Free If the Slipper Fits by Olivia Drake Page A

must have been why she’d rejected the other teachers at the academy; she’d been searching for someone who could commiserate with the orphaned little boy. Someone who had once been lonely and vulnerable herself. Someone who knew exactly how he felt.
    Someone willing to fight his battles for him.
    Tightening her fingers around the ruler in her lap, Annabelle prayed she wouldn’t disappoint her ladyship. It would require tact and diplomacy to secure her position here at the castle. She’d have to keep a firm rein on her temper. Already, she had caused trouble, and the vicar would not take kindly to any more interference. If she was sacked, then Nicholas would be left on his own again.
    His Grace of Kevern sat like a statue with his hands folded in his lap. Poor lad, he didn’t trust anyone, and who could blame him? He had been betrayed by all the adults in his life: inadvertently by his parents when they had died, by Lord Simon, who barely acknowledged his presence, and by Mr. Bunting, who had a taste for harsh discipline.
    But now Nicholas had her as his advocate.
    The thought imbued Annabelle with strength. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she’d found her true calling. It was a sense of purpose that she’d never felt while teaching the pampered girls at Mrs. Baxter’s Academy.
    The opportunity must not be allowed to slip away. She had a fortnight to convince Lord Simon to keep her on staff. A fortnight in which to prove herself indispensible. A fortnight in which to find a way to eject Mr. Bunting from the castle once and for all.
    *   *   *
    After tending to an errand in the village, Simon was riding back to Castle Kevern when he spied a familiar dogcart trundling toward him on the muddy road. The driver lifted his hand and waved imperiously.
    Simon cursed under his breath. So much for his hope to return home without further delay. His already belated midday meal would have to wait even longer. He was also testy from a cramp in his thigh from an old war wound.
    He’d been in the saddle since dawn, traversing the estate and assessing the damage done by the storm. Fields of ripening corn and barley had been flattened. A crofter’s roof had caved in from the heavy rain and a thatching crew had to be arranged. An entire flock of sheep had escaped through a breached fence and had to be shepherded back onto Kevern land.
    Now he was faced with mollifying a peevish employee.
    Beneath a wide-brimmed black hat, Percival Bunting’s face bore a pinched expression. That came as no surprise. This morning, the vicar would have met the inimitable Miss Annabelle Quinn.
    Simon drew his mount to a halt beside the dogcart and pony. His gray gelding danced back and forth, requiring a firm hand on the reins. “Vicar,” he said with a cool nod. “A bit early for you to have left the schoolroom.”
    “Through no fault of my own, I assure you.” Bunting aimed an indignant look up from the low, two-wheeled vehicle. “It is most providential to have encountered you, my lord. We must have a word at once, if you’ll be so kind as to attend me to the vicarage.”
    “I’m busy today. Speak your mind here and be done with it.”
    Bunting glanced back and forth at the surrounding forest as if he expected an army of eavesdroppers to pop out from behind the tree trunks. “It is regarding Miss Annabelle Quinn,” he said, pronouncing her name as if it were a concoction of vinegar and pepper. “Imagine my astonishment when she marched into the schoolroom this morning. I had no notion the woman had even been hired.”
    “Do forgive the oversight,” Simon said unrepentantly. “I presume you took the matter in stride.”
    “Naturally! I pride myself on being a most accommodating man. However, I confess to being unable to fathom your purpose in adding her to the staff. If you are displeased with my services, then pray tell me how I might improve myself.”
    You could try not being a pompous ass . “Don’t make too