Free Miss Milton Speaks Her Mind by Carla Kelly Page B

“I do not think it will be Harrow, my lord,” she said. “Lord Kettering’s horrid sons are going there soon enough. Imagine the tales that would precede Andrew’s entrance! We will think of something else, my lord.”
    â€œ You will,” he said in that tone of voice she recalled from better times, then closed his eyes again with a finality that she could not ignore, not even in her present state of command.
    I suppose I will, she thought, as she smiled at Stanton’s wide-open eyes and let herself quietly from the room. And now I must write a letter to Mr. Butterworth, telling him that I have taken his advice and done something different, and as a consequence, he should drag down his Latin glosses from the attic. “After all, Mr. Butterworth,” she said as she pulled her chair up to her writing desk and straightened the sheet of paper in front of her, “you have far too much leisure for a man your age.”
    Because it was only nine o’clock, she summoned the footman and directed him to take the letter next door. “You needn’t wait for a reply,” she told him, smiling to herself.
    All this decision in one day has quite worn me out she thought later, after listening to Andrew read, and then hearing his prayers, which included Mr. Butterworth this night.
    â€œ I don’t have to go back?” he asked her, anxious, as she closed the draperies.
    â€œ No. We will continue at Sunday services, of course, but you needn’t have another thing to do with the vicar,” she said. She paused at his bedside. “I do want you to keep it firmly in your mind that what happened to your mother was a terrible accident, and nothing more. If you are teased, you will have to learn to bear it.”
    She kissed him good night and went to her room. There now, Mr. Butterworth, she thought, I have done some different things today. I do not know how pleased you will be that I have all but ordered you into being Andrew’s Latin teacher. See what happens when I speak my mind?

Chapter Five
    I f she had ever had any doubts, as she stood at Mr. Butterworth’s front door with Andrew the next morning, Jane knew that Lady Carruthers was entirely wrong about the mill owner. Sir, you are a wonderful gentleman, she thought as she looked at the white square of paper tacked to the door.
    â€œ It is in Latin, Miss Mitten,” Andrew said. He looked at her with some uncertainty. “Do you think he means for me to translate it?”
    â€œ I am certain that is what he means, my dear,” she replied. “Find your gloss.”
    She sat on the front step as Andrew thumbed through the book. She lifted her face to the wind that blew down off the Pennines behind them, scattering leaves along the immaculate lane. She thought of the invitations meant for Canada and the United States, sent on their way that morning with a frank from Lord Denby. She would compose the others during the remainder of the week; they had not so far to travel.
    Already she was pleased with herself over the invitations. When she went to see Lord Denby that morning, he was propped up in bed and reading the newspaper, something she had not seen him do in several months. She hoped he would ask her what arrangements she had made for Andrew, but he did not. His curiosity was directed toward her correspondence, and she told him of the letters going to his former companions now in North America.
    â€œ Bingham, too?” he had murmured when she told him. “I doubt he will come.”
    He made no more comment, until she was ready to leave the room. “You’re returning to Butterworth’s today? And with Andrew?”
    There, sir, you are interested, she thought with a feeling close to triumph. “Yes, I am. He offered to teach Andrew Latin, and I know what an economy that is. Perhaps even Lady Carruthers will not object when she returns.”
    â€œ Of course my sister will,” he had