Upton’s face had grown expressionless during his tirade, but now she took another, more measuring look at Sophie. “Your establishment was recommended to me, and I wish to be done with the business as soon as possible. Well, the girl is half wild and there’s nothing to be done about it, but she bears my name and that, madam, is superior to whatever standard you maintain.” He glanced around the understated room in obvious disdain. “I see your point! My son ran off with an opera singer-French, no less! Is that what you want to know? Good blood never does mix with common stock. Our reputation rests on my personal assurance that every young lady here is of the best character and demeanor, in need of the instruction we offer for her future life.” “My lord, our students come from the finest families in Britain. Upton, and so she did not argue with the hateful lies her grandfather was speaking. But she did want very much to be accepted by Mrs. She was not a hoyden, and her parents hadn’t neglected her. The headmistress glanced at Sophie, who remained still and quiet. She’s a wild thing, neglected by her no-account parents. “We do not instruct students in trades, but in fine arts and social graces-“ Upton, laying a delicate stress on the last word. “Sir, we are an academy for young ladies,” replied Mrs. She needs feminine influence and proper instruction in some decent trade.”
“They left nothing for her, but abandoned her to my charity. Her parents died of some gutter-borne fever.” He glared at Sophie, who gazed back without expression. Sophie respected her instinctively for that.
She was a moderately tall woman, fashionably dressed in subdued colors and devoid of embellishment, and she seemed utterly unafraid of Makepeace. “The trouble is, my lord, I do not usually accept new students midterm,” Mrs. Upton’s office, listening as her grandfather tried to browbeat the headmistress into accepting Sophie. Within a week of her arrival at his gloomy manor in Lincolnshire, he’d declared that she must go to school as soon as possible. She also wanted nothing to do with him, and the viscount returned the feeling in full.
Twelve-year-old Sophie Graham was an orphan, and she was the granddaughter of Viscount Makepeace, not a duke or a foreign dignitary. One girl caught a glimpse of the carriage waiting outside, glossy black with an escutcheon on the door, and soon the whispers grew fevered: it must be a duke’s pampered daughter, or even a foreign princess. A new student had arrived, and she must be of rare family and fortune. Upton’s Academy for Young Ladies soon after tea.
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