The Duke's Night of Sin (12 page)

“My lord.” She cast her gaze at their clasped hands. “I assure you,
I
will not fall. You may loosen your grasp unless you are concerned that you may misstep again and tumble to the floor.”

Suddenly he was all too aware of how close he’d drawn her body to his. “I beg your forgiveness, Miss Bonnet. My experience waltzing may be somewhat less than I led you to believe.”

“Evidently.” When he increased the space between them, she seemed to relax. “To answer your question regarding the students, I do believe in a well-rounded education rich in all of the subjects you mentioned. However, an education lacking in etiquette and the social graces is incomplete.” A slow smile slid across her rose-hued lips. “How
fortuitous for your ward that I am here to offer an opportunity to complete her education.”

“Indeed. Mayhap I shall visit the school tomorrow to better understand the value of your instruction.” He cast down the gauntlet.

And she instantly snatched it up. “Mayhap you should, my lord.” She dropped her head back, and a low, entirely seductive laugh welled up from her middle as he spun them around a little too fast. She raised her head up, and as they came to rest, there was a challenging gleam in her eyes. “You may find that you learn something of value.”

His pulse quickened as his gaze silently accepted the dare they both knew had nothing to do with school. The music ended, and as the dancers applauded, he leaned his mouth to her ear and whispered hotly into it. “I may already have, my dear Miss Bonnet.”

The clatter of plates and teacups met Sebastian’s ears too late, for he was already standing before the open door of the schoolroom.

In synchronized pairs, the girls looked up at
him with matched stares of disapproval. He’d intruded upon their breakfast, it seemed. He stepped back quietly, meaning to wait in the ante-parlor until their instruction resumed, but Miss Bonnet caught notice of him before he could escape and called out to him.

“Do come in, Lord Wentworth.” She gestured for him to enter and take a seat before two petite tea tables surrounded by a dozen pupils. “How lovely that we have a guest, ladies. What better way to practice the art of serving tea, eh?”

“Practice?” Sebastian hadn’t meant to say it aloud and certainly not in such a scoffing tone, but he could not seem to stifle his words. “You are
teaching
them to serve tea? Haven’t they been drinking it nearly all their short lives?”

Miss Bonnet carefully set the teapot upon the table and a fist atop the swell of her hip. “Aye, they have, but as children, how many opportunities have they had to take the role of mother?”

He readied a sarcastic retort on his tongue but then noticed the other misses in the room staring aghast at poor Gemma. His ward’s pleading eyes were pinned on him while she mouthed the word
please.
Sebastian withheld the comment and waved Miss Bonnet onward.

“Look this way, ladies.” Miss Bonnet remained
silent until every eye was trained on her. “Before your guests arrive, arrange with your maid or manservant to dress the table with a cloth, lace is preferable, and a posy of fresh flowers or greenery when available.” Miss Bonnet turned and lifted a large tray from a desk near the window. “It is important that Cook has taken care to warm the pot near the cooking fire or oven. Omit this precaution, and your teapot may well crack when the boiling water is later added. The tea will also remain warm longer in an already warmed pot.” She looked pointedly at each girl as if to impart the great importance of this step.

Sebastian leaned forward over his knees, feigning interest in the tea instruction. Gemma, on the other hand, was genuinely transfixed.

“While, because of staffing limitations, you may be required to add the tea and the boiling water yourself, I find it preferable to bestow this honor upon Cook.” The girls exchanged worried glances. “If you are
required
to fill the pot with boiling water yourself, add one teaspoon of tea per cup desired to the pot.” She opened the tea caddy and added several teaspoons to the teapot. “Only then do you add the boiling water. And it must be boiling, else the tea will not steep properly.”

The students were wholly captivated. Why,
anyone watching would think she’d performed a feat of pure alchemy.

Miss Bonnet’s gaze next fixed upon Gemma. “Will you please pour the water into the teapot, Miss Gentree?”

Gemma rose and carried the hot kettle from the desk to the teapot on the table. Her hands were shaking, and when she opened the lid of the teapot and began to pour, she spilled nearly a half cup on the tablecloth. The other girls began to laugh.

