Partridge and the Peartree (5 page)

"Perhaps not, but it would be a shame to deny your
mother the joy of seeing her daughter as the beautiful debutante
you would be."

"But, Lady Amelia—"

"Hear me out. Even if your parents approve of — er,
Nicky — you are not yet at the legal age of consent. Why not take a
year and let your parents dote on you? I know you'll have a lovely
time."

"But you didn't," Laurel protested. "I've heard you
complaining about it to Mother."

Amelia pursed her lips. Her family had always chided
her about her runaway mouth. Now, it could cause a problem for her
friend.

She cleared her throat, hoping the inspiration would
come. "Laurel, dear, I was wrong to protest against my mother. Had
I simply gone along with her wishes, I would have made her happy,
and she would have seen for herself how unsuitable the young men in
my circle had been for me. It would have saved us both a lot of
unpleasantness."

Laurel sighed. "So you think I should just let Mother
have her way and make me spend an entire season being nice to mere
boys in whom I have absolutely no interest?"

"Mmm, there are some good things to consider."

"What would those be?"

"Well, as a debutante, you will be presented at
court. That's quite exciting."

Laurel's face brightened. "Oh, yes. I'd forgotten
about that."

"And you'll have a beautiful new wardrobe."

"Well, that would be nice, but Nicky says I'm
beautiful even without the fancy clothes."

"That's quite…gallant of him. But think how much more
beautiful you'll be in a lovely new wardrobe. He'll probably be
invited to attend many of the same events as you, and then he'll be
able to see how lucky he is to have your affection. Besides, the
season is only a few months. If you don't do it, you'll disappoint
your mother, and you may regret it later. If you go through with
your season and make her happy, you'll also have some wonderful
tales to share with your own daughter someday."

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.

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.

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 was 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."