Free Promise Me Tomorrow by Candace Camp Page A

a gentlewoman, not a former maid. She moves in your sort of circle. You could easily meet her and ascertain whether she is, in fact, the woman we seek. Then…”
    He paused and fixed a gaze of pure iron on the man. “Then you will kill her.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    M ARIANNE SMILED DOWN AT HER DAUGHTER . One of her favorite things was teaching Rosalind, who had a quick mind and a ready wit. At nine, Marianne thought she was approaching the age where she would need a tutor. The Quartermaine girls had had a beleaguered governess, a round little brown wren of a woman over whom the three girls had run roughshod. Though Marianne’s knowledge was adequate for the basic subjects she had been teaching up until now—and she could still, with her extensive reading, do a passable job of teaching literature and history—she knew that to be educated as a lady was, she needed someone who could teach music and drawing adequately, as well as mathematics, French, and possibly Latin, as well. Marianne had always thirsted for knowledge. Though the orphanage had seen to it that they were able to read, write and do figures, they had been given no opportunity to venture into the upper realms of education. Most of what Marianne had learned she had gotten from books, which she had read over and over at every opportunity.
    They were in the kitchen, books and tablets spread out on the table, deep in a lesson combining vocabulary, spelling and handwriting. Across the table from them, Betsy was enjoying a late morning cup of tea, while Winny, with help from Della, was beginning to prepare dinner. Rosalind, tongue firmly between her teeth, was carefully writing with the stub of a pencil.
    “Beautiful,” Marianne encouraged her, watching the copperplate writing slowly unfold. “Now what is that word?”
    “S-p-e-c-u-l-a-t-e. Speculate.”
    “Very good. Do you know what it means?”
    Rosalind looked at her, her big blue eyes, so like her mother’s, serious in her small face. “Mmm. Is it like speculation?”
    “Yes. Speculation is the noun form of the word. Speculate is the verb. Do you know what speculation is?”
    Rosalind nodded, pleased that she knew the answer. “Yes. Gran taught me yesterday evening when you were gone.”
    “Gran?” Marianne turned toward Betsy, who was the only grandmother Rosalind had ever known. Betsy, who had only a rudimentary education, hardly seemed the type to engage in vocabulary lessons.
    Betsy gazed back at her guilelessly, her hand halting with the cup of tea halfway to her lips. Marianne’s eyes narrowed. “All right, Roz. Exactly what is speculation?”
    “Well, it’s where you ante up a certain amount of money. Gran and I did a ha’pence. Only the dealer antes up double. Then he gives everyone three cards, and—”
    “A card game?” Marianne swung to Betsy. “You were teaching her a card game?”
    Betsy shrugged. “Just a simple one, to pass the time.”
    “It was fun, Mama, and I even won!” Rosalind said excitedly. “Gran says one day she’ll teach me loo, but that takes five people, and we couldn’t get the others to play. They’re always too fidgety when you’re at a party.”
    “Betsy, I told you about teaching Rosalind to gamble!”
    “She has a natural gift,” Betsy protested. “It’s a shame, it is, to waste it. I never met anyone who caught on faster.”
    “Rosalind is not going to be a cardsharp.”
    “Of course not. But it never hurts to be able to pick up a little pocket money when you need it.”
    Marianne groaned and closed her eyes. She heard a muffled snort and looked over to see Winny and Della smothering their laughter.
    “Go ahead and laugh, all of you,” Marianne grumbled.
    “I’m sorry, Mary,” Winny said, still smiling. “It’s just—she looked so cute, sitting there, holding those cards and dealing them like a professional.”
    Marianne could well imagine it, and even her own lips twitched at the thought. “Honestly, Betsy,” she said, trying to remain