Page 11 of Love Lessons for a Lady

“I should be delighted,” preened the stout woman, smiling widely and revealing the substantial gap between her front teeth.

“Yes, yes,” Chasity murmured, slightly winded.

Aston would warrant her shortness of breath wasn’t from over-exertion either.

“I shall check on Mrs. Crenshaw and upon our luncheon,” she said to the room at large. Her color high, she bobbed Aston a hasty curtsy.

Generally, she was across the table from him when they dined with Mrs. Crenshaw seated at the head between them. He didn’t dare displace an instructor by claiming their seat for himself either. Position, even at the dining table, was everything in establishments such as Balderbrook’s Institution for Genteel Ladies.

Aston bowed. “Until luncheon, Miss Noble.”

As she swept from the ballroom without a backward glance, he recalled his decision this morning not to accept any more midday meal invitations from the headmistress. But how else was he to engage in a flirtation with the lovely Miss Noble if he eschewed such an opportunity?

Even as he justified his reasoning, Aston knew full well he ought not to stay. An open flirtation with Miss Noble was out of the question, particularly as Mrs. Crenshaw had made known her unprofessional awareness of him. He rather suspected the older woman capable of vindictiveness if she discovered his interest lay in the much younger and much more attractive assistant headmistress.

In truth, he ought to resign his position at the seminary before things became more complicated. However, to do so would give his crusty old grandfather a victory. That was something Aston wasn’t willing to concede to the curmudgeon. He’d simply have to don a cool, unapproachable façade to discourage untoward romantic notions from the students, instructor, or headmistress.

As he watched Chasity’s lithe form disappear through the double doors, he sighed. Regretfully, the flirtation that held such appeal earlier today was not meant to be.

Marshaling a smile, he extended his hand. “Mrs. Ramsbottom. Shall we?”

Why did such disappointment cinch his ribs?

As the headmistress, I presume that you are an intelligent woman, well-versed in society’s strictures. I am certain you understand my position, Mrs. Crenshaw. Not only is it gauche and vulgar, but it is also far beneath my grandson to act as a dance and music instructor—particularly for payment. It casts an unsavory shadow over the viscountcy and our family’s name.

It would behoove you to search for another dancing master at your earliest convenience as I do not foresee Aston remaining in your employ. What a shame it would be if Balderbrook’s Institution for Genteel Ladies were to have to close its doors. Scandals are such cruel and fickle creatures. I am confident you take my meaning.

~ Viscount Woolbury in a letter to Mrs. Rafaela Crenshaw

London, England

Balderbrook’s Institution for Genteel Ladies

13 August 1818 - morning

Chasity bent over the ledger, adding the row of figures for the fourth time.

Dash it all.

She blamed her distractedness on him—Aston Terramier. He’d arrived an hour ago, and her traitorous mind kept replaying those few moments he’d whirled her around the dance floor on Monday.

Truth be told, she’d replayed those minutes many times in the past three days.

Wednesday morning, she’d awoken with a blistering headache and begged off supervising dance lessons. Mrs. Crenshaw had been oddly solicitous and hadn’t seemed the least put out when Chasity had missed luncheon as well. A dose of headache powders, a cold cloth across her forehead, and a nap had worked wonders.

Calling Chasity’s recovery remarkable, the headmistress had gratefully turned over supervision of the afternoon activities to Chasity and disappeared into her office. A habit increasing in frequency and which had been remarked upon by the other teachers.

They did not appreciate the authority Chasity had been granted, although it was more like foisting off responsibilities to her way of thinking. It was hardly her place to refuse Mrs. Crenshaw, which put her in an untenable position.

To avoid Mr. Terramier today, because Chasity didn’t trust herself not to go all giddy again, she’d seized upon her regular Thursday morning routine. She’d sequestered herself inside her office and attended to correspondence, bookkeeping, and any other tasks Mrs. Crenshaw sent her way.

Tasks which also seemed to increase every week.

Naturally, as assistant headmistress, Chasity bore a heavier workload than the other instructors. Regardless, she couldn’t help but suspect that Mrs. Crenshaw was taking advantage of Chasity’s benevolence and her abilities.

Quill poised between her fingertips, she cocked her head and listened. The deep, dulcet tones of Aston’s rich baritone carried to her. A glance out the open window confirmed that the music room doors were spread wide to allow the fragrant, cooling breeze inside.

Outside, industrious bees zipped between a rainbow of summer blossoms. Sunny yellow, violet, fuchsia, and orange dahlias. Red, purple, and pink zinnias. Sweet peas in shades of pink, coral, and lavender. And roses, of course, although the bees didn’t generally pay much attention to those blooms.