Chapter 6
Damn and blast, his ward was going to be difficult. “I can’t risk taking you to Ascot because you might be recognized.”
“It’s not like her being your ward is going to remain a secret,” Pickmore reminded Henry.
“She isnotgoing and neither am I.”
“Then I am not learnin’.” Miss Doyle crossed her arms over her chest, lifted her stubborn chin and offered a defiant glare. “And, why does it matter if I’m recognized or not?” she demanded.
Henry blew out a sigh and cast a glance at Pickmore while he tried to decide how much he could tell her. Or,shouldtell her. Certainly not the truth. At least not yet.
He’d not counted on her being so stubbornandintelligent. It was a shame they’d not met in a ballroom because she was a breath of fresh air in comparison to the debutants his mother used to parade under his nose. In fact, getting to know Miss Doyle was going to be quite delightful indeed, even if much of their time was spent in a battle of wills. It was far better than being with a simpering miss ready to cry or cave at any of his demands. Not that he was demanding. At least, not outside of teaching. Yet, Miss Doyle would be up to anything he challenged her with and Henry was quite looking forward to the next month.
However, Ascot was too soon to be in public. “Gossips,” he finally said. “I abhor them and as soon as one learns that I won you in a game of chance, the rumors and innuendos will spread through the entire gathering. I don’t wish to spend the afternoon being watched by ladies in ridiculous hats as they talk about us behind fans.” In time it was something they’d both need to deal with, but Henry had no intention of doing so this soon, especially when it wouldn’t give him any time to prepare her.
Miss Doyle bit her lip and relaxed. “I’d forgotten about the gossip.”
Thank goodness she understood. Nobody willingly wanted to put themselves in the center of attention, to be judged and discussed. “So, you see why it is best just to remain within this household.”
“No,” she answered bluntly. “The talk will happen now, or whenever ye decide it’s time dat I can finally leave. I’d rather face it early and be done with it.”
Henry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Henry didn’t know her nearly well enough to predict her response to many matters, but he should have anticipated this one. She was no wilting violet and rather pragmatic. Why couldn’t there be more ladies like her?
However, he was still not willing to capitulate and not certain if it was more to protect her or shield himself.
“You see, Miss Doyle,” he began and focused back on her. “The reason Pickmore and I teach others is because they wish to reinvent themselves and travel to another part of the world. They want to be familiar with language, history and the culture because it is easier to fit in. One is more comfortable entering a strange circumstance with knowledge instead of trying to learn the ins and outs and all of that after arrival.”
She hitched an inquiring brow. “I am not travelin’ outside of England, unless I return to Ireland.”
“A bet,” Pickmore blurted.
“A bet?” she asked him with a frown.
“Kilsyth is quite confident in his ability to recreate people. He believes that in one months’ time, when we attend his mother’s ball, nobody will realize that you are Irish, despite your last name. And I’d be willing to wager that he could convince them that you are of French heritage.”
That was not the plan at all. But, Henry couldn’t very well explain the truth—that he wanted to mold her into the perfect miss—one who was intelligent, without guile, sweet—a confidant to many so that she could relay her findings to the Home Office. However, if everyone believed she was French born, it would certainly assist in their purposes of finding sympathizers to Napoleon among Society.
Except, that would never work. The truth of her being from Cork and related to the famous stud farm would surface too quickly and if Henry had learned anything, it was that Society did not like being duped. It was easier to be truthful of who she was and where she came from, after she attended the ball, of course.
Her mouth slowly opened as Miss Doyle focused back on Henry. “Have ye lost yer mind?” Then she turned to Pickmore. “Has he lost his bloomin’ mind?”
“I assure you, Miss Doyle, I am quite sane.” Henry laughed. It delighted him to hear her slip into her natural Irish accent when startled or upset, and then to add a flavor of Cheapside was all the better. “While that is what we do, it’s not what I had planned for you, Miss Doyle.”
Miss Doyle cocked her head and studied him. “What exactly are yer plans for me?”
“To prove to an entire population—the male population that is—that an intelligent miss or lady has more value than simply a dowry, beauty and connections.”
This time she frowned. It galled him that misses were forced to hide any intelligence for fear they might lose a possible match. To date, he’d never been able to determine if it were gentlemen or mamas making this asinine rule. On one hand, he’d understand where many a gentleman would be intimidated by a lady knowing nearly as much as he. On the other, as mamas had hidden any intelligence they may have once possessed to marry, they may have determined that their daughters must do the very same thing or they’d end up as a spinster.
However, if Miss Doyle were too intelligent, others might not be as free in revealing information as they might with a more ignorant girl. Whereas, if anyone believed her to be ignorant, they’d simply ask her to dance and talk of weather and such, which would never do. Therefore, he must find the right balance in which gentlemen would feel comfortable in speaking with her on any number of topics but not fear she’d outwit them. The key to this was training her to reveal only so much of herself in any given situation—to blend as she should, much like the chameleon.
“When I was in Society, and attended balls and such, I found I had a much more enjoyable time with the bluestockings and wall flowers.” Henry confessed.
Her eyes widened.
“Gentlemen of my class do not understand or appreciate the value in an intelligent female and I intend to change their minds.”
“We have a new bet?” Pickmore asked in surprise.
