The Social Tutor: A Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 1) Read online

  “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.”

  “Yes, Father,” Julia said, her shoulders taut though her eyes remained lowered. “I did not know you would be home when I ordered the menu.”

  “You should always conduct yourself,” he said in a deceptively soft tone, “and this household, the same whether I am in residence or not. I detest pears. They are a grainy, poor fruit with little to recommend them. We do not even grow pears here.”

  “No, Father,” she agreed. “Rebecca does enjoy them, though.”

  Rebecca sunk somewhat in her chair, her eyes darting quickly from Julia to her father before her gaze fell to her lap. From her place across the table, Christine could not see her sister’s hands, but she guessed they would be fidgeting with the napkin. Christine swallowed and looked sideways at their father, trying not to show any outward appearance of worry. Julia often wished to defy the man, but Rebecca would have no wish to do so. It wasn’t fair to try to drag her into the confrontation like that.

  “What Rebecca enjoys is of no concern to me.” He did not even look at his youngest daughter remained staring at the top of Julia’s lowered head.

  Christine watched, holding still as a statue, though inside she squirmed at the spectacle Julia made of herself. Why could she not learn to do things Father’s way? They could avoid so many of these unpleasant scenes if Julia would only listen.

  “Of course not, Father,” Julia said at last.

  “I expect you to adhere to the meal plans I will lay out for you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  He nodded once before the doors opened and the fruit pastries were brought in.

  At least they tasted delicious. His preference didn’t run toward the overdone and overly-seasoned pies they occasionally endured in his absence because Julia liked them. He never cared for the baked goods that were Christine’s especial favorite, either, but their father was the lord and master of his home. Whatever he desired, that was what would be served.

  Moments after the dessert course was laid before them, Julia rose from her chair. “Pray, excuse me. I am unwell.”

  Their father did not even glance up from his plate but, with a flick of his wrist, he dismissed her.

  Christine attempted to catch Julia’s eye to ascertain the reason for her sister’s abrupt departure, but Julia did not look in her direction. The eldest simply turned on her heel and left the room, faster than Christine would expect someone feeling poorly to flee. Poor Julia. Christine wished for more harmony in their family; she hated to see her sisters retreat within themselves when Father came home.

  Chapter Six

  Supper at the Gilbert home always served to lift Thomas’s spirits. His father presided over the meal with a smile, no matter the circumstances, and his mother sat on the other side of the table matching his expression. His parents often exchanged knowing glances across the room, their affection for each other obvious in their silent communications.

  Thomas did not realize how much he missed their intimate family meals while he was away, not until he sat with his parents again. Now, at the table where he grew up, he knew the only way to make the evening more comfortable and familiar would be the presence of his sisters. One elder and one younger, both married and likely tucked up at their own tables at present with their little families.

  Thomas enjoyed each course, listening to his mother talk freely of her day. Today she visited with tenant families, speaking of each person with her customary warmth and concern. She told stories of the children as though they were her own grandchildren.

  “They are little imps,” his father declared after one especially harrowing tale. “And that Jones boy is going to wind up giving his poor father an apoplexy. He is forever doing the worst things in the name of curiosity.”

  “Ah, he is a dear boy,” his mother countered with a wave of her hand. “Very clever. If he grows up to take over his father’s lease, it will be in good hands. He is full of original ideas.”

  “There is nothing original,” her husband said drolly, “in putting frogs in places they oughtn’t to be.”

  “Thomas never played such pranks,” Mrs. Gilbert pointed out. “It was not in his nature.”

  His father chuckled and slanted Thomas a look. “No. This boy never noticed anything smaller than a colt.”

  Thomas laughed. “Father, are you saying you wished me to put frogs in—what was it—cream pitchers? Or my sisters’ boots?”

  “Would have been more natural,” his father said with feigned disapproval. “Instead we were forever pulling you out of the stables.”

  “Oh, leave him alone.” Mother reached out to pat Thomas’s hand resting on the table. “He is a good lad even if he is horse mad.” She sighed. “Although I do begin to despair of you ever marrying, Thomas. Not many gentlewomen spend their days in stables, after all.”

  Thomas sat up straighter, the earlier mood of comfort fleeing immediately. For all that Christine Devon disparaged on his ability to find a wife in his circumstances, his mother did not seem to share those views. “What’s this? Have you a mind to be rid of me so soon after I am home?”

  She shook her head and smiled gently. “No, dear. I have a mother’s wish to see you properly settled with a handsome young woman. We would hardly be rid of you, anyway. We would be adding to the table, not losing someone this time.” Her eyes twinkled merrily at the idea.

  Thomas chuckled and shook his head, not entirely surprised by his mother’s plans. “I have not even been home above two weeks and you are playing matchmaker?”

  “You are not getting any younger, Tom,” she said sweetly. “I have been thinking on it for some time. I am grateful you did not return home from Italy with a bride. That truly would have ruined all my plans for you.”

  Thomas’s next words sounded more strangled than he liked, his amusement fleeing. “Plans? For me? Involving marriage?”

