Page 35 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)
“The windows are a gift,” she observed, moving to examine the large, mullioned openings that would provide excellent illumination for reading and writing. “Though they’ll need proper glazing to keep out the winter drafts.”
Ewan, who had been examining the massive stone fireplace that dominated one wall, turned to them with a thoughtful expression. “The chimney appears in good condition. With proper cleaning and a new grate, it should provide adequate heating.”
“What do you think, William?” Samantha asked, noticing how the boy was studying the room with careful attention. “Will this serve as a proper schoolroom once it’s repaired?”
The child looked startled at being directly addressed by the duchess, but recovered quickly. “It’s bigger than our cottage, Your Grace,” he offered seriously. “But where would the teacher sleep?”
“An excellent question,” she praised, impressed by his practical consideration. “I believe we might partition a small section for the teacher’s quarters, don’t you think, Your Grace?”
Ewan nodded, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners in the way that had become so dear to her. “A sound suggestion. Perhaps at the western end, where the second fireplace is located.”
“And there must be shelves for books,” Heather piped up from where she had been quietly listening to the adults’ conversation. “Many, many books.”
“Indeed, there must,” Samantha agreed solemnly. “A school without books would be like a garden without flowers.”
The girl’s face lit up at this comparison, and she offered a shy smile that transformed her solemn countenance. “My mother grows roses,” she confided. “The red ones smell the sweetest.”
“Your mother has excellent taste,” Samantha replied, charmed by this glimpse into the child’s life. “Perhaps when the school is completed, we might plant some roses along the path.”
While she continued her conversation with Heather, Percy had gathered the other children in the large central room and appeared to be organizing some sort of activity.
Samantha watched with growing curiosity as he arranged them in a circle, giving each child a specific instruction in a voice too low for her to hear.
“What mischief is your nephew plotting now?” she asked Ewan, who had been consulting with Mr. Finchley about the estimated costs of the repairs.
He followed her gaze, his expression shifting from concern to cautious interest. “I’m not entirely certain, though I note a suspicious absence of poetry recitation thus far.”
As they watched, Percy stepped into the center of the circle and raised his hands dramatically. “And now, my young friends, we shall demonstrate for Their Graces the grand astronomical dance of the planets!”
“Oh dear,” Ewan murmured, though there was more amusement than apprehension in his tone.
To Samantha’s surprise, what followed was not the chaotic spectacle she had half-expected, but a surprisingly organized performance.
Each child, it seemed, had been assigned the role of a celestial body, with Percy serving as the sun at the center of their solar system.
They began to move in concentric circles around him, their orbits intersecting in a pattern that, while somewhat uneven due to the varying sizes and coordination of the children, nevertheless conveyed a basic understanding of planetary movement.
“Mercury travels fastest, closest to the sun!” Percy declared as a small boy darted in tight circles around him.
“While stately Saturn moves with dignified grace along his distant path!” This was accompanied by a larger girl who walked with exaggerated slowness at the outer edge of their improvised cosmos.
The other children followed their cues with varying degrees of success, their faces alight with the joy of performance and the novelty of embodying celestial bodies.
“I had no idea Percy possessed such knowledge of astronomy,” Samantha remarked, genuinely impressed by the educational nature of what had initially appeared to be mere theatrics.
“Nor did I,” Ewan admitted, watching his nephew with new appreciation. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s always had a fascination with the night sky—used to beg Matthew to let him stay up to observe the stars.”
The mention of Percy’s father—Ewan’s beloved cousin—brought a momentary shadow to his features that Samantha recognized all too well. She slipped her hand into his, a brief, comforting touch that conveyed understanding without words.
“He has a gift for teaching,” she observed softly. “Look how he holds their attention, how he makes the learning a joy rather than a chore.”
Indeed, the children were fully engaged in their cosmic dance, laughing as they navigated their orbital paths, yet clearly absorbing the basic principles Percy was explaining with enthusiastic gestures.
“The moon circles our Earth,” he was saying as a tiny girl with blonde plaits revolved around a sturdier boy, “just as Earth circles the sun, in an eternal dance choreographed by the hand of creation itself!”
