through the rooms, a gloomy shadow. Not that the duke seemed perturbed by the boy’s silence. The duke spent most of each day in his book-room, reading.
That was why she was startled when a footman came with the message that Mr. Weare wished to speak with Miss Needham immediately. Closing her bottle of ink, Angela rose. She had met Master Thomas’s tutor only once, but he had not seemed to be the sort of man to make such demands lightly.
Angela had been astonished to learn that Master Thomas was still being taught at home instead of being sent to school. Miss Sutton had explained that His Grace wanted the children to become acclimated to England before being separated.
“But Master Thomas is so unhappy here, ” Angela said as she climbed the narrow stairs to the uppermost floor to the nursery. Master Thomas would welcome her compassion as little as he had her interference in his friendship with Lord Harrington.
“Blast him!” Angela muttered as she walked along the upper corridor. When a maid glanced at her—aghast at her unseemly language—Angela hurried to the nursery. She had been brought to Oslington Court to refine Miss Sutton, but the uncomfortable situation was quickly ruining Angela’s manners.
Entering the classroom, Angela did not see Mr. Weare by the two low tables. Miss Esther shared one with her younger brother while Master Thomas worked alone. Miss Sutton continued to study French with the tutor every other day.
“Mr. Weare?” Angela called, hoping the tutor had not gone in search of her. They could spend the afternoon wandering through the halls of Oslington Court and never find each other.
“Just a moment, Miss Needham,” came his scratchy voice from an inner room.
As good as his word, the tutor appeared right after his reply finished echoing along the high ceiling. Mr. Weare had a long nose and the unfortunate complexion left from a youthful bout of smallpox. His black hair was the only color on his features, for his skin was sallow from too little contact with the sun. Dressed in a coat and breeches that strained across his bulk, he was far from a fearsome creature. Yet the children offered him a respect that Mrs. Meyer had been unable to win.
He smiled, but Angela sensed tension in his motions that were as jerky as a hangman’s rope. “I am so pleased you could come quickly, Miss Needham.”
“Your message suggested that what you wish to discuss is a matter of some import.”
“I wish to discuss Master Thomas.”
Angela nodded. When the schoolmaster motioned for her to sit, she chose one of the hard benches. He leaned against his high desk and sighed.
“Mr. Weare,” she said, having sympathy for him, “I know Master Thomas has been sullen since I—” She clamped her lips closed because she had said nothing to anyone about the conversation with Lord Harrington by the gate. Her hope that her silence would convince Master Thomas that he could trust her had failed.
“I know he has developed an antipathy to you that is in direct contrast with his siblings’ opinions. That is why I was curious as to the sudden change in him.”
“There has been no change.”
Again he sighed, his bulky shoulders rising and lowering slowly. “’Tis as I feared. I found it odd that he asked to be excused from working here this afternoon because he planned to join you and the younger children exploring the gardens and the outbuildings.”
“Master Thomas has as little to do with me as possible. I fear we got off to a very poor beginning when I prevented him from doing something he wished to do.”
“You need not explain. Lord Harrington!” He clasped his hands behind the back of his funereal coat. “Damn that man!” His wan cheeks became a more lively shade. “Forgive my fervor, Miss Needham, but I believe the viscount is leading Master Thomas down a very unrosy garden path.”
Angela set herself on her feet. The tutor’s words told her what she should have guessed. Master Thomas
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