Althea stood before the cheval glass in her bedchamber, studying her reflection, wondering if she should change into the green rather than wear the gray that had serviced her all day, from arrival through dinner.
She’d been startled to appear for the evening meal and discover the ladies wearing what they’d worn in the library—not a stitch more.
Sitting at the head of the table, fully dressed in a black jacket, gray waistcoat, white shirt, and a perfectly knotted neck cloth, indicating he saw these women of the night as worthy of his attiring himself properly when dining with them, Benedict immediately came to his feet when she entered the dining room.
Clutching her hands in front of her, suddenly self-conscious, she said, “You don’t have to stand for me.”
“He stands for everyone, love. Don’t think you’re special,” Jewel said, sitting at the other end of the table.
Yet, for him she wanted to be.
Then he indicated the chair to the side, immediately on his left, and she had felt she was special. During the entire meal, they’d not spoken. Not because she hadn’t wanted to but because the other ladies had dominated the conversation, talking over each other, revealing their excitement as they illuminated their successes and others’ failures duringtheir lessons. While she was gratified by their enthusiasm, tomorrow she would begin tutoring them on proper dining etiquette.
Afterward, they’d all adjourned to their rooms and she had listened to the minutes tick. She had heard their laughter and footsteps when they’d traipsed down to start entertaining customers. And still she’d waited.
She’d pinned and unpinned her hair three times. To wear it up, to wear it down. She’d finally decided on up.
She had considered penning her impressions of the women, a sort of journal for her own edification, or maybe an article for others. The afternoon had been a revelation. They were so very different from the ladies with whom she’d previously spent her time. She was no longer certain it was to the benefit of the aristocracy to be so dictatorial regarding with whom they should associate. As a result, she’d acquired a rather limited view of the world.
But then so had these ladies, begrudgingly referring to her as a toff, a bit suspicious until they’d come to know her a little better. Eventually, they might even become friends. Wouldn’t Society have a laugh at that?
When the clock finally struck ten, she quietly padded down the hallway papered in green decorated with tiny pink flowers, giving it a homelike feel. This residence ran the gamut from sensual to masculine to feminine, which made it easier to determine the purpose of each area. As she neared the library, she noticed the door was opened wide.
When she peered inside, she saw Benedict sitting before the fireplace in one of two wing chairs upholstered in a plum-shaded velvet. She thought she’d been quiet but he either heard her arrival or felt her presence because he immediately put aside his book and stood.
“You don’t have to stand for me,” she said again.
“It’s the way I was taught.”
By the woman who had given him a treasured silver match safe. Taking a step over the threshold, she wandered in, wondering if the ladies had been as nervous about their lessons as she was about hers. Then she spotted the glass of sherry resting on the table beside the empty chair and smiled.
“If you prefer something else—” he began.
“No, sherry is good.” Standing before the chair, she folded her hands in front of her. “As I’ll have a few hours to myself each day, I should like to spend the time reading. Somewhere within this room must be at least one copy ofMurder at Ten Bells. Are you going to make me search for it?”
She took the opportunity to appreciate the smoothness of his long strides as he made his way to a bookcase with glass doors near the entry into the room. A click sounded as he pulled open one of the doors, and when he closed it. As he neared her, he extended a book. Reverently, she took it and skimmed her fingers over the wavy grain of the violet hard cover. Then she turned it in order to admire the spine where the title and his name were etched in gold. She wanted to caress the man as much as she did the book. She lifted her gaze to his. “Will you mind if I read it?”
“You may have it, do with it as you will.”
“I don’t want to take your copy—”
“I have another. Several, in fact.” He returned to his chair but remained standing.
She edged around hers, eased onto the plush cushion, and took a sip of the sherry, waiting while he settled.
Studying her, he took a long swallow of what she was fairly certain was scotch. “During dinner, each of the ladies shared their account of the afternoon, but you held silent. So now tell me the truth of it.”
She was grateful they weren’t going to immediately leap into her lessons. “It went fairly well, even if they are a bitunruly at times. I’m given to understand you had a very nice frock made for each of them. I need them to wear it during lessons.”
“Then have them do so.”
“When I suggested it, I learned you told them the frocks may only be worn on the day they leave—and they see your word as sacrosanct. However, if they are to have any success, they need to view themselves differently, as ladies. And they can’t do that if they are flaunting their attributes.”
“I’ll talk with them.”
“Thank you.”
His gaze traveled the length of her in an assessing way that had her wishing she was dressed in something similar to what the ladies had been wearing that afternoon.
