The Social Tutor_A Regency Romance Read online

  “You must. I know you were listening to my conversation with Mr. Ames. And you were certainly present in the drawing room when I spoke to Hannah. I think I must have committed some gross societal error, but I cannot think what.”

  Thomas stared at her for several long seconds, trying to gather his wits as to what to say. Nothing about such a question was normal or correct in their world. “I believe this is something you should discuss with your sister? Or governess?”

  She shook her head, dropping her eyes at the same moment. “We have no governess any longer, and my sister laughed when I tried to speak to her. That was last night, and she was quite tired by the time we were alone. I did intend to try with her again. I thought an outside opinion would be nice.”

  “This is an incredibly awkward conversation, Miss Christine,” he hazarded to say, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I hardly think we should even be standing here, conversing, unchaperoned.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and paced on her side of the brook. “Thomas, I have known you since childhood. You could hardly have any designs on me. Besides, my mother adored you. I do not think she would mind that I sought your opinion on an important matter.”

  “Your mother?” He slowly sat back down on the rock. “But it’s been years since I have been to your home.”

  “Five. Since she died.” Christine smiled, somewhat brittlely. “She liked you a great deal. She thought you had the makings of a fine horseman. I remember your visits. Don’t you remember me coming along when you would visit the stables? Mother even required me to fetch and carry books to your home.”

  Though he would not admit it, he could recall the young girl she was, hair in braids, following him around in her mother’s stables.

  “I liked her, too. She is the one who gained me an introduction to several breeders,” he said. “She was quite the horsewoman. A good judge of animals and an excellent rider.”

  The young woman before him nodded once, succinctly. “Yes. I miss her greatly, especially now. I’m supposed to be preparing to enter society and I have precious few people willing to offer me direction. I have an etiquette book, but it is frightfully dull reading and contradicts itself. I have asked Julia for assistance, yet I find she doesn’t wish to speak to me of anything to do with the season.”

  Although he felt some sympathy for her plight, he did not feel it his place to assist her. “I am afraid there is precious little to qualify me as an advisor in such things.”

  Her smile returned, her eyes dancing as she regarded him with obvious amusement. “You are a well-traveled gentleman who has spent time in London society and abroad. I am certain you have met many well-bred young ladies.”

  “That is true,” he admitted slowly, uncertain as to where this line of thought was leading. “But—"

  “And your mother and sisters are very well received in society,” she pointed out.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “They are.”

  “Therefore, you likely have some idea of how a young woman ought to behave, and as a gentleman you should seek to assist a lady if she expresses a need for help.” She tilted her chin up as she concluded the sentence, narrowing her eyes slightly at him. “Therefore, I will repeat my entreaty to you. As a gentleman, could you assist me by giving me your opinion of where I went wrong at the supper party the other evening?”

  Thomas stared at her for the space of several seconds before he realized his jaw hung open. He snapped it closed and swallowed his surprise.

  “Very well. As you are appealing to my honor now, I will tell you that I believe you to have made an excellent point in conversation with Mr. Ames, but that it was neither the right time nor place for you to offer your opposing views on the topic of Divine Right. Further, you tended to interrupt him as he spoke, which he did not appreciate. That is all I am prepared to say about it.”

  “I suppose that will do for now,” she said, looking somewhat surprised. “I do wish for more assistance. Clearer explanations of things.” She sighed. “I need more guidance or I shall be a terrible disappointment to my father when we go to London.”

  “I am certain you will be a credit to your family, Miss Christine,” he said as politely as he could, looking for a way out of the conversation and away from his ruined refuge.

  Her gaze was unfocused as she shook her head, not really looking at him. “I worry the opposite is true. After my sister’s season did not go as expected, I almost did not get one at all. If I fail to behave properly, I am afraid it will be more than a disappointment to me.” Her dark eyes met his again, and the smile she offered was much smaller now, almost sad.

  Thomas could not imagine why one difficult evening would have such a disheartening effect on a young lady of her obvious good breeding and cheery personality. But if he saw one of his sisters this discouraged, he would not allow them to remain so.

  “You lack a little guidance, Miss Christine. Surely there are people in our little corner of England who might help you prepare for London. In my time spent there, during the season, every young woman held herself with poise and purpose. Certainly, it cannot be too difficult to acquire that sort of polish.” He offered her an encouraging smile.

  Her frown faded away and her expression changed to one of interest or, he realized in surprise, one of calculation. Her lips then curved upward and her eyes widened.

  “You could help me obtain the necessary polish, as you say. You are a gentleman who is familiar with the ways of society.”

  Thomas tried to understand her words, not certain what she asked of him. “I don’t quite catch your meaning. You wish me to help you? How?”

  “Become my tutor. Tutor me in correct societal behavior.” She waved a hand in a dismissive manner.

  “Tutor you?” he asked, aghast. “How is that at all appropriate? I am a gentleman.”

  “My dance instructor and music instructor are men,” she stated, head tilted to one side as she looked him up and down the way he might look over a horse. Obviously, she misunderstood the situation.

