“I don’t understand.” Miss Doyle frowned as she glanced between Pickmore and Henry.
Oh, how to explain without giving too much away?
“Miss Doyle, I’m going to turn you into a lady.”
She gasped. “My father was a landed gentleman, not titled. Ye simply can’t announce I’m a lady when I’m not.”
“Yes, well, of course. A miss.”
“I’m already a miss.”
Henry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Miss Doyle, in one month I will present you to society, as my ward, and if all goes as planned, nobody will ever know from where you came.”
She frowned at him, then narrowed her green eyes. “Why?”
* * *
“It’s what I do,” Kilsyth answered.
“You go around teachin’ misses to be viewed as ladies?” she asked slowly. Kilsyth was a very strange lord.
“I’m a student of all cultures and languages, Miss Doyle,” Kilsyth began to explain. “I’ve a fascination with dialects, and how they can change from one town to another. Even within separate parts of London.” He moved from behind his chair and came forward. “You’ve been living near Covent Garden while I’ve been living in Mayfair, yet though we share the same city, the vernaculars of the two neighborhoods can be quite different. Whereas Pickmore is a student of history, I am a student of the spoken word. Together, the two of us take on students who wish to learn all they can.”
Perhaps there was more to the gentlemen than she realized. Though, of all the things these two could be doing, taking on students for such an education seemed very odd. There had to be more to it than Kilsyth explained. “I don’t see how dis would benefit me, as I’m already a miss and received an excellent education.”
“You wish to become a governess, do you not?”
“Aye.”
“Well nobody is ever going to hire you speaking the way you do.”
Eve narrowed her eyes. Kilsyth was just another person who wished to change her, as if there was something wrong with being a miss from Ireland.
However, as much as she hated being told what to do and to change herself as her governess had tried, Lord Kilsyth was correct. She’d never be hired for a respectable position until she trained her tongue to speak proper.
“Of course, you’ll not be seeking a position until you’ve reached your majority. What you do with your life after that is none of my concern. I’m simply offering to help you achieve whatever goals you set for yourself.”
His dismissal of her when she reached twenty-three held promise. “I can’t imagine why I’d need ta know more than I do ta be a governess.”
Kilsyth dismissed her concern with a wave of a hand. “Why not challenge yourself?”
Eve nibbled on the corner of her lip. She’d never been one to back down from a challenge, and though she didn’t see how learning more could assist her in the future, she’d be a fool to turn down the opportunity to learn. However, this seemed terribly important to Kilsyth and she’d not give without getting something in return. “What’s in it for me? I can learn ta speak proper in two years just by listenin’ ta ye.”
Kilsyth leaned back against his desk and cross his arms over his chest. “She wishes for a reward, Pickmore.”
“There’s always Ascot,” Pickmore offered good-naturedly.
Kilsyth frowned at his friend.
“I did enjoy Ascot the one time I was allowed ta attend,” Eve added. “I could help ye pick the horses,” she offered hopefully. Even though her family no longer participated, Eve had remained up to date with any racing information and the horses for sale at Tattersalls, even though as a female, she’d never been able to attend the horse auctions. Of course, much of that information came from old newssheets abandoned at the theatre, and talk she’d overheard, but it hadn’t been so long that she’d not remember names of breeders and horses that once took the largest prizes.
“Are you claiming there is a science into picking a horse?” Kilsyth asked.
“I cannot guarantee a winner,” she quickly insisted. “However, knowin’ the parents of any racer, their times against the other racers, who is ridin’ them, the ownership, and all manner of details has its benefits in determinin’ any outcome.”
“I say, Kilsyth, let’s take her.” Then Pickmore turned to Eve. “And I’ll let you choose all of my bets.” He grinned.
Oh dear, she couldn’t do that. What if the horses lost?