“Perfect, Gemma. This is exactly what I wished for all of you to see.” She took the kettle from Gemma’s hands and returned it to the desk. “A full kettle is often heavier than you might expect, and the steam may leak up and lick your hands. I do not know any lady, highborn or not, to have escaped this experience.” She patted Gemma’s shoulder gently. “I vow, it has happened to me a number of times, which is why I prefer Cook to do this for me.” She grinned at Gemma, whose relief was plain on her face. “Miss Gentree, you did very well. Much better than I am able with such a full kettle of boiling water.”

“Shall I pour the water into the teapot, Miss Bonnet?” Sebastian asked. An attempt at humor to relieve Gemma from her embarrassment—
which failed miserably. Gemma’s visage had shifted from smiling to cringing within the span of his question.

“While it would be helpful, Lord Wentworth, I do require the girls to practice.” She looked at the students. “Queue up. Quickly now, before the water cools. Each of you will pour one half cup of boiling water into the teapot. Do not be over-concerned about spills. We have plenty of tea and boiling water in the kitchen.”

Sebastian watched as Miss Bonnet patiently tutored each girl in each step of making and serving the tea, bestowing the skill the same import as mastering Latin.
Ridiculous.

If he allowed his mind to dwell on her farcical instruction, he would certainly say or do something to further embarrass Gemma. And so he kept his lips tightly sealed and continued his study with his eyes alone.

Aside from the physical similarities to the Sinclair family, the more he watched her, the more convinced he was that she was no relation at all. No, she was simply a bright and patient teacher who had confused education with the inconsequential. A misstep he would correct given the opportunity.

Gemma had just finished her instruction when
Miss Bonnet bent and spoke softly into her ear. Gemma lifted the dish of tea she’d just poured and carried it to Sebastian, proudly serving him his tea.

There was a light in her eyes he’d never seen before, a confidence she’d never revealed. He thanked Gemma and tasted the tea, complimenting her skill.

Miss Bonnet smiled proudly at Gemma.

The muscles he’d held tight during his entire study of the teacher this morning instantly relaxed.

Mayhap he was judging Miss Bonnet too harshly.

While reading literature and quizzing ciphers was obviously paramount to education, he could see how the simple act of learning social graces was helpful in developing his ward’s confidence in herself.

Of course, more observation would be required before making the decision to allow Gemma to remain at this school. It was the girl’s education—and her future—after all.

For five days, Lord Wentworth attended his ward’s daily lessons. Or rather, Miss Gentree’s lessons with
her.
It seemed he had no concern with the content of his ward’s other classes, for neither of the other mistresses had the pleasure of his company during their instruction hours.

One day, Lord Wentworth’s unfortunate timing required her—upon Mrs. Huddleston’s firm order—to invite him along on her planned education outing with the students to Milsom Street for a lesson on how to assess quality millinery and to select ribbons that vary the look of even the most simple of bonnets.

Expecting a first-rate assortment of spiteful comments from Lord Wentworth, Siusan rejected the order. At least she objected until Mrs. Huddleston agreed to finance the purchase of three ribbons for each of the students—and three for herself as well, for demonstration purposes.

Seeing that this arrangement might be rather beneficial, Siusan agreed to allow him join them, hastily arranging another outing the next day to select fans.

Now she was onto something grand. The ease with which she secured funds to buy a fan for both students and teacher was almost comical. All it took was a hint that Lord Wentworth suggested he might join his ward on the outing, and Mrs. Huddleston provided funds.

Siusan did not feel even a twinge of guilt. She simply needed the proper supplies to teach her class—just as the other mistresses required foolscap, ink, books, and maps.

Nay, the outlay of coin from the school would not be great after all, for the girls only required very simple neoclassical fans without color or ornamentation to flatter their maidenly white muslin gowns. Her fan, however, ivory sticks and guard topped with painted silk leaves, would be more costly—but essential for demonstrating basic fan communication and practical drills.

Securing the fans during a return class visit to Milsom Street was entirely uneventful, even with Lord Wentworth trailing behind.

It was her class about how to properly command a fan that was her undoing.

