“Have you been to the opera yet, Lady Harriet?” Frances said quickly.
Harriet shook her head. “I have not, but I should like to. Very much. I love nothing more in this world than music.” She sighed, a faraway look upon her face. “To see an opera would be a fine thing indeed.”
Deciding that the lesson called for some more realism, Frances turned her nose up. “I cannot abide the opera: too much wailing and shrieking, all in a language I cannot understand.”
“Oh…” Harriet faltered, gaining an encouraging nod from Frances. “But… music transcends language, Lord Gardengate. You do not need to understand what is being said to understand what you feel, just as you do not need to understand the language of an instrument to know when a piece of music is beautiful. And yes, each instrument has a language.”
Frances sniffed. “Nonsense. An instrument cannot speak.”
“When I play my viola, those who hear it are often brought to tears,” Harriet shot back with just enough derision in her voice. “Before you say it, it is not because I play terribly.”
“No man would ever cry at music,” Frances retorted, feeling herself bristle with annoyance at the made-up gentleman she had created, angry on Harriet’s behalf. “You must only play for ladies, and they have such feeble dispositions.”
By the gate, Frances noticed Dominic’s expression shift just a little, into something like approval. It was, after all, a father’s nightmare that his daughter should end up with someone who had no appreciation for her, nothing in common, and no respect for her. Notall, of course, but Frances could tell that Dominic was such a father.
Harriet came to a slow halt and drew her hand away from Frances’ arm. Fury blazed in her eyes, her other hand clenched into a fist, as if—in a real situation—she might have taken the same action that Frances took with Lord Sherbourne.
“Remember, courteous but firm,” Frances whispered, half as a reminder that this was not, in fact, real, and she did not mean any of what she had just said as Lord Gardengate.
Harriet blinked, her hand relaxing. “Apologies, Lord Gardengate, but… my feet are rather too sore after last night’s ball to promenade, and I did not realize the time. I am expected at luncheon with my father.”
“May I call on you tomorrow?” Frances asked, as any conceited, self-important gentleman would.
Harriet hesitated. “I will not be at home tomorrow.”
“Another day, then?”
“I… um… I… do not think so, Lord Gardengate.” Harriet puffed out an anxious breath, though she stood a little taller. “Any gentleman who would call on me must be a lover of music, and so… you have no cause to call on me. Thank you for the promenade. I wish you well in your endeavors.”
With that, she dipped into a hasty curtsy and hurried back to the safety of her pretend chaperone. Catherine caught hold of her arm as if they truly were fleeing an unfortunate meeting, the two of them walking quickly back to the bench where they started.
As they sat down, Frances finally allowed herself to break into a grin, clapping her hands together in triumphant applause.
If you can manage that in just a day and a half of learning, then I shall have nothing left to teach you in a week or two…
She was about to say so, when she caught Dominic’s eye… and a sudden, violent fluttering in her chest blocked any words that might try to escape. Indeed, why would she want to end this employment early? It was not as if she had anything to return to London for. The scandal would not have died down yet, if it ever would.
Across the garden, Harriet sagged back against the bench and expelled a great breath of relief. “I was so cross with you, Frances!”
“As I needed you to be,” Frances replied, chuckling. “You will encounter many unpleasant suitors when you debut, and it is of paramount importance that you learn to spot them and learn how to contend with them, civilly but without leaving any doubt of your disinterest.”
“But I did well?” the young woman asked.
“You dealt with it perfectly,” Frances confirmed. “Tomorrow, we shall discuss where a gentleman can be struck if he is insistent.”
Dominic cleared his throat loudly, his brow knitted into a frown.
Laughing to herself, Frances put her hands up. “A jest, I promise.” She headed back up the gravel path to where she hadstarted. “Now, what do you say we try that again, but with a more pleasant suitor?”
“I am ready when you are,” Harriet replied brightly, as she pushed herself back up into a more ladylike posture.
One hour and six pretend suitors later, and even Dominic seemed weary of the exercise, having seated himself upon another bench at the far end of the rose garden. Unfortunately, directly in front of the path where each promenade went first, so that Frances felt as if she were walking toward him each time.
It had taken her three rounds to be able to ignore him a little less, not fumbling her words or accidentally stepping on Harriet’s foot. Even when they turned to follow the square route of the path, heading back to the bench, Frances could feel the nape of her neck prickling, as if Dominic were watching her intently.
“If we could borrow some gentlemen, it would be an improvement to your education,” Frances said, after the last promenade. “You are doing very well, but you are comfortable with me. It will be different with strangers.”
Harriet chuckled. “Where does a lady ‘borrow’ gentlemen?”
