Page 7 of Love Lessons for a Lady

A double entendre if Chasity had ever heard one.

Mr. Terramier glanced upward as Chasity crossed the room, silently ordering the girls to settle down with a stern glance and a raised brow. Their tittering diminished in volume but didn’t entirely go away.

And why should it?

They were young girls, after all, and dancing was a favorite pastime. Did they not deserve a bit of joy in their young lives? Why must children be compelled to behave like miniature grownups? Adulthood wasn’t so very wonderful with all of its expectations, rules, and disappointments.

A beam of sunlight from the small row of leaded glass windows high along the far side of the room illuminated Mr. Terramier’s sculpted face. Despite her avowal to remain unaffected, Chasity’s pulse quickened.

Gracious me. Those eyes.

That nose. Those cheeks. That chin.

All looked to have been carved by a master sculptor.

But then, wasn’t that precisely what the Good Lord was? A master sculptor?

Mr. Terramier’s dark, slightly wavy hair glistened as if styled with the finest almond oil. He possessed shoulders too broad, a chest too wide, and legs too long to be considered fashionable among the ton.

What did le beau monde know of masculine perfection anyway with its preference for overly slim, pale-faced lords or those who boasted paunchy stomachs and swollen faces from overindulgence?

With the aura of light as a backdrop to his masculine beauty, Mr. Terramier appeared otherworldly. Almost godlike. Such imaginations from a woman raised by the poised and deeply religious Hester Shepherd bordered on blasphemous.

Chasity gave the tiniest disdainful sniff.

Godlike indeed.

She blamed her ridiculous comparison to momentary light-headedness. She’d skipped breakfast and hadn’t eaten heartily of last night’s dinner—mutton stew. She didn’t favor mutton. Unfortunately, as mutton was less expensive than beef, it was often on the menu.

Which begged the question, why were they eating partridge for luncheon today? Undoubtedly, such luxuries strained the school’s budget, particularly as they weren’t yet at capacity and hadn’t the extra tuition to offset expenses.

“Good day, Miss Noble.”

Mr. Terramier bent into a bow a courtier would’ve been proud of. The courtesy was unnecessary and caused a collective sigh to go up in the room, followed by another round of muffled sniggering from the students.

And a shrewd narrowing of eyes from a few of the envious instructors.

Botheration.

That wouldn’t do at all.

Though Chasity was the assistant headmistress, the other women outnumbered her. All it would take is the merest hint of scandal, and she’d be out the door without a reference. A tarnished reputation was the downfall of many a governess or instructor, whether there was any merit behind their smudged character or not.

Which was why Chasity guarded the secret of her paternity with such care—or rather her illegitimacy. Only Mrs. Hester Shepherd, the proprietress of Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women, and whoever had placed the girls at the foundling home knew the cast-offs’ parentage.

An intrepid, pious woman, Mrs. Shepherd named every girl under her care and tutelage, giving each a version of her own surname. Hence every by-blow who left the institution did so with Shephard as one of their surnames. Mrs. Shepherd, who’d never had children of her own, said all of the girls entrusted to her care were as dear as daughters to her.

And yet, she’d warned her charges to never reveal the disgrace of their paternity.

“It’s unjust to be sure, but many are those who would dismiss you, snub you, and disparage your character for the sins of your parents,” Mrs. Shepherd had said numerous times. “Should the question come up, you may say your parents have gone on. That is not a lie because they may have died, and they assuredly have gone on with their lives if they are yet amongst the living.”

Mrs. Shepherd was as shrewd as she was devout.

“Good day, Mr. Terramier.” Chasity kept her tone coolly professional. “Mrs. Crenshaw sends her regrets. She cannot join us for dance lessons today. However, she expects to have finished her task by luncheon and hopes you’ll dine with us.”

Even to her ears, the invitation sounded flat and insincere. If Mrs. Crenshaw hadn’t finished her letter, did she expect Chasity to entertain him?

“I would be delighted.” Mr. Terramier flashed her a blinding grin, and Chasity blinked up at him rather stupidly.