would appreciate your donation."

  "I could donate, but I thought perhaps I would see if Bertie's mother could join my household staff. He told me she presently takes in washing."

  Amelia stopped in her tracks. "What a wonderful idea! I'm sure that would help the family immensely. I have been trying to think of ways to help the students and their families. But giving them positions would benefit them so much more than simply giving them food and money."

  Her mind raced with new ideas. She bubbled with excitement as he handed her into the carriage. "I can't offer positions to every family, but I think I can persuade Mrs. Garrett, our housekeeper, into hiring one or two more maids," she declared. "And I shall speak to some of my friends about it, too. They're always complaining about how difficult it is to get good help. I shall have to gather the children's parents together and find out what their talents are. If there are men who have training of any kind, that will make them more marketable…"

  Before she knew it, they had arrived back at Sudbury House, and she bade the duke a good night. She went straight to her room and gathered her writing materials. She had work to do.

  Chapter Eight

  Phillip handed Amelia into his carriage and climbed in after her. He sank into the seat, exhausted. Several new students had come for tonight's session, and they had both kept busy trying to get the new children caught up with the more advanced.

  Drawn by the eagerness of the students, as well as the dedication of their teacher, Phillip had attended nearly every session since his meeting with the two Berties, and he had faithfully supplied materials for each lesson. He'd even produced an easel to make it easier for her to instruct the entire group. And each time, his cook had sent tasty sandwiches for the children and the increasing number of parents who came to observe. The food was as much of an attraction as the lessons, but knowing he was feeding their stomachs as well as their minds gave Phillip a sense of purpose he'd never known.

  He sensed she had spoken, so he turned to get a clear view of her mouth. "Pardon me?" he asked.

  "The children should have a Christmas party," she declared. "I imagine their holiday isn't nearly as merry as ours. Most of their parents can't afford gifts. We could give them a nice meal and some small gifts — as a reward for doing so well on their lessons."

  "Excellent idea," Phillip agreed. "I have several books I could contribute as gifts. When should this celebration take place?"

  "It would be nice to have it on Christmas Eve, but I'll have to plan it for the day before. My brother insists on my attendance at the Kringles' Ball at Holly Hall. He says that since Colette has left him, we must attend several major functions to reassure the ton he is not distraught over her departure."

  "I think it would be safe to assume no one would think of him that way. But I sympathize for him. I didn't realize Mademoiselle Colette had left."

  "Yes, Edward mentioned something to her about financial losses. Apparently he made some investments that didn't prove to be profitable. The losses weren't that great, but it was enough to send her packing."

  "Ah. Well, I'm sure you will be an excellent substitute for your brother. But I hope you will save a dance for me."

  ****

  Amelia and her lady's maid Jeanne entered the foyer of Bartlett Manor, gazing about them at the somewhat shabby splendor. Here and there, she could see places where it w
as evident that renovations were underway. Amelia's artistic mind whirled as she imagined homey touches she would have added. Over here is a nice spot for a comfortable seating arrangement. This room needs new draperies and perhaps a more calming color on the walls.

  Utley, the butler who had let them in, took their cloaks and bowed. "I shall inform His Grace you have arrived. Please wait here," he instructed, gesturing toward a pair of comfortable chairs.

  She was about to sit when she heard a rustling of skirts. Absently, she looked up and then blinked when she recognized the maid. "Mrs. Crabtree. How nice to see you."

  The woman turned at Amelia's greeting, and her face lit in a wide smile. She rushed forward and held out her arms to Amelia, but stopped short and dropped into a curtsey instead.

  "Oh, Miss Par — I mean, Lady Amelia, I can't thank you enough for bringing the good duke into our lives. 'E told me you was a real lady, not just a miss — oh, I knew it was so, they way you was always so proper, like. Anyway, 'e got me this job doing the laundry 'ere, and when I had trouble travelin' from Cheapside, 'e moved our whole family 'ere to this house! Little Bertie is gettin' his lessons from the valet, Mr. Townley, and the duke's own physician is seein' to my Arnold. I fear 'e'll never be able to walk again, but 'is sight is gettin' better, and 'is spirits are risin' each day. Oh, My Lady, the duke is a true godsend!"

  Amelia offered her congratulations, and Mrs. Crabtree left to attend to her duties. Left again with her thoughts and the silent Jeanne, she paced. Today was the day she would tell Phillip about her other life — that of a writer. What would his reaction be? Would he be disgusted? Worse yet, would he demand she stop writing before their association continued? Or would he accept it and encourage her, as he had done with her efforts to help educate the poor children?

  She didn't think she could bear it if he rejected her other life. Over the last few weeks, he had become so important to her. Who would have known that a duke could be so compassionate for the poor? He'd been so wonderful with the children from the first day he'd visited and had returned several other times to help. He'd listened patiently, interested in their stories, and his big, strong, capable hands had guided theirs as they'd written their letters in the notebooks he'd bought for them.

  He'd been wonderful with the parents, too. True to his word, he'd helped the Crabtree family. Learning that Bertie Jones was a chimney sweep, Phillip had promptly hired his services and arranged for several other adults to assist with repairs to the manor.

  The handsome duke was fast becoming her life. But writing was her life, also. She had stories to tell, and she enjoyed writing. She had to be honest with him, and if he rejected her, she would be devastated. But she would carry on. Alone.

  She heard the click of a door opening, and then he was there. His handsome face broke into a smile, and he reached out to take her hands.

  "Good morning, Lady Amelia." He glanced a teasing glance at Jeanne. "And I see you have brought a suitable chaperone for your visit to my home."

