Fortune Favors the Sparrow - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,2

but somehow, her classes never fell behind in their studies even when she was not present to instruct them.

Writing and rhetoric were her subjects, and Clara was convinced there was no woman more capable of instructing the girls in those matters.

Turning back to her course, Clara moved with a bit more quickness to her step, though, she noted with amusement, not with haste.

While she did not take Annette Edley’s dancing classes, a twisted ankle would not help a teacher, either.

As girls made their way to their next classes, and the crowding of the corridors diminished, Clara felt herself breathing easier and looking more carefully around her. It had been some time since she had truly taken in the splendor of these walls she was so fortunate to inhabit. The sleeping quarters were simply furnished, but the remainder of the place was rather like a grand house in the countryside. It lacked the display of accoutrements and antiquities that one might see there, but in all other respects, it might still have been the home of the Beddingsfords, as it had been for centuries before.

The last Lord Beddingsford had sold the estate to Miss Masters for a laughably low sum, but he had been desperate to leave England and never return. Refurbishments had been made where safety or convenience required, but in all other respects, the place had simply been maintained.

The ceilings were adorned with vaulting and marbled moldings, gilded artwork, and carved beams, ages and ages of residential styles on display like a walk through history. Artwork hung on the walls without any familiar significance, the paintings being the work of former students, images of royalty, depictions of historical events, or landscapes of various counties of England. Strains of music could be heard from the classes now in session, some of it skilled while others were less so. Grand windows illuminated the corridors naturally, the views of the Kent countryside from them all too enviable. The day was fine, which was a blessing after what seemed to be weeks of dreariness.

Students would be clamoring to walk out of doors later, she had no doubt. Someone would have to notify Mr. Quinn that the gardens might be invaded. He tended to get quite finicky about such things.

Another corridor, and then Clara was there, the headmistress’s office and quarters sitting in this part of the house rather than with the rest of the rooms. It must have been a lonely distance for Miss Bradford, though she had never made any mention of feeling so. Clara would not wish for such a position and thought herself very fortunate to not have the duties and responsibilities Miss Bradford must face on a daily basis.

She knocked softly on the closed door, brushing her hands down the front of her to rid herself of any wrinkles that may have appeared.

“Come.”

Pushing open the door, Clara entered the large space, the once masculine study of Lord Beddingsford now bright and airy without becoming starkly feminine. The bookshelves were equally full as they might have been with previous tenants, though there were more than only books placed upon them now. Clara even caught sight of a small, framed watercolor on one, surely something Tess had done in her early art courses here.

A faint breeze crossed the room, and Clara felt one of her golden strands of hair dance across her brow. She pushed it behind her ear at once and forced her attention on the woman standing behind the desk, fair hair pulled almost severely back, dark gown neatly arrayed on her delicate frame.

“My apologies, Miss Bradford,” Clara said with some embarrassment. “I forget how captivating your office is.”

Miss Bradford smiled with her usual warmth and glanced about the room herself. “Is it? I sometimes feel as though it is rather cavernous for someone as small as me. And I hope you do not mind the breeze; I prefer having the window open a little when I am at work here. It is almost as though I am working out of doors.”

“No, ma’am.” Clara folded her hands before her, smiling. “You wished to see me, Miss Bradford?”

The woman tilted her head, her smile deepening. “My dear Clara, I do wish you would call me Pippa. And please, take a seat. This is a rather different sort of meeting than we have had before, and I do wish you would make yourself comfortable.”

Clara nodded and sat, adjusting her skirts carefully. “If you like, Miss Bradford. Pippa, I mean.” She smiled,