Chapter 4
Lavinia gripped the strings of her reticule as she followed Evermere's butler through hallways that seemed to stretch endlessly before her.
"Lady Lavinia, Your Grace," the butler announced, stepping aside with a bow that somehow managed to be both respectful and disapproving, as though her very presence offended his sense of propriety.
The Duke of Evermere stood behind his desk, his broad shoulders outlined against the morning light streaming through the windows. He turned at her entrance, his expression as carefully composed as a painting—and about as warm.
"Lady Lavinia." He inclined his head. "I trust your journey was uneventful?"
"Perfectly so, Your Grace." Lavinia curtseyed. "Thank you for inquiring."
His dark blue eyes passed over her, assessing her simple gray traveling dress and matching pelisse with an intensity that made her acutely aware of every tiny stitch she'd repaired by candlelight.
She resisted the urge to smooth her skirts.
A lady never betrays her nervousness, Moira's advice echoed in her mind.
"I've had a space prepared for Lady Sophia's lessons," he said, moving from behind the desk. "If you'll follow me, I'll introduce you to my daughter before I attend to other matters."
He led the way without waiting for her response, leaving Lavinia to fall into step beside him.
The hallway felt suddenly narrower with his presence beside her, though a proper distance separated them.
She caught the faint scent of sandalwood and something uniquely his own that made her pulse quicken against all sense and reason.
Ridiculous, she scolded herself. You're here to educate his daughter, not to notice how he smells.
"Lady Sophia has had three governesses in the past year," the duke said abruptly, interrupting her wayward thoughts. "None lasted more than a month. I expect you to demonstrate more fortitude."
"Three?" Lavinia couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. "Was there some deficiency in their methods?"
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "The deficiency was in their character. They found Sophia too reserved, and myself too exacting."
"I see." Lavinia carefully maintained her pace beside him. "And which complaint do you anticipate I'll make first, Your Grace?"
He glanced at her, something that might have been surprise flickering across his features before disappearing behind his mask of aristocratic indifference. "I expect you'll find us both insufferable within the week, Lady Lavinia."
"Then I shall endeavor to disappoint you," she replied, the words escaping before she could temper them.
For the briefest moment, the corner of his mouth twitched upward—a ghost of a smile that vanished so quickly she might have imagined it. They walked the remainder of the distance in silence until they reached a door near the east wing.
The duke rapped twice before opening it. "Sophia."
Lavinia followed him into a bright, airy room clearly designed for study.
A small writing desk faced the windows, which overlooked what appeared to be formal gardens.
Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with educational texts arranged by subject.
A globe stood in one corner, and maps of Europe and the Empire hung neatly framed on the opposite wall.
And there, perched on the edge of a straight-backed chair as though prepared for flight, sat Lady Sophia Lilacourt.
The girl had delicate features that reminded her painfully of Frances at a younger age.
Her dark hair was neatly arranged in a simple style appropriate for her twelve years, and her eyes were on her folded hands.
Her shoulders were drawn tight, and this was a posture Lavinia recognized all too well; a lonely child.
"Lady Sophia, this is Lady Lavinia," the duke said, his voice softening almost imperceptibly when addressing his daughter. "She will be your new tutor."
Sophia rose and executed a perfect curtsey, the movement as mechanical as a clockwork doll's. "How do you do, Lady Lavinia," she murmured, still not lifting her gaze.
"I expect a full report of today's progress this afternoon," the duke said, turning to Lavinia.
His expression had reverted to stern impassivity, but she caught the briefest flicker of something else in his eyes as they glanced toward his daughter—concern, perhaps, or uncertainty. "Four o'clock in my study."
"Of course, Your Grace." Lavinia curtseyed again.
With a final nod, he departed, closing the door behind him with a decisive click that seemed to echo in the sudden silence.
Sophia remained standing, her eyes still lowered.
"Well," Lavinia said brightly, setting her reticule aside, "shall we begin by getting acquainted, Lady Sophia? I find lessons proceed much more pleasantly when tutor and pupil know a little something about each other."
"Yes, Lady Lavinia." The girl's voice was barely audible.
Lavinia moved to one of the chairs positioned near a small table, choosing the one that would place them at right angles rather than directly opposite one another. "Please, join me. I promise I don't bite."
