Chapter 14
True to Millicent's word, the Viscount did not come after Kyle the next day. Our lives settled back into their usual rhythm, with Kyle returning to his familiar routine of venturing into the northern forest.
By midday, I found myself seated across a modest desk, my head pounding. Before me sat John, a fourteen-year-old boy whose sole purpose in life was to push me to the very brink of madness. Yes, I had agreed to tutor him, but nothing could have prepared me for the sheer agony of attempting to teach this particular child. He did not comprehend the word comprehend no matter how many ways I attempted to explain it.
And then there was his gaze. Oh, heavens preserve me. His eyes that were supposed to be fixed on the paper before him were instead locked on my chest. My attire was perfectly modest yet the way he stared, one would think my ladies were parading about the room unrestrained.
I stared at him, debating whether this child was beyond saving. Perhaps he belonged in the same figurative basket I reserved for lost causes, a basket that now seemed perilously full with names like Helena's.
"They're the perfect size," John declared. He leaned his elbows on the desk, his chin cradled in his hands, staring at me. "Not too big, not small at all. Just perfect."
The urge to knock some sense into this boy with the nearest heavy object was almost overwhelming, but alas, it would hardly be appropriate. "John," I said calmly, "perhaps you could redirect your focus toward the task at hand? Namely, the lesson."
He met my gaze with a grin that could only be described as utterly shameless. "But yer eyes, miss! They're just as perfect as, well, the rest of ya! All different-like, one purple and one… not. Wish mine looked like that too."
"John, the reason my eyes are mismatched is because I am blind in my left one. Surely, you do not aspire to lose half your vision for the sake of aesthetics?"
"If it makes me look like you, then aye, I would! And when I'm grown, I'll marry ya."
I cast my gaze heavenward, fixing my eyes on the ceiling. Oh, deities above, I beseech you! Grant me patience, lest I lose all semblance of decorum and strike this child where he sits. Let thunder roll down from the heavens and smite me as well, for surely this moment is testing the very limits of my restraint.
I turned my gaze back to John. "You cannot, John. I am already married. Now, kindly direct your attention to the paper before you and explain to me what I have been teaching you. What does comprehend mean?"
Instead of responding, the boy's face lit up with enthusiasm, and he launched into yet another tangent. "Your white hair is pretty. I heard the royal family in the Landfox kingdom has white hair too. They say Princess Charlotte is as pretty as an angel. White hair and blue eyes, just like in the stories. They said even the Prince is pretty!" He hastily added, "But you're just as pretty as an angel too. Maybe even prettier!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting the urge to let a particularly unladylike curse escape my lips. Eight coppers, I reminded myself. Eight coppers for one hour of enduring this torment. It had been forty long, excruciating minutes. Twenty more to go, and then I could leave this blasted child behind and swear never to accept another tutoring job involving him.
"Are you sure you're not part of the royal family of Landfox?" His eyes narrowed as he studied me, as if the answer to his question were hidden in the strands of my hair.
"If I were, do you think I would be here? Should I not be dancing, well, limping, across a grand ballroom, adorned in silk and jewels?"
He paused, scratching his head as he mulled it over. "That's true."
"Splendid," I replied with exaggerated relief. "Now, can we return to the matter at hand?"
John heaved a dramatic sigh, as though the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders. "I don't want to learn this stuff! When I'm twenty, I'm going to be a knight!"
"Knights need to know how to read and write, John." I attempted to inject some semblance of reason into his stubborn skull.
"Why?" he asked, crossing his arms.
"So that when they are far from home, they may write letters to their families and read the replies they receive," I explained patiently.
"My family can't read or write, so it won't matter to me," he huffed.
"Someday, you will have a woman you cherish deeply," I countered. "Would you not wish to write to her, to express your devotion?"
This gave him pause. After a moment of thought, he looked at me with an unnervingly determined expression. "Yes! I'll write to you!"
No. Absolutely not. The mere thought of receiving a letter filled with this boy's awkward and overly sentimental ramblings sent shivers down my spine. "How lovely," I replied through gritted teeth. "In that case, return your attention to the paper before you."
With that dubious motivation in place, we managed to limp through the remainder of the hour, during which John learned absolutely nothing of value. He continued to stare at my face, or my chest, and answered none of my questions correctly.
Just as the ordeal concluded, John's father stormed into the room, his brows furrowed. He glared at his son, who had the audacity to look sheepish. "You brat!" he bellowed, his voice echoing in the small space.
Yes, scold him! I silently rooted for John's father. The boy deserved every ounce of it, and frankly, a good thrashing might finally knock some sense into that thick skull of his.
"Mrs. Woodstone is the third tutor this month!" John's father roared. "How are you this stupid?! Do you think I'm made o' coin to keep hirin' tutors for ya?!"
Before I could revel too much in the father's righteous tirade, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. Turning, I found John's mother standing there, her expression one of quiet apology. "Thank you for your time," she whispered and handed me my well-earned eight coppers.
"Thank you," I replied, tucking the coins into the pouch at my waist. As I straightened with the help of my cane, she added, "We're sorry, truly. I'm sure it must've been terribly hard to teach our son."
I offered her a practiced smile. "Some children simply require more time."
Or perhaps divine intervention.
She sighed, clearly unconvinced, and walked me to the door. "We do appreciate your efforts."
As I stepped over the threshold, I said, "I'll be off now."
"Stay safe out there."
I glanced back with a polite nod. "I shall."
And with that, I left their home.