Page 7 of Marriage with a Proper Stranger

A widow. The news caused his smile to widen, he wasn’t sure why. But, being the gentleman he was brought up to be, he took her gloved hand and bent over it, skimming his lips across her knuckles. “My distinct pleasure, Lady Pepperdon.” He dropped her hand and met her gaze once again. “How may I assist you?”

“May we speak inside?”

He held out his arm, bidding her to enter first. She stepped across the threshold and looked about the spartan room. “Forgive the state of the place. The school was built over the summer months, and I’m overseeing various alterations. These windows are a perfect example.” They both walked to the opposite side.

“I do not hold with the idea of children learning in a windowless, cold room,” he continued. “It’s done in order for them not to be distracted from their lessons, but I believe large windows should allow sun and fresh air into the learning environment. If a child is to be here most of the day, they should not be cut off from nature and the out-of-doors. They should smell the flowers, feel the heat from the sun, listen to the birds sing.”

“And in the winter?”

“The wood stove there will provide heat, while gently falling snow will cast a tranquil, magical mood,” he replied in a light, teasing tone.

Lady Pepperdon turned, studying him closely, though for what reason, Riordan had no idea. She strode over to the tables, her fingers brushing across the slates. “It must be difficult to teach children of different ages and learning levels. Do they all use slates?”

He followed her, clasping his hands behind his back. “No, the older children use pen, ink, and paper. I have not found it difficult. I treat them all the same, regardless of age or stage of knowledge. I find children respond better when you do not talk down to them.”

“From what I heard you had them in thrall, in the very palm of your hand. There is no need for discipline, then?” she asked, still sauntering leisurely between the tables.

“I’ve only been here three weeks, but I am not a believer in the concept of the old adage ‘spare the rod, spoil the child.’ Children in this day and age have hard enough lives; they do not need me screeching at them or beating them with a cane or ruler in order for them to behave. I don’t mind if children become boisterous once in a while. Learning should be fun.”

Lady Pepperdon swung about and gave him a brief smile. “You are unlike any schoolmaster I’ve ever heard of. Your views are…refreshing.”

He smiled in return. “Good. Then, my lady, you will not be averse to donating to our school library fund.”

“My, you do not waste an instant.”

“No, I do not. I wish to start an arts program. Music and painting, for example. Children should not spend hours hunched over their slates taking endless, repetitive notes. I’m in the process of convincing the board to approve the purchase of paints, brushes, and sugar paper.”

She arched a perfectly shaped brow. “Sugar paper? And what is a board?”

Riordan crossed his arms. “Sugar paper is the heavy brown paper used for sugar bags. If we buy a large roll, we can tear off pieces for the children to paint pictures on. The board is a group of local officials and prominent persons who oversee the collection of fees to run this school. When you told me your name, I assumed your father wished to become involved. I was told he initially turned down a position on the board.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Ah. Then you are not here to inspect the school on behalf of your father, my lady?”

Lady Pepperdon bit her lower lip, and he found it fascinating, as it drew his attention to how lusciously plump they were. She gave off a cool, haughty aura, but he’d observed heated interest flare briefly in her eyes when she first rounded the corner of building. Perhaps he’d imagined it.

“No. Not in any official manner. I was out for a walk and took a rest on the bench. I became quite caught up in your lesson.” She sighed. “I wanted to converse with you for another reason, though now it seems flighty and silly. What is your age?”

The question threw him, as he did not expect it. “I recently turned twenty-six. Why, do you believe me too young for such a position?”

“No. Perhaps too young for me,” she muttered.

He stepped closer. “I beg your pardon, my lady?”

“I am in a bit of a fix, Mr. Black. A dire situation needing immediate attention.” She wrung her gloved hands together in agitation. “Oh, bother. There is my maid, Mary, with the carriage. When may we speak in private?”

His curiosity was piqued, to say the least. “Why not come again at the same time tomorrow, my lady? The children return to their homes for a two-hour luncheon break. Is that sufficient time to have a private conversation?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. That will do. Good afternoon, Mr. Black.”

Riordan gave her a brief bow, but she had already swept from the room, leaving an enticing scent of lemon and orange blossoms in her wake. Easy, lad. His grandfather’s stark warning came to mind. This was no place for finding any woman attractive, especially a widow to an earl. A schoolmaster could not afford to become entangled with any lady; he must be above reproach with no whiff of scandal.

Then why in hell did he arrange a clandestine meeting with her tomorrow?

* * * *

Sabrina had hardly slept at all. The trip to town turned out to be a complete waste, as the men she managed to seek out could not hold a candle to the appealing schoolmaster. Such a motive as his good looks should not matter in the least for her plan. But from their brief conversation, she had the distinct feeling that Mr. Black could be trusted to keep his word.