  Mr. Gilbert chuckled. “From the moment each of you were born your mother started making such plans, boy. And I warn you, anyone as determined as she is will eventually get her way.”

  “I do not think now is the time.” Thomas shifted in his seat, his eyes darting from his father’s amused smile to his mother’s now determined look. “I have recently come home, and with things as they are, you cannot hope for me to run off to London to make a match.”

  Although his mother knew full well the state of the family affairs, Thomas did not wish to speak of it in detail when their evening had begun so pleasantly. Still, it struck him as fanciful for him to consider marriage at such a time as this. Why was Miss Christine the only person who recognized that his family’s status would be a problem in finding a suitable mate?

  Mrs. Gilbert’s smile turned softer and her look became less calculating. “Tom darling, if you find the right young lady, your financial difficulties will not be a deterrent. Indeed, a clever young lady may even help you see us out of it. Or bring a dowry that does the trick.”

  “A mercenary marriage?” Thomas asked, incredulous.

  “Not at all. I want for you what your father and I have.” She smiled across the table to her husband, who Thomas saw looked more comfortable with the conversation than he expected. “You should have a love match. A partnership built on mutual understanding and respect. A woman who would make such a match with you could hardly care about your present struggles so long as you gave her the security of a good home. We are not paupers. We are a good family. We could provide comfort and security to any young miss, even if our fortunes do not turn around as I suspect they soon will.”

  Thomas shook his head and slumped back in his chair. “Mother, I knew you had a romantic turn of mind, but I did not think to attach the word ‘hopeless’ to it.”

  She smiled and rose from her chair, signaling the end of the
meal. Her husband and son stood, a habit of respect formed long before. “Dear Tom. There is nothing hopeless about love.” She leaned forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Are you two lingering over brandies or will you join me in the music room? I have learned a new piece!”

  They went with her, willingly on Thomas’s part and eagerly on his father’s. Thomas hung back and took a seat where he could watch them. His father sat next to his mother’s piano stool and turned the pages for her as she played. Observing their union, their thoughtfulness, and even the way they anticipated each other’s movements, could be an inspiration to him. Despite the difficulty the family faced, Thomas’s mother had great faith in her husband and supported him with love and respect.

  Thomas understood why she would want such a union for him. He appreciated the rarity of a marriage with such mutual admiration and devotion.

  His parents gave him hope that such a love was possible, but he would not enter into a marriage with any young lady unless he could guarantee her a secure future. At present, he was not certain how such a thing could be managed if they sold their valuable land or horses in order to meet the current demands of their tenants and household. The future should not be sacrificed for the present.

  His mind turned to Miss Christine’s offer of payment for tutoring. Tutoring in the art of acceptable social behavior.

  The utterly absurd idea, in light of his personal hopes and dreams, struck him as less absurd by the moment.

  ∞∞∞

  The following morning, Christine arrived at seven-thirty, looking less disheveled than after her previous excursion, which led Thomas to believe she came straight to the brook instead of indulging in a morning ride. A chilly breeze swept through the trees, yet the weather was not yet unbearably cold.

  “You appear rather serious,” she said cheerfully, by way of greeting. “Does that mean you intend to help me, even if it is against your better judgment?” Her eyes glittered down at him and her smile seemed more suited to a wood nymph.

  Thomas, from his side of the natural divide, kept his tone completely businesslike. “Yes, but I have a few conditions.” How she took the arrangement he proposed would truly decide it for him.

  She dismounted gracefully, giving her horse an affectionate pat before she turned and delivered another bright smile. “Such as?”

  “You must refrain from calling me by my Christian name,” he said firmly. “We must maintain an appropriate physical distance so if we are discovered it will not be in a compromising manner. These meetings must remain secret.” He ticked each condition off on a finger, holding his hand up in the air and affecting his most stern countenance, which he hoped would give her some indication of how serious this matter would be.

  She blinked at him across the way, her arm encircling the neck of her horse, considering him for several moments. “I understand all but the first condition. Does my use of your name offend you so greatly? We have known each other for many years.”

  “Even still, ours is not a close connection or an overly familiar relationship,” he stated firmly. “And should anyone come upon us, it would be best if we maintain an air of formality.”

  She nodded, albeit slowly, her countenance at last changing to show a more somber turn of mind. “Very well. I understand your conditions and accept them. Now, I shall give you my terms.” She tilted her chin up. “My lessons with you will occur every three days from now until the Christmas ball. As it is November sixth, that would mean fifteen separate lessons.”

  “Fifteen?” he interrupted, eyebrows raised. “Do you anticipate needing that much ‘tutoring’ in the social arts?”

  Her chin came up further. “You are receiving the stud rights of both my prized stallions, Mr. Gilbert. Surely you expected to put in a little effort to earn them, did you not?” So, she could be as determined as he to make their arrangement a business transaction and nothing more.

  He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with gloved fingers. Her horses were well worth his time, but how would he manage to excuse himself frequently, with his family’s financial situation as it stood? He ought to be spending time sorting that business out.

