Missus Millview reached her side and wrapped Emilia in a warm embrace. “There, there, my dear child,” she murmured. “You shouldn’t be up after midnight. You aren’t the sort. There’s been an error.”
Emilia sniffed. “An error?” Did midnight signify in some way? “I don’t understand.”
Missus Millview shook her head, eyes sympathetic in her long face. “It’s nothing, child, nothing at all. Only that you should retire earlier at the next ball, to avoid this sort of thing. Gentlemen tend to get out of hand in the later hours.”
“They do?” Emilia pulled away. She wiped at her cheeks with the heels of her hands.
“Of course.” Missus Millview gave her a gentle smile. “You dance the early dances from now on and retire before midnight, and forget this incident with Lord Ailbeart ever occurred.”
“But I can’t,” Emilia cried. “No one will dance with me. Not one gentleman asked. Lord Ailbeart said he warned them away because I’m to be…to be…” She couldn’t say it aloud, what he’d propositioned. “What am I to do? I convinced my parents to let me use the money they set aside for my dowry to come here. I told them a man would prefer a cultured bride over one with a small sum. I don’t want to go back to the country. I want to stay here where there is music and art.”
Missus Millview’s brow creased, her look one of compassion. Emilia glanced around the nearly dark room. Why was Missus Ailbeart in her classroom at that hour? She took in the desk. The scattered candle stubs illuminated receipts and pages filled with rows of numbers.
Missus Millview followed her gaze. She let out a sigh, and passed a hand over tired eyes. “Yes, we must all worry about our funds, child.”
Concern of another sort stole through Emilia. Missus Millview was a good person, and her favorite instructor. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Do?” Missus Millview shook her head. “No. I’ll be well enough, so long as I keep my place here.” She pressed her lips into a tight frown and dragged her gaze from her desk, back to Emilia. “I should like to help you, child. You aren’t one who should have been brought to Lord Ailbeart’s attention. I suspect it’s your beauty that’s the trouble, not that you can help that.”
Emilia blinked. Beauty? She knew she had no obvious flaws in appearance, but she hardly thought she had sufficient beauty to garner attention, especially from a viscount. “You can help me?” Her voice caught at the hope that surged within her.
Missus Millview looked to her pages of numbers again. She gave a sharp nod. “I can, but you must promise not to tell any of the other girls. I can’t lose my place here. I’m not young or beautiful enough to make my way if I do.”
“I promise,” Emilia said eagerly. “Please, what can I do? I simply want to marry a kind man. I do no’ need a title, or wealth, or much of anything, really. Just a gentleman who lives in the city.”
“You won’t tell those three friends of yours?” Missus Millview eyed her shrewdly. “I know how inseparable you four are, and I suspect they may be in the same boat. You must promise not to tell them what I’ll reveal to you, child. I’ve come to care for you, but a woman alone in this world must look out for herself.”
Emilia bit back a hasty acceptance. Her friends had all retired earlier as, apparently, proper young women did. They’d been discouraged as they’d also lacked admirers. Could she consign any of them to men like Lord Ailbeart?
She drew in a breath. She couldn’t, but she would find a way to help without breaking Missus Millview’s confidence. “I promise I won’t tell the other girls, even my friends.”
Missus Millview offered a relieved smile. “Well then, this should help you.” She crossed to the desk, then pulled free a clean page and began to write.
Emilia followed her. She looked over Missus Millview’s shoulder to take in the elegantly penned address and a name. “Sir Stirling James,” she read aloud.
Missus Millview turned to offer the page. “Yes. They call him The Marriage Maker. If anyone can help you, he can.” Her face went stern, as it did when Emilia attempted anything less than her best work. “But don’t forget your promise.”
“I won’t, Missus Millview.” Emilia folded the page in half. “Thank you.”
“You’re a good child,” Missus Millview said. “Too good for the likes of Viscount Dunreid. Can you reach your chamber well enough?”
Emilia thought about the empty halls. No one had stopped her on her way to the classroom. She nodded. “I can.” She gave Missus Millview a quick hug. “Thank you. You’ve saved me, and I won’t tell the others.”
Missus Millview sighed and shook her head. “I hope not, child, I truly do.”
Emilia left with a lighter heart than she’d had in hours. She took the back way to her room, thankful the halls and stairs were as blissfully empty as she’d hoped. As she walked, she formulated a plan. She would write this Sir Stirling James now, before bed. She would tell him of her plight, and include a small portrait she’d done of herself, on the chance she really was as pretty as Missus Millview said.
In fact, she would include portraits of her three friends as well, and beg him to help them all. Missus Millview had made her swear not to tell any of the other girls about Sir Stirling James. That didn’t mean Emilia couldn’t tell him about them. She smiled as she reached the safety of her room and lit a candle, pleased with her plan.