  “They likely meet you at home, where you are appropriately chaperoned, the door open, a servant present,” he pointed out. “I am not a professional instructor of any kind.”

  She brought her eyebrows down and he thought he had well confounded her unorthodox plans. Her next words drove that comfort from him. “We are old acquaintances and if we meet in the open air like this, we are unlikely to upset anyone. It is not as though you have any desire to form a connection with me. Everyone knows your circumstances are not conducive to marrying at present, and I do not mind confiding in you that I’m prepared to pursue the most brilliant match in London. My family expects it.”

  She did not seem to notice or care how affronted he was with her statement of his family’s circumstances or how it affected his matrimonial opportunities.

  “Miss Christine—"

  “Christine, if you please.”

  Her refusal to even adhere to that simple rule of society gave him alarm. “There is nothing you could do or say that would at all entice me to take up such a position. It is incredibly inappropriate, Miss Christine. I am certain, if you apply to the ladies of your acquaintance, they will be of greater use to you.” He bowed, preparing to leave, ready with a parting word, suitably polite given the circumstances. “If you will excuse me.”

  “What if I give you stud rights to my horses?” she blurted, clenching her hands at her sides and lifting her chin. “I know you desire to begin a horse farm. The whole neighborhood knows. But you lack the ability to procure a sire for your first crop of foals.”

  He froze, staring across the divide at her, his thoughts suddenly scattered to the wind. “Your stallions?”

  “Both of them, if you wish. Castel sired my Ovid and Williomson’s Ditto sired my Archer. You ought to recognize those names, even if your tastes run more to the Italian breeds.” She raised her eyebrows as she dangled that carrot before him. “They were my mother’s treasures and they are my propert
y. I have every right to offer them to you.”

  Suddenly her proposal no longer sounded absurd. Not with lineage like that in her stables. He had not forgotten those horses, even in five years. He spoke slowly. “You would bribe me with use of your horses?”

  “It is a favor for a favor,” she said, jutting her chin out. “An agreement between old friends. An arrangement perfectly appropriate for a gentleman.”

  He fell quiet.

  “Perhaps you would take the time to consider it? I can meet you here tomorrow at the same time.” She tilted her head to one side, regarding him with half a smile as if she already knew what his answer would be, the little minx.

  Before he knew it, he was agreeing. “Very well. I will be in exactly this spot in the morning.”

  Her smile stretched as her whole expression brightened and her posture relaxed. “Wonderful. I know if you think on it you will see things my way.”

  He refrained from denying this, already turning over the possibilities in his mind. They went their separate ways after the briefest of farewells, and Thomas wondered what sort of trouble Miss Christine might cause on a regular basis if she could create this much confusion and anxiety in one short meeting.

  Chapter Five

  Christine finished dressing for the afternoon when her maid came to her door. “Miss Christine,” the maid said respectfully when the door opened. “I was told to inform you that your father has arrived home. He will join the family for supper.”

  “Oh, thank you, Sarah! We had better find a suitable gown for supper. Father insists on our best presentment at meals.” It would not do to disappoint him here, in their own home, if she wished to assure him that her season in London would be a success. “We must discuss the arrangement of my hair as well. Do you think we ought to try one of the new styles from Paris?” She bit her lip, studying her brown curls in the mirror. “Can we try that beautiful Grecian knot?”

  “As you wish, Miss Christine. I think that style becomes you,” the abigail said. “What would you like to wear?”

  “The blue supper gown, I should think, with the white ribbons.” Christine stood and went to the wardrobe with Sarah. “Or maybe the pink? We ought to try both before settling the matter.” She sighed. “I wish Father would’ve sent word a trifle sooner. He is so particular about appearances, even at home. And I am certain he will want a full accounting of Aunt’s letter.”

  Christine spent the remainder of the afternoon going over her plans for the season and worrying over her dress for supper, changing her mind twice before settling on her blue gown more firmly.

  Her father had been away on business to London for nearly a month. Christine and her sisters rarely saw him even when he was at home, for he stayed submerged in his business and letters no matter the time of year. She did not feel she could complain of his frequent absences, as he did provide well for his three daughters and school-age son. As a gentleman should. They certainly were doing well financially, from what she could detect.

  Not like the Gilberts, whose unwise investments and penchant for aiding their tenants left them in a most embarrassing position.

  After she put all thoughts of finance from her head, for her father did not like to discuss such matters in depth with his daughters, Christine descended to supper. Rebecca exited her bedroom moments after Christine, and the sisters walked to the dining room together. Julia was already present in the parlor when they arrived.

  “Have you seen him yet?” Christine asked, her chest constricting. Father’s homecomings always left her nervous. Or excited. It was difficult to tell which until she could more accurately determine his set of mind and mood.

  Julia shook her head, not meeting Christine’s eyes. “I am told he ordered a change in menu, but that is the only news I have had of him.”

  “I do hope he is in a cheerful mood,” Rebecca said, tilting her head to one side. Christine silently hoped the same.

