Free Miss Debenham's Secret: A Husband Hunters Club Book by Sara Bennett

spoke up, always ready for mischief or a joke. “Perhaps she has a memory tucked away, of some sad love affair, never forgotten. A cad who broke her heart.”
    “Oh, Eugenie, really! Miss Debenham?” said Marissa. “She is far too level headed to have ever given her heart to a cad.”
    Clarissa felt a tremor in that part of her chest where her heart resided. It was silly really. The girls didn’t mean anything by it, and she knew that her girls respected her, but they had touched a nerve.
    Time to put a stop to this.
    She tapped briskly on the door and heard them whispering, but when she opened it wide they were all turned to her, books and needlework in their laps, wide-eyed and innocent. She tried not to smile.
    “I think you should consider your dancing practise, girls. No man will marry you if you stand on his toes.”
    Glances were exchanged and they rose and hurried out.
    They were young, she told herself. They would learn that life never quite turned out the way you expected it to. Clarissa had also learned that a woman must stand on her own two feet if she was to make a fulfilling life for herself. No use in depending upon a man. First, her father whose only wish was for her to keep cooking his supper, and for her to marry a man who had no interest at all in her, and second Alistair, who had let her down . . .
    She shook her head.
    That wasn’t true. Alistair hadn’t let her down. He’d given her a great deal of joy and she’d loved him with all her heart, loved him so much that she’d never found a man to replace him. She had kept his letters and occasionally she would open them up and read them. They still made her smile.
    And that was one of the important lessons in life Alistair taught her. How to laugh at adversity—how to smile when you were at your most miserable—how to look at the positives rather than the negatives.
    By the time Clarissa was seated once more at her desk, the ormolu clock on her mantelpiece was striking the hour.
    The father of Meredith Wentworth was late.
    Meredith was a very bright and promising girl, but her family had neglected to pay their bills for the past four months and Clarissa knew she had let things go as long as she dared. Her school needed fees to keep operating, and although she saw much to like in Meredith she couldn’t continue to teach her for free. Surely some arrangement could be made? A small amount paid when possible, or at least the intention to settle the account at some future date.
    She’d written to Mr. Wentworth and he had agreed to see her this afternoon at four. Now, in fact. So where was he?
    With a sigh she went to the window and peered out. Down in the courtyard there were girls sitting and reading, others sketching, some simply gossiping. Her reflection stared back at her and she saw that her hair had become disarranged and patted it back into place.
    At thirty nine she was still a young looking woman; her figure was slender and she was without a grey hair, well perhaps one or two. Her skin was good and any lines on her face were faint; her eyes had the same clear gaze they’d always had. Some days she felt ancient in comparison to the girls she taught, and sometimes she felt lonely, wishing she had a sibling, or a parent, with whom to share anniversaries and birthdays and memories. There was Annie of course, but she had a family of her own. But it did no good to dwell on what could not be, she reminded herself. In so many ways she was extremely fortunate . . .
    The tap on her door took her by surprise and she turned, calling, “Come in.”
    Annie poked her head in and there was something odd about her expression. As if she had seen a ghost. “Your visitor is here, Miss Debenham,” she said, and her eyes seemed to be trying to convey something.
    Puzzled, Clarissa asked Annie to send him in.
    When the gentleman came through the doorway she understood why Annie had looked like she’d seen a ghost. Because Clarissa was seeing him too.
    The man