“Finished your morning studies, Harry?”
The boy nodded, his red hair bouncing. Bright green eyes widened. “Did you say someone else was coming?”
Rising to his feet, Ashworth nodded. “Yes, she should be here tomorrow.”
Harry clapped his hands. “Will she bring me a present like grandmother does?”
Spoken like a true seven-year-old. Although, as the boy’s grandmother insisted, other lads saw more of the world than a misty moor and ragged cliffs. Ashworth swallowed his growl. The boy had grown just fine within these ancient walls. He had no need for other children, for a finer education. John taught him all he needed to know.
Ashworth glanced about the room. A globe sat in the far corner, among other framed maps. Several desks and tables were set up for different learning tasks. And everywhere, books and drawing tablets for lessons. What else would some fancy boarding school provide for him?
Harry joined them at the window. He rose up on his toes so that his eyes barely cleared the ledge. “Is she there?”
“Whom?”
“The pretty lady with raven wing hair.”
Ashworth turned a sharp eye on his last remaining friend from school, his breath halted. “He knows of her already?”
John did not withdraw at the glare. “I cannot keep a watch on him every hour of the day. This boy is as slippery as a muddy creek bank. Besides, he can see her out the window just as you can.”
Ashworth glanced down at the bright red hair. Harry was mischievous all right. He longed to visit the lake he saw in the far distance. He certainly gave poor Mrs. Plimpton a few frights. His antics even had Pinkley snickering a time or two. But would he seek out Vivian?
Green eyes lifted up to him. “What’s her name? I think she’s an angel.”
John coughed. Ashworth stared out the window again. “Miss Suttley. But I do not want you finding her.”
“Why not?”
“Because she is not staying long.”
“But maybe she will play with me.”
Ashworth pushed away thoughts of Vivian’s long nails trailing down his back, her supple lips tasting his mouth. He wanted to play with her. Again. But he dared not.
“You must listen to me, Harry. Stay to your rooms.”
“But what about the other lady coming here? Can I meet her?”
Sharp apprehension halted his breath. “Faith, no.”
Catherine could never know about Harry’s existence. If he feared Vivian’s knowledge, Catherine proved the much greater danger. The boy was a secret that could not leave these walls. His heart quaked at the thought of losing Harry. His son gave him purpose, a hope at a future.
Ashworth tousled Harry’s hair. “I realize you are excited to meet new people, but you must stay away from these visitors.”
Innocent eyes darted from him down to the grounds far below. “I’ll do it…as long as you bring me some sweetmeats from Cook.”
John laughed then crossed the room, pretending to straighten the school papers.
“Whatever it takes,” Ashworth answered. “You are an excellent negotiator.”
Harry’s red eyebrows furrowed. “What’s a negotitator?”
“Go learn, my boy. You have an excellent teacher.”
With an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders, Harry left his post by the window and dashed back across the schoolroom.
Ashworth gave Vivian a last glance, decided she’d need help with her chore, and slipped quietly from the room.
He heard her before he saw her. Soft humming carried on the misty breeze. Her song was punctuated by the occasional caw of a bird or rustle of leaves. In the ethereal fog, her voice could be that of a fairy or a lonely ghost.
Vivian pulled more brush to the pile she’d begun. He watched her work for a moment, savoring the slick shine of her cheek, the ruddy color of her skin. She reminded him of the village girls he saw many years ago while at school. He’d lust for their quiet beauty, their unassuming charm. But his friends swayed him, pointing him down different paths. Ones that would eventually
The boy nodded, his red hair bouncing. Bright green eyes widened. “Did you say someone else was coming?”
Rising to his feet, Ashworth nodded. “Yes, she should be here tomorrow.”
Harry clapped his hands. “Will she bring me a present like grandmother does?”
Spoken like a true seven-year-old. Although, as the boy’s grandmother insisted, other lads saw more of the world than a misty moor and ragged cliffs. Ashworth swallowed his growl. The boy had grown just fine within these ancient walls. He had no need for other children, for a finer education. John taught him all he needed to know.
Ashworth glanced about the room. A globe sat in the far corner, among other framed maps. Several desks and tables were set up for different learning tasks. And everywhere, books and drawing tablets for lessons. What else would some fancy boarding school provide for him?
Harry joined them at the window. He rose up on his toes so that his eyes barely cleared the ledge. “Is she there?”
“Whom?”
“The pretty lady with raven wing hair.”
Ashworth turned a sharp eye on his last remaining friend from school, his breath halted. “He knows of her already?”
John did not withdraw at the glare. “I cannot keep a watch on him every hour of the day. This boy is as slippery as a muddy creek bank. Besides, he can see her out the window just as you can.”
Ashworth glanced down at the bright red hair. Harry was mischievous all right. He longed to visit the lake he saw in the far distance. He certainly gave poor Mrs. Plimpton a few frights. His antics even had Pinkley snickering a time or two. But would he seek out Vivian?
Green eyes lifted up to him. “What’s her name? I think she’s an angel.”
John coughed. Ashworth stared out the window again. “Miss Suttley. But I do not want you finding her.”
“Why not?”
“Because she is not staying long.”
“But maybe she will play with me.”
Ashworth pushed away thoughts of Vivian’s long nails trailing down his back, her supple lips tasting his mouth. He wanted to play with her. Again. But he dared not.
“You must listen to me, Harry. Stay to your rooms.”
“But what about the other lady coming here? Can I meet her?”
Sharp apprehension halted his breath. “Faith, no.”
Catherine could never know about Harry’s existence. If he feared Vivian’s knowledge, Catherine proved the much greater danger. The boy was a secret that could not leave these walls. His heart quaked at the thought of losing Harry. His son gave him purpose, a hope at a future.
Ashworth tousled Harry’s hair. “I realize you are excited to meet new people, but you must stay away from these visitors.”
Innocent eyes darted from him down to the grounds far below. “I’ll do it…as long as you bring me some sweetmeats from Cook.”
John laughed then crossed the room, pretending to straighten the school papers.
“Whatever it takes,” Ashworth answered. “You are an excellent negotiator.”
Harry’s red eyebrows furrowed. “What’s a negotitator?”
“Go learn, my boy. You have an excellent teacher.”
With an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders, Harry left his post by the window and dashed back across the schoolroom.
Ashworth gave Vivian a last glance, decided she’d need help with her chore, and slipped quietly from the room.
He heard her before he saw her. Soft humming carried on the misty breeze. Her song was punctuated by the occasional caw of a bird or rustle of leaves. In the ethereal fog, her voice could be that of a fairy or a lonely ghost.
Vivian pulled more brush to the pile she’d begun. He watched her work for a moment, savoring the slick shine of her cheek, the ruddy color of her skin. She reminded him of the village girls he saw many years ago while at school. He’d lust for their quiet beauty, their unassuming charm. But his friends swayed him, pointing him down different paths. Ones that would eventually
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