“Willpower does not appear to work,” her granddaughter said. “It works on the mind but not on the heart.”
“Well,” her grandmother said briskly, “perhaps the schoolteacher will not leave her post and perhaps the matron will not have the courage to sack her or will have someone else in mind before she does. And perhaps one day you will come to the Pump Room with me for the morning promenade and meet some gentleman to take your mind off Viscount Uxbury. Abigail has accompanied me twice and has drawn interest both times. Not many people here will refine too much upon your change of status. You are, after all, my granddaughters and I am held in the highest esteem in Bath society.”
“We will see,” Camille said, returning to her chair. “But it was civil of them to come. And to ask about Harry.”
“Harry is her brother, Cam,” Abigail said, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief before putting it away. “And we are her sisters.”
* * *
Miss Ford did not mention Camille’s visit to the orphanage. She did, however, mention the fact that Mrs. Kingsley, a prominent citizen of Bath, had shown a welcome interest in the home recently and was to fund the purchase of a large bookcase for the schoolroom and books of all kinds to fill it. The matron mentioned it only because the Duke and Duchess of Netherby made the identical offer. Anna did not believe she had made the connection between Mrs. Kingsley and herself. It had long been Anna’s dream when she taught there of having books for all the children to read regardless of age or interest or reading ability. However, when she had sent a large draft of money to the home soon after inheriting her fortune, she had not specified on what it ought to be spent, and Miss Ford, with the approval of the board, had purchased some much-needed new beds and other furniture for the dormitories and new windows for the dining room.
The kitchen was old, from the ovens to the fireplace to the larder to the worktables and the uneven floor, and the laundry equipment was even older. Everything had been repaired and fixed so many times, the cook explained to the duke after she had recovered a little from her speechless awe, that by now there were repairs and patches upon repairs and patches. It would delight him and his duchess, Avery assured her and Miss Ford, to renew everything if they could stand the inconvenience of having workmen belowstairs for as many days as it would take for the work to be done.
He looked as he had during their stay at the vicarage. All his chains and rings and fobs had been left at the Royal York Hotel, where they were staying, along with his quizzing glass and snuffbox. His neckcloth was neatly tied but without any of its accustomed artistry. His eyes were wide-open, his manner that of a refined, kindly gentleman. It amused Anna how he could change at will. It touched her too that he had not come here with an air of affected boredom or condescension. When Winifred Hamlin plucked up her courage to step up to him and inform him that she had prayed for Miss Snow when she left for London and her prayers had been answered, he looked at her with a smile that crinkled his eyes at the corners.
“Without your prayers, then,” he said, “I might never have met your Miss Snow and married her and made her my duchess. My life would have been all the poorer for the lack. I will remember that I have you to thank for my happiness, young lady.”
“Oh, not me,” Winifred assured him, pointing piously upward.
It happened in the schoolroom, where Miss Ford had summoned all the children, school for the day having been dismissed. And they had all come pouring in, even the toddlers in the care of some of the older girls, and gazed in wonder and awe at their Miss Snow, who was now as close to being a princess as it was possible to get without actually being one. Most of them were still in high spirits after a visit from Bertha Reed earlier in the day.
Anna introduced her husband, and he bowed and smiled while the children applauded and cheered.
“Miss Snow,” Olga Norton said, waving her hand high in the air when the noise died down a bit. “Miss Nunce told us you were wrong to teach us to dream because dreams don’t come true for nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand people, especially people like us. She said you were a bad influence.”
There was a swell of aggrieved assent.
Oh dear. Miss Nunce, Anna recalled, was the new teacher.
“Olga!” Miss Ford sounded acutely embarrassed.
“Well, you know,” Anna said, “Miss Nunce is quite correct. Very few dreams come true in exactly the way we dream them. But dreams can come true in unexpected ways that bring just as much happiness. If you dream of being the captain of a great sailing ship, you may not achieve your dream. But you may realize that a life on the seas is what you want and become a sailor and see the world and be the happiest person you can possibly be. And if you dream of marrying a prince—or a duke—you may not achieve that dream, for there are not very many princes and dukes available.”
She paused to let the delighted laughter die down, during which several of the children pointed at Avery and screeched with glee. “But you may find a man who will love you and provide for you and win your devotion, and you may marry him and be happy for the rest of your life. The same may be true in reverse for the boys. Dreams are very important, for they can give us many hours of pleasure, and they can help inspire us and point us in the direction we need to go in life. But what is the most important fact about ourselves that we must always, always remember? Who can tell me?”
Several hands stretched high.
“Tommy?”
“That we are just as important as anyone else, miss,” Tommy said. “Just as important as him.” He pointed cheekily at Avery. “But not more important than anyone else.”