  At that moment, the door opened and in strode their tall, trim, and excessively fierce-looking father. He kept in better shape than most men his age, due to a great deal of sport, and he repeatedly told his daughters that appearance was everything in society. If he looked slovenly, people would assume that to be part of his character and no one would do business with a slovenly man. In keeping with his concern for appearance, his hair remained as neatly trimmed as ever, his face clean-shaven, his clothing immaculate, though appropriate for one of his age and station, and his bearing as ramrod straight as any soldier’s.

  Like a general appraising his troops, Mr. Devon cast an eye over each daughter as they made their curtsies to him. “Very well,” he said, by way of greeting and approval of their persons. “I see the house still stands in my absence, though I have had reports from the staff that leave me surprised at your management, Julia.”

  Julia stiffened and her eyes went to the floor. “I hope you find the household has been run acceptably in your absence, Father.”

  “Hardly. We will meet with the housekeeper tomorrow to discuss the problems I have discovered in the kitchens. I should not have to be involved in such domestic chores, Julia. I expect for you to heed my words in the proper management of a house even when I am not present. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, Father,” she answered dutifully, her eyes still low, though Christine thought she saw her sister’s jaw clench.

  Well. If Julia ever wants Father’s respect, she will have to give in and do things his way. It is his house, after all, and his servants.

  Christine could never understand why her sister insisted on trying things differently after their father clearly expressed his desires for how they ought to be done. It was a daughter’s place to be obedient.

  Julia maintained that their father did little more than ignore them, whether at home or abroad, and so they ought to do what they could to please themselves.

  “Christine,” he said, causing her to snap her attention back to him at once. “I have been speaking with your Aunt Jacqueline at great length and she informed me she would write to you. I would like to have her correspondence and your written preparation for the season on my desk by nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, Father,” she answered dutifully, lifting her chin a fraction of an inch. “We have a complete budget ready for your approval, sir.”

  “Yes.” He cast his eyes over her again in an assessing manner. “Where did you find that hairstyle?”

  “In one of the fashion plates sent by Aunt Jacqueline, Father. It is supposed to be all the rage this season. I have asked my abigail to practice it.” She lifted her chin further and turned her head to the side so that he might admire what the style did to her profile. “It is a most becoming look, Father. It draws attention to—"

  “I hardly care what it is supposed to achieve, Christine.” His interruption immediately froze her smile in place. “So long as it is deemed acceptable. Take heed to note how other young ladies appear and be prepared to cast aside this style if it is at all out of mode. If you must keep it, I would encourage you to embellish what you can with jewels. Show we are not a destitute house by any means.”

  His eyes left hers and went to Rebecca. The youngest sister kept her gaze lowered and her expression neutral. Rebecca, younger and of milder manners than her sisters, looked like naught but a meek little lamb.

  “Rebecca.” His tone was no different with her than it had been as he censured the other two. “Still poring over novels?”

  She shook her head slightly. “Not as often, Father. I have been improving upon my knowledge of gardening, as you suggested.”

  “A very ladylike endeavor and one in which a woman may be seen to be clever, by the arrangement of flowers.” He nodded, though no real look of pleasure at being obeyed crossed his expression. “If you must read, read things that will actually be of use to you. I recommend no further novels at all. If you are caught at reading such by the wrong sort of person they will assume the worst of you.”

  “Yes, Father.” H
er voice dropped in volume with her response, as did her shoulders.

  Christine wondered if this was not a touch harsh, but felt fairly certain that Rebecca would still read whatever she wished. Though she was the youngest sister, and quiet at that, Rebecca knew her own mind.

  The butler came in at that moment to announce supper, saving them from further inspection for at least the space of time it would take them to cross to the dining room.

  Father went ahead first and they followed after, from oldest to youngest.

  Christine thought of reaching out to Julia, to reassure her. But Julia went before her with a stiff spine, squared shoulders, and an air that rebuffed any who may approach her.

  Christine sighed and did her best to glide in a ladylike manner into the dining room.

  The first several minutes of the soup course passed quietly. The only sound was that of their spoons gently descending into the liquid. The sisters took great care to avoid making any noise at all while they sipped from the spoon. Anything that could be related to a slurp must be avoided at all costs, lest they be submitted to a lecture on proper dining etiquette by their father.

  None of the young ladies present ventured any comment. At the table, their father must speak first if anyone was to speak at all. Women were ornamentation, he believed, to be brought out when a man wished to show them off or admire them himself. Mr. Devon hardly needed the conversation of his daughters to be part of his supper ritual.

  Yet Christine ached to speak to him about her coming season and all her preparations made thus far. She wanted to ask him about his conversation with her aunt. She wished greatly to ask him all manner of questions about what he expected of her and then she could reassure him of her determination to meet all his criteria when she selected a husband from the many admirers she expected to fall at her feet.

  They were nearly ready for the fruit course, the whole of the meal passing in silence, when he finally spoke.

  “I saw on your menu you planned to serve pears in a red wine sauce this evening,” her father said, shooting a look through narrowed eyes at Julia. “Very common, Julia. And not a specialty of cook’s. I hired a French pastry chef for a reason.”