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having to do with becoming governess to Roberta at some future date. He didn’t believe a word of it, and developed such a strong suspicion of her that life at school was nearly intolerable.
    Maybe he thought she was angling for his job. If a single student laughed or spoke loudly, he was at the door complaining of the noise. He complained too that the students coming to him from her class were ill-trained, couldn’t read a word, and could hardly add two and two. He even spoke badly of her to his students, an unpardonable offense, so that they looked at her in a jeering way. The few who used to come after class for work no longer showed up. He spoke more than once of the mistake of hiring a woman for a man’s job. “Next time we’ll know better,” he’d say meaningfully, implying that the next time was not far off.
    The autumn wore on, the weather becoming colder, the days shortening, the winds growing more bitter, and the memory of the visit faded. She thought regretfully, once or twice a day, how fine it would have been if it had been a governess they were looking for, instead of a wife.
     

Chapter Four
     
    On the last Sunday in November, Delsie set her unadorned round bonnet on her head, looking in the mirror to see that it was straight. Her serious gray eyes looked back at her wistfully. She would have liked a prettier bonnet, at least on Sunday, but the schoolteacher was one who must dress discreetly. Dark clothing, she had been told. No curls, no powder, no scent, no jewelry of an ostentatious sort, Mr. Umpton had announced, with a disapproving eye at her simple gold locket. I might as well be a grandmother, she thought, then wrinkled her nose at her reflection and went downstairs to call for Miss Frisk, who would accompany her to church.
    Since they had arrived early, their heads, like everyone else’s, turned when the party from the Hall entered. No company today, Delsie noted. Only Lord deVigne, Lady Jane, Sir Harold, and the young girl, Roberta, who came with them only infrequently. They entered their family pew, across the aisle and a few seats ahead of Miss Frisk and herself. The service progressed as usual, the hymns, and then it was time for the announcements. The vicar cleared his throat and looked around before speaking.
    “I would like to ask the benefit of the prayers of the congregation this morning for Mr. Andrew Grayshott of this parish, well known to us all...”
    My God, he’s dead! Delsie thought, and her eyes flew to the deVigne pew. So soon! Less than a month since Lord deVigne had asked her to marry him. I would have only had to live with him for a month. Surely it would have been worth it. I would be with them now, for the rest of my life. All this went through her head in a second. Then the minister’s voice went on. “... who is very ill. Also for the repose of the soul of...” Lord deVigne’s black head turned around over his shoulder. He directed a meaningful look across the aisle and back to Delsie, who was still staring at him, a question on her face. Their eyes met and, though no word was spoken, she was dead certain she would see him again that day.
    After church, she went straight home and to her room. No “little chat” with Miss Frisk today. Within minutes—he hadn’t even taken the others back up the hill, but had come to her directly from the church—there was a knock at her door. She had scarcely taken off her hat and hung up her pelisse. She assumed it would be Miss Frisk, big with the news that Lord deVigne awaited her belowstairs, but she was wrong. It was deVigne himself standing there, hat in hand, filling the small door frame with his size. “May I come in?” he asked.
    “I’m not allowed gentlemen callers in my rooms,” she told him. “We can go downstairs.”
    “I have spoken to Miss Frisk,” he replied and, bending his head, stepped in.
    “Oh—in that case...” It was unnecessary to extend any invitation. He was already inside, glancing around