“A lady may spend her lifetime perfecting her fan technique,” she began. Lord Wentworth cleared his throat in what might have been mistaken for a disapproving groan. She paused a moment, until she was satisfied he would not interrupt again. “However, in only three days, I will have imparted the basic movements and a rudimentary understanding of the language of the fan.”

Lord Wentworth snorted. Siusan angrily discharged her fan, sending a thunderous crack through the small schoolroom. Lord Wentworth’s mouth fell open. “Oh, first lesson will be opening your fan. But this action must be considered, for
a fan is an extension of yourself, and it communicates your emotion as clearly as your face. Please, pick up your fans.”

Several of the students snatched their fans from their laps, while others raised them as carefully as they might a baby bird.

“Depending on your location, you may choose to discharge your fan demurely or instantly command the attention of all around you by cracking it—though it requires quite a lot of practice to achieve without damaging a delicate fan such as mine.”

The girls sat still, too petrified to attempt opening their fans for fear of breaking them. Siusan collapsed her fan and touched it to Lady Penelope’s shoulder. “Discharge your fan, please.”

Without delay, Lady Penelope snapped her fan open, so obviously pleased with herself that she produced no sound at all. Siusan touched her fan to Miss Seton’s shoulder, who let her fan’s leaves fall from the guard as slowly and silently as a maple leaf tumbling through the air to the ground. “Very good, Sarah, though a wee more force next time. Please try again.”

Lord Wentworth’s eyes were merry with amusement. She handed him a fan. “Let us
all
try,” she
said, suppressing a chuckle. “Then we will move along to fluttering.”

“Very well.” Lord Wentworth grinned cockily and stood. He raised his fan and snapped it open with such force that it ripped down the middle, cracking two leaves.

“Oh dear. I see you will require more than three days’ practice, Lord Wentworth.” She picked up another fan to hand to him, but he waved it away and quickly sat down.

The girls laughed uproariously.

Lord Wentworth groaned again.

“On second thought, we will address fluttering another day and instead move on to
language.”
Siusan raised her brow at Lord Wentworth, whose softened features showed his relief that she was at last teaching the girls something he considered worthy of their time. Her lips twitched with mischief. “… the language of the fan.”

Rather than quitting the school after her session, Lord Wentworth paced the passageway outside the schoolroom until the students had departed. “Miss Bonnet, your lesson today, or rather your training camp for coquettes, was entirely inappropriate.”

Siusan pinned him with her gaze. “I beg to disagree, Lord Wentworth. My lesson was entirely factual. If the truth intrudes upon your morality, then mayhap you should withdraw to a monastery.”

“The truth?” Lord Wentworth laughed. “Opening and shutting your fan communicates
kiss me?”

“Aye,” Siusan replied without hesitation. “Though the length of time between opening and closing it conveys the meaning.” She opened her fan and fluttered it before her face for several long moments before snapping it abruptly closed. “That means
I hate you.
Some difference, do you not agree?”

Lord Wentworth’s reply was very nearly a growl. “This is not something in which a young girl should be schooled.”

“I disagree, my lord. If Miss Gentree, for instance, is not schooled in the use of a fan, what message might she accidentally impart to an interested but more worldly young gentleman?”

Lord Wentworth had certainly readied a retort, but instead of speaking, his mouth dropped open. Clearly he had not been prepared for such a thought-provoking and important question.

“Lord Wentworth, unless the miss is destined to live a life in the seclusion of the country, never to move about in public, let alone in elevated circles,
then the instruction I provide is essential to her education.”

“Oh, really?” He was nearly huffing in his disagreement.

“Aye, Lord Wentworth,
really.”
Siusan raised her chin.

“And where did
you
learn such lessons, Miss Bonnet?”

Siusan paused, drawing her lower lip into her mouth and biting it. She could not admit that she had learned all she knew as a consequence of error and ridicule. That she and her sisters had been forced by need to learn the proper ways to be ladies when all of Edinburgh Society believed her and her sisters to be hoydens.

Or that she was driven to always act the lady by a desire to be like her mother—the duchess everyone in Society admired and emulated. The woman who would have taught her and her sisters what it meant to be a true lady had she not died giving birth to Killian and Priscilla, leaving her and her siblings alone.