Sophia dutifully moved to the indicated chair and perched on its edge, her back straight as a ramrod, her hands folded in her lap. Her eyes remained somewhere around the third button of Lavinia's dress.
"Have you had many lessons in deportment, Lady Sophia?" Lavinia asked.
"Yes, Lady Lavinia."
"And what subjects do you most enjoy?"
"I don't know, Lady Lavinia."
Lavinia suppressed a sigh. This would be more challenging than she'd anticipated. "Perhaps you might tell me what books you've been reading recently?"
"Whatever was assigned, Lady Lavinia."
This will never do, Lavinia thought, studying the girl's closed expression. Behind the perfect manners and dutiful responses, she sensed not haughtiness but fear.
She stood abruptly. "I believe we should begin with something practical. The foundation of a lady's education is proper carriage and deportment. Show me your best curtsey, if you please."
Sophia rose and performed another flawless curtsey, her movements utterly without warmth or personality.
"Technically perfect," Lavinia observed, "but lacking something essential. Watch me."
She demonstrated a deep, formal curtsey, then straightened with a smile.
"Now, the technical elements are important, of course—the angle of the knee, the placement of the foot, the tilt of the head—but equally important is the impression one creates.
A proper curtsey should convey respect without servility, confidence without arrogance. "
Sophia watched with slightly widened eyes as Lavinia performed several variations—the quick, shallow curtsey appropriate for casual acquaintances; the deeper, more formal one for those of superior rank; and finally, an exaggeratedly deep one that had her nearly touching her nose to her knees.
"That last one is only for meeting royalty or for particularly impressive feats of balance," Lavinia added with a conspiratorial wink.
"Speaking of balance—" She crossed to the bookshelf and selected a slim volume of poetry.
"The finest finishing schools teach young ladies to walk with books balanced on their heads. Shall we try?"
For the first time, uncertainty rather than bland acceptance crossed Sophia's features. "Books, Lady Lavinia?"
"Indeed." Lavinia placed the volume atop her own head and walked several steps with perfect posture. "It teaches proper carriage of the head and spine. Though I warn you, it can lead to disaster if one isn't careful."
She purposefully exaggerated her movements, placing one foot before the other like a tightrope walker, arms extended for balance. "One must be very, very careful," she intoned seriously, "or else—" She allowed the book to wobble precariously. "Oh dear—"
The book tipped, and Lavinia made a show of trying to save it, twisting comically before letting it fall with a dramatic gasp. "Catastrophe! Literature scattered upon the carpet! Whatever shall we tell the librarians?"
Sophia's lips twitched upward at the corners—not quite a smile, but the first crack in her perfect, porcelain composure.
"Your turn," Lavinia said, retrieving the book and offering it to the girl. "Remember—chin parallel to the floor, shoulders down, spine straight but not rigid."
With visible trepidation, Sophia accepted the book and placed it on her head. It balanced for approximately three seconds before sliding off and landing with a soft thump at her feet.
"An excellent first attempt," Lavinia said warmly. "Try again. This time, imagine a string pulling you upward from the crown of your head, like a marionette."
Sophia tried again, managing several wobbly steps before the book slid sideways. Her small hands darted up to catch it before it fell.
"Well done! Quick reflexes are an essential skill for a lady. You never know when you might need to catch a falling teacup or intercept an indiscreet note before it reaches the wrong hands."
This earned her another twitch of the lips from Sophia—closer to a smile this time.
"Now, watch carefully." Lavinia placed the book on her own head again and walked a perfect circle around the girl. "The key is to move from your center, not from your shoulders or head."
She demonstrated several more turns, then purposely wobbled. "Oh no—I'm losing my literary balance—the poetry is rebelling—help!" She staggered dramatically, arms pinwheeling, as the book slid from her head and tumbled to the floor with a satisfying thump.
A small, precious sound escaped Sophia—a giggle, quickly stifled behind her hand, but unmistakable. Color bloomed in her pale cheeks, and for the first time, her eyes met Lavinia's directly.
"I believe it's your turn again," Lavinia said, smiling as she retrieved the book. "Remember, the key to perfect deportment is confidence—even when one is about to make a complete cake of oneself."