This was the damnedest thing, Peter thought as he rapped on the door of Miss Martin’s school again the following evening. He liked music. He often attended concerts and even the opera in London, depending upon which artists were to sing. But a concert in Bath Abbey? He had actually postponed his departure from Bath just because of it—when he had still thought the ladies he was to escort there were to be Lady Potford, Miss Thompson, and Miss Martin?
It really was just good fortune that had replaced the last-named lady with Susanna Osbourne. His mind had been working furiously over various schemes for including her in the party, but he had known perfectly well that it was unlikely that both resident teachers would leave the school together for a whole evening—especially so soon after the wedding breakfast.
It really was the damnedest thing, then, but here he was anyway. And there she was—he saw her as soon as the school porter, looking more sour-faced than ever, opened the door to admit him. She was wearing a plain gray cloak—but Miss Thompson had been quite right yesterday about the effect of such a drab color on her hair. Miss Martin, who was with her, was handing her a paisley shawl, which she would doubtless need inside the Abbey. Churches were notoriously chilly places.
There she was—the phrase repeated itself inside his mind as if there were an echo in there.
“Good evening, Miss Martin, Miss Osbourne.” He bowed to them.
She looked wide-eyed and slightly flushed in the light of a table lamp—Susanna, that was—and he realized with a pang of tenderness that this must be a grand occasion for her, just as the assembly in Somerset had been.
“I am ready,” she said, her voice slightly breathless.
“I trust,” Miss Martin said, “that Lady Potford and Miss Thompson are awaiting you in your carriage, Lord Whitleaf?”
“They are awaiting me at Lady Potford’s house, ma’am,” he assured her. “A mere five-minute drive from here.”
She inclined her head and turned her attention to her fellow teacher.
“Do have a lovely time, Susanna,” she said, her voice softening, “and give my regards to the other ladies.”
“I will,” Susanna said and stepped forward so that he could cup her elbow in his palm and escort her out onto the pavement.
He took her hand in his to help her up the steps into his carriage. She sat with her back to the horses, he noticed, in order to leave the better seat for the other ladies. He vaulted in after her and sat beside her.
It was only after his coachman had shut the door, climbed up to the box, and set the carriage in motion that the door of the school closed.
“Miss Martin cares about you,” he said. “So does the male dragon.”
“Mr. Keeble?” She laughed. “He cares about us all, girls and teachers alike. He would guard us all from the wicked world beyond the school doors if he could.”
“And I am the big, bad wolf?” he asked as the carriage turned onto Sutton Street.
“You are aman,” she said, and laughed, “which in his eyes is probably far worse. I may be only a schoolteacher, Lord Whitleaf, but to Claudia and to Mr. Keeble I am also a lady and must be protected from any possibility of harm.”
“You are first and foremost a lady,” he said as the carriage made its big turn onto Great Pulteney Street, “who happens also to be a schoolteacher.”
She turned her head and their eyes met in the dim light cast by the carriage lamps that burned outside.
And we both know what sort of harm can come to a lady who is not properly protected.
He did not say the words aloud. He did not need to.
He was not in the habit of recalling sexual experiences from the past. They were something for present enjoyment and future anticipation. He rarely even thought of former mistresses. Yet he had a sudden, vivid memory of lying with Susanna Osbourne on the hill above the river at Barclay Court. He could remember the feel of her warm woman’s body beneath his, of…
Well.
Why did one always remember the very things one would prefer to forget?
“Has Miss Thompson decided to take a teaching position at the school?” he asked.
“She spent all of yesterday afternoon with us,” she said, “and seemed to enjoy herself. I believe she very well may decide to stay. I hope so. We all like her exceedingly well. Claudia believes it is simply her misfortune to be a sister-in-law of the Duke of Bewcastle and does not hold it against her. Claudia isnotkindly disposed to any of the Bedwyns, particularly Lady Hallmere and the duke.”
They both laughed. But there was no time for further conversation. The carriage stopped outside Lady Potford’s house and he descended in order to rap on the door and then hand in the ladies for the drive to the Abbey at the other side of the river.
Bath Abbey was an impressive building, as most great Gothic churches were. This one was more lovely than most, with its pointed arched windows so large that one wondered how there could be enough solid wall left to support the great height and weight of the building. Tall pillars along the nave stretched upward until they spread into a fan-vaulted ceiling far overhead, drawing the eyes and the mind and the spirit heavenward. It was a magnificent setting for a concert, Peter thought as he escorted the ladies inside. As soon as they stepped through the door, Lady Potford moved ahead with Miss Thompson while Peter took Susanna on his arm and followed them.
“Oh,” she said, “I have brought classes here on sightseeing walks. I have even attended church here a few times. I have always been in awe of its splendor. But I have never before seen it lit up at night. It is absolutely…magical.”
