The Arrangement by Joan Wolf Page B

pond that lay to the southeast of town when he came along, whistling and carrying his fishing pole. I liked him immediately because he did not patronize me the way so many of the older boys did.
    It was not until the following year, however, when I had begun to develop a figure, that Tommy began to pay me the kind of attention a young man pays to a young woman.
    The year after that, George made his appearance in neighborhood society. I remember very clearly the first occasion upon which I saw him. It was at a picnic given by Mrs. Bridge. George had come down from Cambridge for the summer and for some reason or another—boredom probably—he had decided to join Mrs. Bridge’s expedition to some local ruins.
    All the girls except me instantly fell in love with him. He was very handsome as well as being the next Lord Devane.
    From the day he’d first appeared at that benighted picnic, George had given me nothing but trouble. I devoutly hoped that tomorrow, when I declined his legacy, I would be able to say goodbye forever to George Melville, Lord Devane.
     

Chapter Eight
     
    I awoke at my usual early hour the next morning, but as I was quite sure that none of the family would be stirring until much later, I decided to remain in bed. The only way I could keep myself from worrying about what might come out in George’s will that afternoon was by turning my brain to what seemed the eternal problem of my life: money.
    The money that I was presently making from my business was not going to be enough to see me through the next few years. Consequently, I had to either (a.) spend less or (b.) earn more. Since I had already cut my expenses to the bone, the only solution was to earn more.
    I would have to raise my rates.
    This was a course of action I had been resisting for several years. For one thing, my present rates were not cheap. My particular business had a very high overhead: horses to stable and feed, plus rent to be paid on a house and property large enough to accommodate both horses and clients. As I rarely had more than one client at a time, I had to charge a fairly steep sum in order to cover my costs.
    During the two years that Tommy and I had run Deepcote together, we had done quite well. Clients had been more plentiful in those days, with Tommy teaching the men and the boys while I taught the girls. After Tommy died, however, business had fallen off drastically. I had largely kept my female clients, but the men and boys had stopped coming, and my income had plummeted. I was beginning to regain some of the male business—parents who had been pleased with the job I had done with their daughters had started to send me their sons—but I was afraid that if I raised my rates, I would turn away some of the new clients whom I might otherwise attract.
    I had learned that while men like Albert Cole might own a vast amount of money, they wouldn’t pay a penny higher than what they judged a product to be worth.
    I had just come to the gloomy conclusion that I was going to have to take a chance and raise the rates anyway, when a housemaid came into the room bearing hot chocolate and a pitcher of hot water on a tray.
    “Lady Regina has asked me to tell you that breakfast will be put out in the family dining room from nine until ten-thirty, ma’am,” she said as she put the tray down and went to pile more coals upon the fire.
    “Thank you,” I said politely.
    The maid lifted the tray, put it across my lap, and poured me a cup of chocolate; then she took the pitcher of hot water into the dressing room and poured its contents into the elegant porcelain basin. Next, she returned to the bedroom and asked, “Would you like me to help you get dressed, ma’am?”
    “No, thank you,” I said as politely as before.
    After a few minutes the maid went away, and I waited for the room to warm up a little more before I got up.
    My green merino wool morning dress was plain and serviceable and not nearly as appropriate to the elegance