Page 22 of Marriage with a Proper Stranger

For a brief moment, when Sutherhorne had agreed to her demands, she’d considered going through with the marriage. It would ensure her future…and Mary’s. But in the end, she could not do it. Not for all the money and comforts in the world.

Her future now lay in the hands of a schoolmaster. She had to place her complete trust in Riordan Black and pray he managed to wring a settlement out of her father and turn Sutherhorne away. How could it be accomplished? There were too many variables. It could all go wrong in many ways. The more she thought about it, the more she realized the mad scheme had no chance of success.

Sabrina had no choice. There was only one thing to do.

Run.

* * * *

A rumble of thunder sounded overhead, causing the students to gasp and gaze worriedly at the heavy rain lashing against the windows. Howling winds rattled the panes and tore leaves from nearby trees. Riordan had not witnessed such an intense thunderstorm in October before. “Settle down, students. We’re safe. No cause for alarm. The roof will hold and not spring any leaks, I am sure of it. Now, where were we?”

Charlie raised his hand. “You were showing us the globe.”

Riordan’s personal curriculum did not follow the standard one in use for smaller, rural schools, where emphasis lay on physical labors instead of intellectual ones. Why would a farmer care where the Russian Empire is located on a map? was the general thinking. Riordan did not subscribe to teaching knitting for girls and shoemaking for the boys, for example. Developing the mind was a far more useful skill.

It had taken some doing to convince the board, and there were a few in the town who objected to his “radical” teachings. Like the vicar. He wanted a curriculum that leaned heavily on religion, infusing bible study as part of the daily routine. Riordan had managed to convince the vicar—and the board—that religion was best left to an expanded Sunday school period.

Riordan reached for the large globe and held it up in front of him. “There is a huge world out there beyond Great Britain.” He spun the globe. “Earth moves about in space just like this, but perhaps not quite this fast.” The children giggled. “As we discussed yesterday, this is how we have day and night, the sun setting in the west and rising in the east. This is where science and geography intersect.”

A couple of the younger students looked at him with puzzlement. Sometimes, he forgot he was teaching children ranging from age seven to seventeen, the majority between the ages of ten and thirteen. “Intersect means to overlap, or to divide by passing through or across. For example, Weldon Road intersects with the town. Understand?” Everyone nodded. “Remember, if you do not understand the meaning of a word, raise your hand and I will gladly explain—”

A booming crash of thunder drowned out the rest of his sentence. His youngest student, a sweet girl named Annabelle, screamed and vaulted from her desk, then ran toward him. She flung herself at him, clutching his legs as if looking for protection. God, the poor wee thing was trembling.

His protective instincts went into full alert and he scooped the frightened child into his arms. She immediately hugged him about his neck, holding on for dear life. “There, child,” he whispered soothingly. “No need to be afraid. Thunder and lightning can be loud and overpowering, but they are merely a facet of weather, just warm air and cool air slamming against each other. It will be over soon, I promise.” He walked about the front of the class, humming quietly until Annabelle settled.

The young girl did not have a father; the man had disappeared when she was a baby. Annabelle ran to Riordan for protection because she had no other male influence in her life except him. A sad state of affairs, but Riordan soon learned many of his students looked to him as a father figure, and it was humbling indeed. He carried Annabelle to her desk and made sure she was calm and comfortable. Another crash sounded. Wait. It wasn’t thunder. Someone was pounding on the door.

“Students, study the drawing of the map of the world in front of you. When I return, we will discuss the continents. Clara, watch over the class.” The older girl nodded and moved to his desk. Clara had expressed a desire to be a teacher, and he often used her as a de facto assistant.

With the class under control, Riordan strode toward the alcove and the front entrance beyond. He flung open the door and a soaking wet Miss Tuttle stood before him, gasping and out of breath. “Mr.…Black …” she wheezed.

He clasped her arm and assisted her across the threshold. “Good God. What is it?”

She took several deep breaths and exhaled. “I…I ran all the way. One moment.” Regaining a more regulated breathing, she gazed up at him, her worried expression certainly cause for concern. “When we arrived, the earl was there. Sutherhorne.”

Damn. “He wasn’t supposed to be there until tomorrow.”

Miss Tuttle nodded. “Yes. Not expected. Lady Pepperdon was shoved into a room with him. She bade me to come to you, and to say whatever you’ve planned will have to be put into action immediately.”

“Come sit by the woodstove and dry off. Unfortunately, I can do nothing until class dismisses in two hours. Hopefully by then it will have stopped raining. In the meantime, stay as my guest, Miss Tuttle.”

“Thank you. Please, call me Mary as Lady Pepperdon does.”

“Very well, Mary.” Still clasping her arm, he escorted her to the woodstove and saw her settled. “Class, this is Miss Tuttle. She is taking refuge from the storm and will be our guest for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Tuttle,” the class said in singsong unison.

Riordan’s mind raced. What he’d planned would have to be put into action right away. A good thing Garrett had not departed for home yet—he would need him. But first…he turned toward his eager students. “The continents…”

* * * *

The rain had let up by dismissal. After assuring Mary he would act immediately, he made for his cottage. Upon entry, he found Garrett sitting in the overstuffed armchair with one long leg dangling over the side. He had a book in one hand and a whiskey in the other. A roaring fire crackled in the hearth. Riordan stood in front of it and warmed his hands.

Garrett looked up from his book. “Dismissal already? Where did the afternoon go?”

“Don’t you look comfortable.”

Garrett slammed the book shut. “I am. I do not often take a respite like this. I must do it more often. Your housekeeper brought a kettle of beef stew by, along with a fresh loaf of bread. I’m famished. Let’s tuck in.”