A hard expression removed the polite smile from Frances’ face. “I shall assume you mean well, Lord Ainsley, but you go too far. I am here in a professional capacity, nothing more. When Harriet is prepared for her debut, I shall return to my own family.”
“And if your scandal has not gone away?” Peter asked, a surprising look of sympathy in his blue eyes.
“Then, I will find another young lady to teach,” Frances replied sternly, annoyed that even here she could not escape her ‘misdeeds.’
Did everyone in the country know? It certainly seemed that way.
Peter nodded. “An equally fine idea. I may even enlist your services myself.” He chuckled, and though she searched and searched, she saw no ill will upon his face. “For what it is worth, Lady Frances, I am envious.”
“Of what?”
“Thatyoustruck Lord Sherbourne instead of me,” he replied with a wicked grin. “He is universally loathed, Lady Frances, and I hope that youshallreturn to London unscathed.”
She had not expected that. Indeed, she did not know what to do with the odd compliment. But there was something in it that bolstered her, allowing in a flicker of hope that allwouldbe well, in the end.
He raised his glass once more. “To your triumphant return to society.”
A little hesitant, Frances tapped her glass to his a second time. “To a peaceful existence when I return.”
“A fine thing to toast to,” he replied, and drank.
But Frances barely took a sip at all as her gaze drifted back to the only gentleman who interested her in the slightest.
Her heart jumped as she found Dominic staring at her with those intense, grayish-blue eyes of his, a peculiar look upon his handsome face: not smiling but not angry, not amused but notstern, more like he was in the midst of trying to solve a difficult puzzle. Either that, or he was in some manner of pain.
Doeshethink that is why I am here, to seek out a duke for myself?It was a dreadful notion, her stomach writhing at the possibility. Marriage to a duke would certainly resolve her scandal, but if he thought her capable of that sort of deceit… She would not be able to bear it.
“Come, great governess!” Hugo suddenly called out, as the footmen removed the last of the dessert plates. “Tell us what is next for our evening of mirth and misadventure!”
Frances blushed as all eyes turned to her. “Well… we should part ways for half an hour or so,” she said, finding her voice. “The gentlemen to the drawing room, the ladies to the music room. After that, if my student is not yet weary of the evening, we shall continue.”
From across the table, Harriet looked as if sheneverwished for the evening to end, her cheeks the rosy pink of a glowing debutante, her eyes shining with complete contentment. But, of course, it could not all be games and dinner parties… and, soon enough, the young woman would have to face the one challenge she had been avoiding most fervently.
Indeed, Frances intended to get the girl to dance.
And if she cannot, then I shall just have to teach her that as well.
“And…one and two… and three and four… and around and around and around and—” Frances swallowed a yelp as Harriet’s foot landed hard on her toes.
The younger woman jumped back as if she had been stung, all of the easy merriment of earlier replaced with pale-faced shock and red-cheeked embarrassment.
“I told you!” Harriet cried, fanning her face with her hand. “I am aterribledancer. I can play all the music to dance to that anyone could ever want, but when it comes to dancing itself… it is as if I know nothing of notes and rhythm and how it all flows together!”
Frances put her hands up in a gesture of peace… or surrender. It could have been either, in truth.
She felt rather guilty for spoiling Harriet’s evening so abruptly, but it was not as if there was anyone to witness the girl’s difficulty. The gentlemen were all enjoying port and cigars elsewhere, and the two other young ladies in the music room were as encouraging as anyone could be.
Catherine had arrived to offer help, too, and she would not judge anyone for any missteps.
“I cannot do it!” Harriet snapped, her eyes blazing with the fury of frustration.
Frances approached once more. “You are thinking too much. I can see it on your face: you are trying to get every step perfectly right and, in doing so, you are losing the music. The very thing you adore.” She offered a reassuring smile. “Let us try again. This time, concentrate more on the music than the steps.”
She gave a nod to the young woman with fiery red hair who had volunteered to play the pianoforte: a niece of some gentleman that Hugo had brought with him. Meanwhile, Peter’s sister stood with Catherine, teaching the lady’s maid the steps in an echo of Frances’ attempts.
Harriet puffed out a breath. “Very well, but if I still cannot do it, you arenotto encourage any dancing when we reconvene with… everyone else. I do not want any of those gentlemen to know how atrocious I am.”
A flicker of sympathy passed through Frances’ chest. After all, she had been a debutante too, once upon a time, and she could well remember the disaster of her first ball.