  "Good morning, Your Grace, and thank you so much for your generous offer to supply books to the children. They will make wonderful Christmas gifts, and I know they will be appreciated."

  Phillip executed a half-bow. "It is my pleasure, Lady Amelia. Please come with me to the library and assist me in picking them out." He turned to Jeanne. "Please come in with us. Lady Amelia mentioned you enjoy reading. Feel free to browse whatever shelves you like. Perhaps you'll find something to your liking."

  Amelia, followed closely by Jeanne, followed him down the hall to a wide set of doors, which he opened then gestured for them to precede him. They stepped through the threshold but stopped in awe.

  The Peartree library was nearly as large as most ballrooms Amelia had seen. Bookshelves covered nearly every inch of the walls, and each shelf was overflowing with books.

  It was Paradise.

  "Er, it might be easier to select the books if you stepped a little closer to them," Phillip murmured from behind them.

  Prodded back to the present, Amelia stepped into the room. She started to peruse the shelves to the right of the doorway. Jeanne, more interested in the décor than the books, went to the left. Phillip followed Amelia.

  "The children's books are over here," he said as he guided her toward the window. She walked with him to the bookshelf, preparing herself for what she had to say.

  "Your Grace—"

  "Here are some nice books I enjoyed as a youngster," he told her, pulling them off the shelves. He stopped when he reached a well-worn volume. "This one was my favorite. I'd like to keep this one — for my own children," he added, casting her a heated gaze.

  Children with Phillip! What an incredible thought. She took a deep breath and scrambled to recall the line of conversation.

  "Oh, yes, Your Grace. You must surely keep your treasured volumes for your own family." She cleared her throat. "What about some of the adults? Do you know of some easier books or magazines they might enjoy?"

  Phillip turned back to his bookshelves. "Yes, I had thought about that. I remember some adventure stories my brother and I enjoyed when we were young. The vocabulary in them might be easy enough for beginning readers."

  Quickly, she told herself. Tell him now, before you lose your courage. "Your Grace, I have some books I've written myself. I — write love stories. I'm going to give some of them to some of the women in the group."

  The duke said nothing, but he continued to peruse the books on the shelves.

  "I hope you're not appalled at my vocation. I know my brother would insist I stop if he knew. But I've enjoyed a measure of success, and I'm actually starting to make some money from sales of my stories."

  "This is not good. I can't believe it."

  Not good? He's not willing to accept my writing?

  "I know I saw those books just last week. Perhaps I set them aside already."

  She didn't understand. Wasn't he going to reply to her admission? Or was his ignoring it tantamount to a dismissal? She was used to that. Edward tended to ignore her whenever he disagreed with her, and her father had done the same. She'd expected different behavior from Phillip.

  She sighed. Well, if that was how he was going to react, perhaps it was better for her to limit her interaction with the handsome duke. She'd best be on her way as soon as possible.

  Somehow, she managed to remain cordial as they finished selecting gifts for the children and their parents. But as soon as they were finished, she hurried with Jeanne to the door, not answering his reminder about the Kringles' Christmas Ball.

  ****

  The chapel was abuzz with activity. Garlands of pine, adorned with flowers and ribbon, cascaded from every wall sconce, and similar decorations brightened the candelabras on two long tables. Robert supervised a group of servants carrying in a giant Christmas tree. Jeanne stood with another group, ready to trim its branches with colorful garlands.

  Amelia stood in the center of the room, directing the entire production. She didn't look at him, but her senses were all too aware of Phillip as soon as he entered the room.

  "Everything looks lovely, Lady Amelia. I know the children will be delighted with your efforts," he said near her ear.

  His warm breath sent a delicious shiver down her spine. Would he always have this effect on her? No. She had to be strong. If Phillip couldn't accept her as a writer, she couldn't afford to encourage him.

  She took a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face before turning to Phillip. "Thank you, Your Grace. This couldn't have been done without your generous contributions."

  "It was my pleasure," he replied. "Now, how can I be of assistance?"

  "Hmm. Perhaps you could help place the gifts under the tree." Phillip nodded and set the gaily wrapped packages in place.

  As the light from the windows faded, Robert and several others lit the candles, casting the room in a soft, magical glow. All was ready.

  The guests started to arrive. Some of them came in boisterously, excited at
the promise of food and gifts. Some came in timidly, as if expecting to be disappointed. But children and parents alike gasped with pleasure as they beheld their transformed schoolroom.

  "Mama! Look at the beautiful tree! Just like in the story Miss Partridge read to us! And there are presents under it!"

  There was a mad rush for the tree, but Amelia stood in front of it. "Children, there will be plenty of time for gifts after we've had dinner and a story. Let's take our places at the table. Parents, please come and sit with us."

  Benches scraped the stone floors as they were pulled back and the families settled themselves. All stared expectantly at Amelia.

  "Welcome, everyone, to our Christmas gala. We have a marvelous feast for you this evening. But first, perhaps His Grace would like to offer a word of thanks?"

  All heads swerved to Phillip, who had bent to retrieve a child's spoon that had fallen off the table. Robert, standing beside him, touched his arm and spoke to him softly. Phillip started and he cast a terrified glance toward Amelia but recovered quickly.

  "Er, yes, of course." He bowed his head dutifully, and everyone else in the chapel followed suit. "Thank you, Lord, for this food we are about to receive. And for — for our friends all around us this evening. And — and — Christmas. Thank you especially, for Christmas. Er, Amen."

  As the room echoed with a resounding "Amen," a parade of servants entered, bearing platters of roast goose and mincemeat. Others carried trays of goblets filled with cider. The food was set before the stunned guests. Several people looked to Amelia as if waiting for permission to eat.