“But Cousin Daniel doesn’t know the length of his stride.”
“Precisely. That is what makes the lesson so much better. Once you have determined the length of the path, you must work backwards to determine the length of his stride.”
“In our heads?”
She might as well have said they must learn to wrestle an octopus. “It is the only way to learn how to do it,” she told them.
“I have great love for pen and ink myself,” Lord Winstead remarked.
“Don’t listen to him, girls. It is extremely useful to be able to do sums and tables in your head. Just think of the applications.”
They just stared at her, all four of them. Applications, apparently, were not jumping to mind.
“Shopping,” Anne said, hoping to appeal to the girls. “Mathematics is of tremendous help when one goes shopping. You’re not going to carry pen and paper with you when you go to the milliner’s, are you?”
Still, they stared. Anne had a feeling they had never so much as inquired about price at the milliner’s, or any establishment, for that matter.
“What about games?” she tried. “If you sharpen your arithmetic skills, there is no telling what you can achieve in a game of cards.”
“You have no idea,” Lord Winstead murmured.
“I don’t think our mother wants you to teach us how to gamble,” Elizabeth said.
Anne could hear the earl chortling with amusement beside her.
“How do you intend to verify our results?” Harriet wanted to know.
“That is a very good question,” Anne replied, “and one that I will answer tomorrow.” She paused for precisely one second. “When I have figured out how I am going to do it.”
All three girls tittered, which had been her intention. There was nothing like a little self-deprecating humor to regain control of the conversation.
“I shall have to return for the results,” Lord Winstead remarked.
“There is no need for that,” Anne said quickly. “We can send them over with a footman.”
“Or we could walk,” Frances suggested. She turned to Lord Winstead with hopeful eyes. “It’s not very far to Winstead House, and Miss Wynter does love to make us take walks.”
“Walking is healthful for the body and mind,” Anne said primly.
“But far more enjoyable when one has company,” Lord Winstead said.
Anne took a breath—the better to hold back a retort—and turned to the girls. “Let us begin,” she said briskly, directing them to the top of the path. “Start over there and then make your way down. I shall wait right there on that bench.”
“You’re not coming?” Frances demanded. She gave Anne the sort of look normally reserved for those found guilty of high treason.
“I wouldn’t want to get in your way,” Anne demurred.
“Oh, but you would not be in the way, Miss Wynter,” said Lord Winstead. “The path is very wide.”
“Nevertheless.”
“Nevertheless?” he echoed.
She gave a crisp nod.
“Hardly a rebuttal worthy of London’s finest governess.”
“A lovely compliment to be sure,” she volleyed, “but unlikely to spur me to battle.”
He stepped toward her, murmuring, “Coward.”
“Hardly,” she returned, managing to respond without even moving her lips. And then, with a bright smile: “Come along, girls, let’s get started. I shall remain here for a moment to help you begin.”
“I don’t need help,” Frances grumbled. “I just need to not have to do it.”
Anne just smiled. She knew that Frances would be boasting of her steps and calculations later that evening.
“You, too, Lord Winstead.” Anne gazed at him with her most benign expression. The girls were already moving forward, unfortunately at differing speeds, which meant that a cacophony of numbers filled the air.
“Oh, but I can’t,” he said. One of his hands fluttered up to rest over his heart.
“Why can’t you?” Harriet asked, at the same moment that Anne said, “Of course you can.”
“I feel dizzy,” he said, and it was such an obvious clanker that Anne could not help but roll her eyes. “It’s true,” he insisted. “I have the . . . oh, what was it that befell poor Sarah . . . the vertigo.”
“It was a stomach ailment,” corrected Harriet, and she took a discreet step back.
“You didn’t seem dizzy before,” Frances said.