Miss Robinson and the Unsuitable Baron

MISS ROBINSON AND THE UNSUITABLE BARON SOFI LAPORTE CHAPTER ONE Miss Ellen Robinson, instructress at Miss Hilversham's Seminary for Young Ladies, was sitting in a stagecoach bound for London. A small dark head bumped against her upper arm in rhythm with the carriage as it rattled along the road. "Ye have a beautiful child, there, missus," said the woman who sat across from her. She wore a shawl around her head and held a basket of turnips on her lap. She'd been talking the entire journey, and within an hour of meeting her, Ellen knew that her name was Henny Miller, married to a Tom Miller, with three grown children, and that she was on her way to London to visit her sister Jill, who was married to an innkeeper in Charing Cross Road. The other travellers, a dour-looking gentleman and a soldier, looked out of the window. Henny had looked at Ellen as if expecting her to share her personal story, but Ellen had merely smiled. The woman nodded at the sleeping child. "Looks just like me John, when 'e was a baby. Same dark, thick curls. What a little angel. 'Ow old is 'e?" "Four." Ellen had no idea how old Noni was. But four seemed as good a guess as any. The woman pursed her lips. "A difficult age. No longer a babe, but not ready to work either. Always falling from one scrape to another. My advice is never to let 'im out of yer sight, lest 'e drowns 'isself in the rain barrel or the 'orse trough. They always do, ye know." The woman sniffed. "'Appened to me neighbour's boy the other day." Ellen's head snapped up. "The poor child drowned in a horse trough?" "Almost. My 'usband fished 'im out just in time." Ellen breathed a sigh of relief. She lifted the arm that had fallen asleep, shook it and put it around the child's shoulders, raising him gently so that his feet rested on the seat and his head on her lap. "Yer a good mama," the woman said approvingly. Ellen smiled tightly. She was as related to the child as a grasshopper was to a blackbird. She hadn't even known of Noni's existence until yesterday morning. He'd been standing on the porch of the seminary, a small trunk at his side, a letter tucked in the pocket of his coat, and his big black eyes filled with tears. Someone had dropped him off and disappeared by the time Martha opened the door. Martha, the good soul, had taken him in, wiped his cheeks, and sat him down at the kitchen table, with a glass of warm milk and a plate of oat biscuits. Then she'd informed the headmistress, Miss Hilversham, that they had a new pupil. Miss Hilversham was married to the Duke of Rochford and should properly be called "Your Grace" and "Lady Rochford", but all the pupils and teachers at the seminary still called her "Miss Hilversham". The name stuck to her like glue. The school was named after her, and under her leadership it had developed a reputation for excellence. So she'd thought it wise to keep the name and persona of Miss Hilversham separate from that of the Duchess of Rochford. "What on earth is this man thinking?" Miss Hilversham knitted her brows together as she perused the letter tucked into Noni's coat. "This Baron Trevesbury. Or is it Twiksbury? Terrible penmanship. Dumping the child on our porch like that. This is a seminary for young ladies, not a nursery for little children. Nor do we accept boys. Here, read this." She handed the letter to Ellen, frowning so deeply that her eyebrows touched the bridge of her nose. The missive was difficult to read. It was smudged with tea stains and what wasn't smeared was illegible. The child was called Undecipherable Name, and he was to receive schooling at Miss Hilversham's Seminary. Signed, Twillsbury, or some variation thereof, 11 Hanover Square. Ellen shook her head. "It's barely legible. What shall we call him?" She squinted at the paper. "Does it say Noni? Is that an N or a V?" Miss Hilversham pursed her lips. "Noni is a popular nickname for Giovanni." She peered again at the scrawled words. "It must be Giovanni Battista," she pronounced. "An excellent reminder that penmanship is not only important, but can be positively crucial in certain circumstances. Let's make sure we increase our calligraphy and penmanship lessons for all students. It would be unthinkable if any of our students left our school with such penmanship." She shuddered. "But Giovanni Battista is an Italian name, isn't it?" A wrinkle formed between Ellen's eyebrows. "Did he come straight from the Continent?" Both women looked at the child sitting at the table, crumbling biscuits. Martha took one, dipped it in the milk and held it out to him. A small smile appeared on his face as he ate it. "What is your name, child?" Miss Hilversham asked, but the child made no response. "Noni?" Again no response. "Perhaps he doesn't speak English?" Ellen suggested. Miss Hilversham sat down beside him. "Sei Giovanni?" The child dipped the biscuit into his glass as if she hadn't spoken. "Come ti chiami?" The child stopped dipping the cookie and dropped his head. Miss Hilversham's and Ellen's eyes met over his dark little head. He wasn't deaf, was he? Ellen picked up a small bell and rang it. His head snapped up. Not deaf. There was a gleam of interest in his eyes. She gave him the bell. "This is a bell. I ring it to let the children know that class is about to start." She placed it in front of him. He tipped it with one finger. "Won't you tell me your name?" No answer. "Hm. Let's see. Maybe you could ring it twice for me?" The child picked up the bell and rang it twice. So he understood English very well. He just refused to speak. Miss