  “Very well. I accept those terms.”

  “Excellent.” Her smile reappeared, nearly as bright as when she first greeted him. “I believe we will work well together, Mr. Gilbert.”

  He declined to comment on that assessment, still wondering how he came to such a state as this, trading in such an unorthodox manner to get what he wanted. If he could obtain the stud rights of her stallions and hold off on selling his mares for a time, then receive investors on the potential foals, he could save his family’s future without parting with lands, horses, or any prized heirlooms.

  “What exactly do you wish to learn during our meetings?” he asked, trying not to sound too defeated. He would do well to think of her as his benefactress, even if an unusual one. “You seem to have knowledge of social graces, after all. Where do you find yourself lacking?”

  From his distance across the brook, no more than three yards, he saw the sudden blush that stained her cheeks.

  “At the supper party the other night, I had the impression that Mr. Ames thought my conversation lacking and I might have said something to distress Hannah.” She twisted her gloved fingers and looked down at the ground. “I think we should begin there.”

  “With conversations?”

  Miss Christine glanced up and offered a shrug of one shoulder. “My governess always taught me that topics of religious matters, the weather, and the occupations of a lady were appropriate for making conversation. She did warn me to curb my opinions in public but encouraged me to speak my mind in the home. I am afraid I am not certain where the boundaries are when it comes to expressing such opinions.”

  She looked down and resumed fidgeting with her fingers. “I am given to understand that gentlemen prefer to speak of topics that interest them but that a lady should not express differing or too firm opinions. If that is how every lady should speak, how does one stand out in such conversations?”

  He blinked, surprised at the perception she offered as well as the difficulty in how such a thing could be taught. Perhaps this was not a completely hopeless endeavor since she could explain her difficulties succinctly. He thought back on his own social forays in London and nodded. “I see the complexity of the situation. Is there more you wish to learn?”

  “Yes. How does one flirt without being perceived as a flirt? How does one encourage a gentleman in his addresses without being too forward? If it is my duty to please potential suitors by appealing to their tastes in dress, deportment, and opinions, how do I discover such things without being obvious?”

  His mind whirled with both the quality of her requests and the idea that she knew not how to accomplish any of these things. In his experience, most of the ladies he encountered were already very adept at such social maneuvering. How did they learn it? He assumed it came naturally or else was passed from one woman to another.

  He blurted the question, “Why hasn’t anyone taken such matters in hand with you before now?”

  Her blush returned and she looked away. “My mother passed when I was fourteen, you will remember. She told me the time would come when I would need to prepare for my come-out, but there was no reason to bother my head with such notions until then. Mostly, she taught me about horses. My governess was a lovely woman but ceased lessons with me shortly after my mother’s death. I am afraid I was a poor student and spent more time outdoors than in. She focused her efforts on Julia’s societal preparations and Rebecca’s eager mind.”

  “Your honesty on the subject is admirable,” he stated slowly. “But means we likely have a great deal of work. I am astonished your father did not give you over to some female relative for education before now.” Indeed, that would seem to be what most men did: farm out their daughters to boarding schools, governesses, or maiden aunts. His father might be an exception, given how often he spoke of his daughters with f
ondness. Strange, but Thomas had never thought much of the differences between his upbringing and others’ before this moment.

  “Father rarely bothers himself with our education. I doubt my governess ever informed him of my errant behavior.” She smiled in a self-depreciating way. Her shoulders lifted and dropped in a shrug. “He has more important things to take up his time.”

  Thomas considered this statement, carefully taking in her expression. He wondered what his education would have been like if his father did not, in fact, take an interest in what his son learned. He well remembered his father’s visits to Eton and Cambridge, the letters written to and from the schools, and even the introduction to Mrs. Devon with the explanation of Thomas’s near obsession over horses.

  “I must make a brilliant match,” she stated firmly, interrupting his thoughts. “And so I must be a sensation this season. I am already at a disadvantage, being older than many. The other ladies my age are likely on their second or third seasons, for the most part.”

  She struck him as quite young, possibly due to her naivete. “How old are you, Miss Christine?” he asked, doing a quick mental calculation. “Nineteen? It has been five years since your mother’s passing.”

  “Yes. I will be twenty in the spring. And twenty sounds ever so much older than nineteen.” She shuddered as though the idea disgusted her. “I must make my match before then.”

  He did not see why it was such a desperate thing, as Mr. Devon was well known in London society and they clearly had financial comfort. Even if she received no offer during her first season, or before the dreaded twentieth birthday, she certainly had enough standing and finances to attract someone in good time. That, at least, was none of his business.

  Thomas also felt it wrong to advise against someone with a good head on her shoulders to keep it to herself. Yet this is what Miss Christine asked of him.

  “Very well. I will do my best. For today, you have given me much to think on. For the next three days, practice reserving your opinion when in conversation. Instead, encourage others to tell you what they think and feel before giving in to the inclination to share your thoughts on the matter. Try to avoid conflict.”