Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Politely nibbling her way through a slice of toast, thinly spread with fresh butter, Frances forced down each mouthful. Nerves had gotten the better of her hunger, but she would regret it if she did not eat something now; it would be another long day.
The reason for her nerves had decided to join the teacher and the student at the breakfast table that morning, though Frances had deliberately timed it so they would not cross paths.
Apparently, Dominic had decided to enjoy a late breakfast… which even the servants had been surprised by, suggesting it was no mistake that he was right there, seemingly watching Frances’ every move.
Is he going to say something about last night? Did he see me in the window? Did he not? Her heart thudded erratically, a cold sweat prickling down the back of her neck.
“Am I doing it right?” Harriet asked with a hopeful smile, as she gently stabbed a piece of egg and raised it to her lips. She popped it into her mouth, just as she had been taught, and chewed demurely.
Her grasp on the knife and fork was still somewhat aggressive, but the reprieve brought some relief to Frances’ jumping heart and knotted stomach. A welcome distraction.
“I could not have chewed it better myself,” she replied, chuckling.
Harriet beamed. “Who knew a person could eat wrong? Indeed, who knew that learning to eat correctly could be so fascinating!”
With a slight raise of her eyebrow, Frances searched the face of the younger woman, looking for any sign of sarcasm or insincerity.
To her amusement and heartwarming appreciation, she discovered none of either.
Harriet really did seem to be soaking up everything Frances had to teach, eager to know as much as possible, to the point where it made Juliet and Lucinda seem like very naughty students indeed.
Harriet hesitated as she carefully sipped from her cup of tea, holding the handle delicately.
“Although, you will have to take me through the purpose of all those knives and spoons and forks at dinner again. I did not even know we had so many. I have decided to bring a quill and ink and paper to the dinner table, so I miss nothing.”
“A wise idea,” Frances said. “Indeed, you should bring paper and a pencil to all of our lessons, then write out your notes in ink in the evening to practice your handwriting.”
Harriet nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course! That is perfect.” She looked at her father. “Do we have any pencils, Papa?”
“I am sure there is one in my study you can borrow,” he replied, glancing up from the morning paper.
Although Frances got the sense that he had not actually been reading it, for he had been on the same page for rather a long time. Rather, it felt as if he were there to observe, like she was being assessed on her teaching as much as Harriet was being assessed on her learning.
“What shall we do today?” Harriet asked excitedly, her hand creeping around her teacup into old habits as her enthusiasm took over. “The pianoforte? The viola? The flute? I can perform my best pieces.”
Frances softened. “You can play as a reward, for I already know you are a gifted musician. That will serve you well, but only in certain situations.” She kept Dominic in her periphery, watching his expression.
“Rather, I thought we might rehearse a promenade, out in the gardens, so you will have some idea what to expect if a gentlemen should ask to promenade with you.”
“Yes!” the girl shrieked, clapping her hands together. “Oh, yes, that is far better than playing my instruments! Shall I enlist one of the footmen to help us? Shall I send for Uncle Hugo?”
Laughing at the girl’s contagious excitement, Frances shook her head.
“There will be no need for that. You will see what I mean once we are out in the gardens.” She nodded down to Harriet’s half-empty plate.
“Now, finish your breakfast so we can begin… but do not rush. Even the small, seemingly mundane things are important, and you must practice until it feels effortless.”
With a slight grumble of indignation, Harriet resumed the delicate eating of her eggs, though Frances was not oblivious to the lingering gleam of excitement in the girl’s eyes.
The hardest part of all of this, I fear, will be ensuring you do not fall in love with every gentleman you meet.
She had seen countless young ladies fall foul of their tender hearts, easily manipulated by wily men who flattered and dazzled.
She had seen countless young ladies fall in love with the magic of society, losing their minds with all the dancing and parties and balls and events, until they could no longer see danger.
For many girls, it was the first time they had enjoyed any freedom, especially when they were on a dance floor, away from a chaperone. It could lead to mistakes, and Frances hoped she could teach Harriet well enough that the girl would avoid the majority of pitfalls.
But she has been stuck in the countryside for so long that, perhaps, nothing I teach will be enough to protect her once she is out in society. To this lively girl, Frances was worried it might be like letting a bird out of its cage with the futile hope that it would come back of its own accord.
Suddenly, Dominic folded his newspaper, smacked it down on the table and announced, “I think I will join you.”
“What?” Harriet gaped at him. “Father, no! I cannot pretend to promenade if you are there!”
Dominic met his daughter’s horrified stare with a hard stare of his own. “And when you promenade in real life, where will I be?”
Harriet closed her mouth, a scowl creasing her brow.
“Exactly,” he remarked, as he raised his hand to summon a footman for more coffee.
He did not even glance at Frances. If he had, he would have seen a similarly displeased glint in her eyes, too.
The rose gardens were some of the prettiest Frances had ever seen, white gravel pathways marking the perfect guide for a promenade, high sandstone walls separating each part of the gardens into their own private worlds.
It will be beautiful here in the summer, when the roses bloom. She smiled at the sprouting buds, so full of potential.
