Free Miss Hartwell's Dilemma by Carola Dunn Page B

I promise. No conditions. Let me have you to myself just for an hour,” he coaxed. “They cannot get into a great deal of mischief in a single hour.”
    “What makes you think that? With Louise among them, five minutes will suffice.” Nonetheless she allowed herself to be persuaded and they wandered on while she told him about the frog in the water pitcher.
    She enjoyed the afternoon, and to her relief the worst trouble she found when they rejoined the young ladies was a torn ruffle. To be sure they had not learned much history, but as Bertram said, the ancient Romans were not a common topic of conversation in the best society.
    That evening she lay in bed, thinking back over the day.
    Bertram was excellent company, and she was looking forward to his promised visit on Sunday. It was delightful to be with someone who saw her as a beautiful woman and a member of the Haut Ton, not as a dowdy schoolmistress. Yet his kiss had disarranged her bonnet more than her composure. Judging by the novels she had read, a lover’s kiss ought to thrill and agitate a maiden even to swooning. She was not given to swooning and hesitated to put her trust in the emotional accuracy of a novel, yet surely she should have felt more than surprise.
    Perhaps she had known him too long to experience excitement at his touch. She knew that when they were married he would be a gentle and considerate partner. Yes, she would marry him, next summer when the school year came to an end. She would marry Bertram, she thought sleepily, and Tizzy would marry Mr. Raeburn, and Aunt Eugenia...Bother! What about Aunt Eugenia? Before Amaryllis could tackle that problem she fell asleep.
    The next day the skies were blue again. As soon as the morning sun had dried the dew from the lawn, Miss Hartwell took several girls out into the back garden to sketch. There was a huge old oak, its leaves now beginning to yellow after the first frosts, which made an excellent subject. Later she would have them draw it leafless, with gnarled skeleton exposed, then in the spring, clad in fresh golden-green.
    Ned trudged up the garden and came to her side.
    “Would ‘ee come look at the brollycolly, miss,” he urged with an extraordinary series of winks, gestures, and shrugs.
    “At the broccoli, Ned?” said Miss Hartwell in surprise. The old countryman considered the vegetable in the light of a sinister foreign plot and had baulked at being requested to grow it, but he had never before asked for advice on its cultivation.
    He jerked his head, winked again, and waved his arms at the young ladies. “Aye, miss, and the serrelly too.”
    “Have the rabbits been at it again?”
    “Jis’ come see!” begged Ned.
    Mystified, Miss Hartwell followed him down to the kitchen garden and gazed at the celery bed. A mistle thrush was pecking at a snail, and an orange-breasted robin perched on the handle of the gardener’s fork and sang a few liquid notes to her.
    “Arr, ‘e be awaitin’ for I to dig ‘is dinner fer en,” Ned explained.
    “He is charming. Is that what you wanted me to see?”
    “Nay, then. Din’t want to fright the young leddies, did I?”
    “Fright the young ladies? Pray tell me what this is all about, Ned. What is wrong with the celery?”
    “Nowt, miss. Best serrelly I iver growed. ‘Tis the furriner I mun tell ‘ee of.”
    “A foreigner! Not a Spaniard?”
    “Dunno ‘bout thet. Dark, ‘e wor, and dressed up fit to kill. Flash cove. ‘E wor axin’ ‘bout the school and the young leddies. Din’t tell en nowt, did I?”
    “He spoke English?”
    Ned cackled. “Better nor I, miss, better nor I. ‘Ceptin’ when ‘e swore at I, ‘twere in some furrin lingo.” The memory amused him so much that he bent double with laughter and tears came to his eyes.
    “Thank you, Ned, for telling me, and for not telling him, and for not frighting the young ladies. You will be sure to let me know if you see him again?”
    “Aye, miss,” gasped the old man. He touched