“A trifle poetic,” Ewan commented, “but essentially accurate.”
Samantha squeezed his hand gently before releasing it. “Perhaps there’s a place for poetry in education after all.”
The look he gave her then—a mixture of surprise, consideration, and warming affection—made her heart skip a beat despite the prosaic surroundings and the audience of villagers who had gathered to watch the impromptu astronomy lesson.
When Percy’s demonstration concluded with a grand bow and enthusiastic applause from the assembled children and adults alike, Samantha found herself joining in wholeheartedly.
There was something undeniably charming about his ability to transform a dilapidated cottage into an imaginary cosmos through sheer force of imagination and enthusiasm.
“That was most educational, Lord Stonehall,” she said as he approached, flushed with success and surrounded by his admiring young students. “I had no idea you were so knowledgeable about the heavens.”
Percy beamed at her praise. “The stars have always fascinated me, Aunt Samantha. Each one a burning poem written in the ink of night, visible only to those who lift their gaze above the mundane concerns of earthly existence.”
“And we nearly made it an entire day without metaphors,” Ewan sighed, though the hand he placed on Percy’s shoulder conveyed pride rather than censure.
“Merely one, Uncle,” Percy pointed out reasonably.
Samantha laughed, unable to help herself. “Indeed. And most impressively applied to education rather than romantic pursuits.”
“The children are a far more appreciative audience than most drawing rooms,” Percy confided with unexpected pragmatism. “They actually wish to learn, rather than merely appear to do so.”
This observation, delivered without Percy’s usual dramatic flourish, struck Samantha as surprisingly insightful. There was more to the young viscount than his theatrical tendencies suggested—a depth of understanding that she had perhaps been too quick to dismiss.
“Their enthusiasm is a gift,” she agreed, watching as the children continued to orbit each other even without Percy’s direction, clearly delighted with their new understanding of celestial mechanics. “One I hope we can nurture with this school.”
“Speaking of which,” Ewan interjected, his practical nature reasserting itself, “I believe Mr. Finchley has completed his assessment of the repairs needed. Shall we review his findings?”
They gathered around the small table Mr. Finchley had appropriated for his notes, the steward outlining the necessary work with methodical precision.
The list was substantial but not insurmountable—new roofing, repairs to the damaged wall, replacement of rotted floorboards, proper glazing for the windows, plastering and whitewashing of the interior walls.
“And of course, suitable furniture must be acquired,” Samantha added, mentally tallying the costs. “Desks, benches, a proper table for the teacher, shelving for books…”
“The estate carpenters could fashion those items,” Mr. Finchley suggested. “Would save considerable expense compared to having them brought from London.”
“An excellent suggestion,” Ewan approved. “And perhaps some of the older village boys might assist with the simpler aspects of the construction. It would provide them with useful skills and a sense of ownership in the project.”
“Most wise, Uncle,” Percy interjected, having joined their discussion after extracting himself from his young admirers. “Nothing breeds respect for a structure like having helped build it with one’s own hands.”
Samantha glanced at him with renewed appreciation for his insight. “Precisely so, Percy. And it would help forge connections between the school and the families it will serve.”
As they continued to discuss the practical aspects of the renovation, Samantha found herself increasingly aware of Ewan’s presence beside her—the solid warmth of him, the quiet authority with which he addressed Mr. Finchley’s concerns, the occasional brush of his arm against hers as they leaned over the plans.
Even amid the most mundane details of construction, she felt the pull of attraction between them, a constant awareness that had only grown stronger with familiarity rather than diminishing as she had once feared it might.
When their discussion concluded and Mr. Finchley departed to begin organizing the necessary materials and labor, Ewan suggested they take a final tour of the grounds to envision the completed project.
The children had mostly dispersed by then, called home for midday meals or chores, though William and Heather lingered nearby, clearly reluctant to end their interaction with the noble visitors.
“Perhaps our young friends might show us the path to the millpond,” Samantha suggested, noting their wistful expressions. “I understand it’s quite picturesque.”