Page 13 of Hearts of Locke Hill

“Although,” Lydia said, “had I been consulted, I might’ve suggestedExtraordinaryYoung Women, orBrilliantYoung Women, orGoddesses of Knowledge.” She tilted her head. “But this works, I suppose.”

Violet huffed. “It was difficult enough to get Father to agree to any name at all.”

Florrie’s delicate brows lifted. “Can you imagine your father’s reaction?” She lowered her voice in an attempt to match Violet’s alto. “By Tootles’ arrow, Father, let us call our new school Locke Hill College for Goddesses of Knowledge. It’ll be a smash.”

Ruby’s jaw dropped. “Oh, that sounded just like her. Do Lydia.”

Florrie lifted her chin. “Dash it all to Hades in a skirt.I’llbe driving the motorcar, Spencer. You can just sit there and gaze at me adoringly.”

Lydia gasped. “I do not say that. Aloud.”

The women laughed. Then sobered, gazing at the brass plate.

“It really is lovely,” Florrie said.

“It’s sort of a dream come true, isn’t it?” Ruby said. “The way your mother had to sneak your schooling in?” The Wendy-birds knew Violet’s thirst for knowledge had led to her clandestine studies. Young women of high society did not attend college.

Violet sighed, that shiver of excitement returning. “Yes, well, the important thing is that Father agreed. To all of it. Well, most of it. Some of it.” She laughed softly.

Ruby shook her head. “Your mama is a miracle worker.”

“She does take salesmanship to a new art form.” She gazed up at the ancient monstrosity in front of them. Aged gray stone with white brackets, balustrades, and columns. Four stories high, each with eight tall windows on either side of the central half-moon portico. The property was Mama’s, an ancient estate at the base of a wooded hill, some miles southeast of Albury. The idea, though, was all Violet’s.

A girls’ school. Not just any girls’ school. A college rife with revolution. Quiet, definite revolution, if she had anything to say about it. Violet and Mama had worked for two years building an idea to plans, and from plans to action. It had been a most difficult secret to keep from the Wendy League, though Florrie already knew. Mrs. Janes had helped Mama with some of the rigors of putting a school together, and Florrie had puzzled it out. As Violet said, a difficult secret to keep. And now she need not keep it any longer.

“Are we going to stand here like a set of potted topiaries, or are we going inside?” Lydia asked.

To say the building had needed updating was an understatement. But the interior was practically complete, and most of the remaining work had moved to the exterior buildings and the property itself. Scaffolding currently scaled up the house on eitherside of them, and painters were putting the finishing touches on the window casings and trim work. One of the younger painters paused and tipped his cap at Florrie. She wiggled her fingers back at him with a coy smile.

Violet opened the door, hooked her elbow through Florrie’s, and pulled her inside. Florrieoofed with the swift displacement.

“You know I’m open-minded to a lot of things,” Violet said out of the side of her mouth, “but try not to flirt with the hired men, darling.” She closed the door after Lydia and Ruby had slipped in.

Florrie sighed. “They’re so yummy.”

“Yes, and I’m sure they’d find you a scrumptious dessert as well, and then what?”

“Oh, it’s just fun, Violet. Sweets never did anyone any harm.”

Violet arched a brow at Lydia. “Will you give her the bad news, or shall I?”

Lydia grinned. “You must do it. I’m afraid I’ve developed quite a sweet tooth myself.” She ran her fingers along the walnut paneling in the entry.

Violet placed a hand on her hip. “You and Spencer Hayes arenotFlorrie Janes and some painter out there on scaffolding.” She shook her head with a huff. “I can’t believe I just had to make that comparison aloud.”

Ruby smiled. “I’d think you’d be used to saying things you never thought you would with these two about.”

Violet pursed her lips in silent agreement.

Lydia sighed and reluctantly eyed Florrie. “She does have a point. Eyes watch you, not just in Albury. In all of Surrey. You are a face of the Grant-Janes empire. A very lovely face. You must take care.”

Florrie pushed out a pout. “I’m very aware of my place. Andmy face, thank you. I know what is expected of me, and for the most part, I’ve no opposition to it.” Her pout dissolved into a mischievous smirk. “I can’t help it if I’m a natural flirt.”

Violet clenched her jaw but was unable to stop the smile that came with her friend’s blatant self-regard. At the age of one and twenty, Florrie Janes had already been named heiress to her father’s transportation empire and was learning the running of things, inside and out. At times, Violet suppressed a mean twinge of jealousy. Mr. Lucas Janes was a very different male creature from Mr. Hugh Whittemore.

Taking in the changes in the entrance hall, Violet switched tracks. “They’ve made much progress.” It had been two weeks since she’d been able to visit the school. Dust and debris littered the broad black-and-white tiled floor, but it was the stuff of carpentry instead of neglect. The upper walls had been stripped of dark coverings and painted a pale blue. The walnut staircase had been sanded, cleaned, and rubbed deeply with finish until it shone, mellow and lustrous. Base and crown moldings gleamed. Sounds of hammering and shouts of direction echoed from different parts of the house. The sounds of finishing one dream and beginning another.

The home was not Kinthwaite Park nor Grantmore. No roses or cherubs or curling plumage deeply carved into the hardwood, only simple columns and corbels throughout the home and tall, arched windows in every room. The staircase, though a lovely feature, was not the grand focal point of the hall. But, she thought, a lovely central pedestal table would be, with a Chinese vase overflowing with cut flowers grown on the property. Violet could see it, the welcome this room would offer to all who entered in only a short while.