At that moment, the woman’s face brightened, her blue eyes sparkling as she opened the door wider. “Oh, thank goodness! Come in, come in, don’t stay out there in the cold.” She laughed to herself. “I thought no one would ever answer our prayers for Lady Harriet, but here you are!”
“Lady Harriet?” Frances said, as she stepped into a surprisingly welcoming entrance hall, warmly lit with candles, with tastefulrugs stretching across the oak floor. “Is she the young lady who requires a governess?”
The woman, presumably the housekeeper, nodded effusively. “It is, Miss Whitlock. She is eight-and-ten and very eager to learn, and it is her hope that she will debut in time for the coming Season.”
“Oh…” Frances faltered. “So, she requires an education in society?”
But the Season starts so soon!
The housekeeper nodded. “Indeed. She is tremendously well-educated, but there is only so much that the tutors around here can teach her. That’s why His Grace sent word to London.” She hesitated. “Youcanteach her about society, can’t you?”
That part had been missing from the newspaper, but, fortunately for this Lady Harriet, Frances had already prepared two young ladies for society. True, Lucinda had been out for two years without success, but that was more a lack of urgency than a lack of interest from gentlemen.
“I can,” she said with a relieved smile. “I have already fostered two ladies into their debuts and I, myself, have been present in society for seven years.”
“As a chaperone,” Catherine added in haste.
Frances put on a smile to hide her grimace. “Yes, exactly. As a chaperone and a companion.”
The housekeeper relaxed. “Well, that’s excellent news.” She smiled. “Let me get you situated in the drawing room, and I’ll send Lady Harriet directly to you. She’ll be delighted to have someone to teach her at last.”
“I have the position then?” Frances asked, astounded.
“Well, no one else came to answer the call, did they? I’d say that makes you the new tutor of all things society.” The housekeeper clapped Frances on the arm with such joviality that she did not know how to respond. In her father’s manor, no one would have dared to be so casual, so informal with a guest.
In a daze, Frances followed the cheery older woman to a pleasant drawing room, where a fire burned merrily in the grate and comfortable settees welcomed the travelers’ weary bones. The drapes had been drawn against the darkness, the atmosphere rather cozy.
Frances was just getting comfortable, enjoying the warmth and the sit down, when the drawing room door exploded open.
“Are you my new tutor?” a young woman with a cascade of flowing black hair and shining blue eyes cried, her hands clasped.
“Um… yes, if the… uh… duke is agreeable to it,” Frances replied, startled by the girl’s exuberance. Not to mention the fact that her hair was loose and she had run in, in what appeared to be her nightdress.
Surely, she should have changed into more appropriate attire before coming to greet the newcomers? Frances could not imagine her or her sisters introducing themselves to anyone in such a state of disarray.
The girl hopped over the arm of the settee and landed beside Frances, a broad grin spreading across her pretty face. “Tell me everything. I want to know how to be the diamond of the Season. I want to know all the gossip before this year’s debut. I want to hear every detail!”
“The hour is late,” Frances protested mildly. “And I should probably speak with your… um… father before we begin any lessons.”
The Duke of Alderwick’s absence struck her as odd, for she had expected to meet him before she ever met the young lady she was supposed to train for society.
Harriet snorted. “You will find that rather difficult. He is out grappling pigs… or sheep. I forget which.”
“Oh, goodness.” Frances swallowed thickly. “Do you know when he might return from such a task?”
What sort of duke bothered himself with livestock? She could not even begin to imagine her father tending to anything more taxing than a cat.
“It could be an hour, could be the morning, could be five minutes.” Harriet shrugged. “Now, where is Polly with that tea? I amparchedfrom all the excitement!”
Just then, a gruff, booming voice echoed from out in the hall. “What is all that wailing? Why are there footprints all over the floor?”
Frances seized, her gaze flitting down to the soles of her boots, caked in mud from the driveway. In her rush to explain who she was and praying that she would be accepted into the position, she had not thought to wipe her feet.
Her heart stalled as a shadow fell across the drawing room doorway, shortening as a figure came to stand there. But his shadow was the only thing short about him: so tall his head almost skimmed the lintel, his broad shoulders covered by an old coachman’s coat, with a strong jaw shadowed with stubble; his long, black hair windswept and in sodden disarray from the rain, Frances could not guess who he might be.
He looked to be in his thirties, and resembled a groundskeeper… or a soldier returning from war in the only clothes he had available: his trousers were torn above the knee, his boots so worn they looked like they might fall apart, his shirt streaked with dirt, while that coat seemed to have been darned in a thousand places.
And his hands were filthy, a great, fresh scratch slashing a diagonal line across the back of his right hand.