Dominic stood by the rose garden gate, as though he were a statue. Meanwhile, Harriet swayed nervously, her hands clasped, awaiting instruction. A short distance from her, Catherine had her head bowed, her gaze fixed on the ground, looking as out of place as she no doubt felt.
But that was about to change.
“Let us begin,” Frances declared. “Harriet, you go and sit on that bench over there with Catherine. Pretend you are a young lady and her chaperone, deep in conversation, discussing what you overheard last night at a dinner party.”
Without hesitation, Harriet hurried over to the bench and sat down, though Catherine was slower to move. Perhaps, she might have refused, her shyness too overwhelming, had Harriet not eagerly beckoned to the lady’s maid.
“Come to me, Catherine,” the young woman urged. “It shall be such fun! As I have no notion of what anyone says at a dinner party, you shall be the perfect help.”
Catherine raised her head, a flush of pink blossoming in her cheeks, a faint smile upon her lips. “Of course, my lady. I shall… do what I can.”
She joined Harriet on the bench, and, to Frances’ delight, they began to talk as if they really were so well acquainted with one another. Indeed, Frances could almost imagine them in Hyde Park on a lovely spring afternoon, confiding secrets, conjuring stories of all the people who walked by.
Bolstered by the first part of her scheme, Frances cast a sly look at Dominic. “Your Grace, I have a request.”
He turned to her, wariness lifting his eyebrow ever so slightly. “What request might that be?”
“I need to borrow your tailcoat,” Frances replied.
“Pardon?”
“Your coat. I need to borrow it.”
Dominic’s raised eyebrow furrowed into a deep frown. “Whatever for? It is not cold. You have your pelisse.”
“For your daughter’s lesson,” Frances said, holding out her hand. “It cannot continue until you give me your tailcoat. Do not worry, I shall return it once the lesson is over.”
It was a fine garment of dark green, though plain by London’s standards.
It became him well, highlighting his broad chest and wide shoulders, accentuating a narrower waist that gave him the appearance of a tremendous athlete, his posture excellent…
if a little too rigid. Although, that might have been a result of the request rather than the garment.
“And I am to stand out here in naught but a waistcoat?” he asked in a low voice.
Frances shrugged. “You wore no waistcoat on the evening I met you, and there is no one here who would gossip of the impropriety. Who would we tell? Each other?” She wiggled her hand insistently. “Off with it, Your Grace, so we may continue.”
She would not normally have been so brazen, but she did not want him to repeat this observation of her teaching. As such, she hoped to embarrass him into returning to the manor.
He narrowed his blue eyes at her until she could not see the freckle in his iris anymore. Evidently, he thought he was part of some trick or amusement, and perhaps there was some element of revenge to be had, but Frances just kept staring at him, waiting expectantly.
“What is going on?” Harriet called out.
“I am just waiting for your father to provide the costume,” Frances answered. “Then, we can begin.”
Harriet sat back against the bench and huffed out a breath. “Hurry up, Papa!”
Out of the corner of her eye, Frances noticed Catherine quietly correct the young lady’s posture, no doubt whispering a reminder that society women did not cross their legs but crossed their ankles behind one another. A moment later, she showed Harriet what she meant.
Harriet gently smacked herself in the forehead and sat up straighter, tucking her ankles demurely, before saying something that looked like ‘thank you’ to Catherine. In an instant, the lady’s maid brightened, the two women falling back into conversation.
“Your tailcoat, if you please,” Frances asked again.
Expelling a strained breath that sounded rather like a mutter of displeasure, Dominic slowly began to unbutton his tailcoat. “If you needed a costume, you should have said before we came outside.”
“Ah, but this way, your daughter can see that you are involved in her education,” Frances replied. “And as you were so insistent on joining the lesson, I assumed you did wish to be involved.”
She did not like to be watched and judged and assessed.
If she had wanted more of that, she would have stayed in London to face the merciless opinion of the ton.
Although she could not tell Dominic outright that she did not care for his observations, and he clearly had no intention of returning to the manor, she could at least gain some satisfaction from forcing him into her lessons in one way or another.
However, as he unbuttoned, she found herself less occupied with mediocre revenge and altogether more invested in what he was doing, what each popped button revealed. She could not concentrate on anything else, almost forgetting why it was that she had asked for his tailcoat in the first place.
How does a man become so… muscular? I have never seen a gentleman of the ton with such… a majestic physique. Would those arms be hard, like stone, or… softer if they were to hold a lady? In an embrace, would a lady feel as if she were being crushed, or more protected than she ever had in her life?
A feverish warmth tingled along her skin as he undid the last button, those sculpted muscles proving they were not merely for show as he twisted to pull the sleeves from his immense arms. She could picture him in the fields, lifting haybales with ease, or with an axe in hand, chopping wood as if it were butter, or bringing an escaped sheep back to the safety of the barn, hoisted on his shoulders.
But, as he draped the tailcoat on his forefingers and held it out to her, her gaze taking in his fine waistcoat and clean shirt and loose cravat, she could just as easily imagine him at a ball, standing out among the wretched likes of Lord Sherbourne.
A titan, among puny weasels with bad manners and terrible entitlement.
Oh, how that awful man would cower if I were to step into a ball beside this man…