Let Sleeping Rogues Lie: School of Heiresses Series Book 4

Dear Charlotte,
I'm glad you are finally giving greater responsibility to your teachers, instead of taking everything upon yourself. Miss Prescott in particular sounds like an asset, given her penchant for bookkeeping. I know how much you despise numbers -- this way you can keep your hand in without having to submit to the tortures of doing sums.
Your friend and cousin,
Michael
Miss Madeline Prescott stared at the sealed envelope for the fifth time that day. Refused was written across it in a bold hand.
She couldn't believe it. Though she'd received no answer to her previous correspondence, she'd still hoped that Sir Humphry Davy might one day read one of her letters. If they were being refused entirely, she hadn't the smallest hope of making her case in person to the famous chemist.
Tears stung her eyes. Now what? She didn't know where to turn, and Papa got worse by the day. If she didn't find a solution soon --
"Ah, there you are," said Mrs. Charlotte Harris, owner and headmistress of Mrs. Harris's School for Young Ladies, as she entered the school's office. "I thought I might find you here."
Shoving the letter into her apron pocket, Madeline forced a smile. "I'm still balancing the accounts."
Mrs. Harris took a seat on the other side of the partner's desk, her red curls jiggling. "I don't envy you. I am so grateful you took those duties over."
Her employer wouldn't be nearly so grateful if she knew about the scandal clinging to the Prescott name in Shropshire. Mrs. Harris expected her teachers to be above reproach.
A footman appeared in the doorway to the office and said to Mrs. Harris, "A Lord Norcourt has come to call on you, ma'am."
Madeline's throat went dry. Sir Randolph Bickham's nephew, here? Could the Viscount Norcourt be seeking her out because of his uncle's wicked plot against Papa? Had Sir Randolph actually hunted them down here in Richmond?
That made no sense. Not only had the viscount never met her, but he and Sir Randolph were rumored to be estranged. Would Lord Norcourt even realize her family's connection to his?
Even if he did, he couldn't know she taught here. She hadn't told anyone at home in Telford. And she'd certainly kept her former life secret from Mrs. Harris.
Mrs. Harris looked perplexed. "But I don't know Lord Norcourt."
"He's here about a prospective pupil, I believe," the footman said.
Madeline slumped in relief. So this was a chance occurrence. Thank heaven.
"I have no openings for this term," Mrs. Harris said.
"I told him, ma'am. But he still wishes to speak with you."
Mrs. Harris turned to Madeline. "Do you know anything about Lord Norcourt?"
"A little," she said evasively. "He only inherited the title from his elder brother last month. Before then, you would have known him as the Honorable Anthony Dalton."
Mrs. Harris blinked. "The rakehell with a fondness for widows?"
"So they say."
"I wonder why he's here. He has no children to enroll." With a glance at the waiting footman, Mrs. Harris rose and touched one slender hand to her temple. "The gossips say he has seduced half the widows in London."
"That's impossible." Madeline did a swift calculation in her head. "Given a population of over one million, if even one-twentieth are widows, he'd have had to bed a woman every four hours over the past ten years to achieve such a feat. That would scarcely leave him time for gaming hells and wild parties."
Mrs. Harris's arch glance showed that she didn't particularly appreciate Madeline's practical perspective. But then, few people did. "I've heard about those parties," Mrs. Harris said tartly. "Cousin Michael even described one."
"Cousin Michael" was the school's original benefactor, a reclusive fellow who wrote Mrs. Harris of any intelligence he thought would aid the heiresses who attended. Privately, Madeline wondered if Cousin Michael was as removed from social affairs as he implied. But she wasn't likely to find out, since the man's identity had never been revealed to anyone, even Mrs. Harris.
"You don't think Lord Norcourt has come because I am a widow, do you?" the headmistress asked as she paced before the window that overlooked the school's extensive gardens.
"I hardly think it likely."
"Nonetheless, I want nothing to do with the man." Mrs. Harris whirled on Madeline. "Perhaps you should speak to him. It's time you learned to deal with this sort of thing, and you're more likely to be tactful than I, given his reputation."
"But -- "
"Why should you be limited to teaching classes and doing the school's accounts? You've amply proved you can handle weightier responsibilities. So go explain to Lord Norcourt that we have no openings."
Madeline hesitated. What if the man recognized her surname as Papa's?