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If only one or more of her friends from Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women could be persuaded to apply for them. Faith, Purity, Trinity, or Honoria would be a good fit. She was sure of it. Chasity selfishly wanted one of her girlhood friends here. Though she got on well with the instructors and headmistress, she didn’t quite fit in with the older, stuffier women either.

In truth, she was lonely.

I’ll write to them again tonight. These positions are certain to be filled soon.

There had been dozens and dozens of applicants, but Mrs. Crenshaw was nothing if not persnickety and meticulous. More than once, Chasity wondered if she’d have been selected as assistant headmistress had it been Mrs. Crenshaw’s decision to make.

It hadn’t been, and Chasity felt more relief about that fact than was warranted. Mrs. Crenshaw had never said anything or implied disapproval in any way. Nevertheless, Chasity had seen her observing her with slightly narrowed, watery tea-brown eyes and a pinched expression about her thin mouth and pointed nose more than once.

Finishing school instructors weren’t supposed to be young and attractive. Even if they were rather a whiz with numbers and calculations. And languages too. Chasity was fluent in four and could speak another three. Alas, there wasn’t much use for Latin or Greek in a girls’ seminary.

Even Mrs. Crenshaw believed she only spoke French, Italian, and German. Chasity thought it best not to show up the other instructors or the headmistress, all of whom spoke fluent French but naught else to her knowledge.

Toward that end, Chasity did everything within her power to appear plain and inconspicuous. Her clothing was staid and practical, as was her neat chignon. She never wore jewelry except for the silver cross gifted to her by Hester Shepherd, the proprietress of Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women when Chasity left the home for her first position. The cross was only worn for special occasions at that, and it was by no means flamboyant or gaudy.

Giving her head a slight shake to dispel her unnerving musings, she rapped once upon Mrs. Crenshaw’s office door.

Silence met her query. Unusual, that.

Chasity canted her head, listening.

After pausing for several heartbeats, she knocked again.

“Mrs. Crenshaw?”

“Come in,” came the headmistress’s muffled summons.

Chasity entered and paused just inside the entrance, waiting the bid to advance further.

Spectacles low on her nose and forehead furrowed, Mrs. Crenshaw stared at the foolscap before her on the immaculate desk. As Chasity observed her, the woman’s mouth went taut, as did her shoulders. Something very near a scowl creased the headmistress’s face.

At last, she glanced upward, her countenance once more returned to inscrutable.

Before Chasity could ask to be excused from supervising, Mrs. Crenshaw said, “You’ll have to manage the dance instructions today, Miss Noble. I have an urgent correspondence that I must respond to posthaste.”

Mrs. Crenshaw rustled the paper atop her glossy desk between her forefinger and thumb.

So much for finishing the accounts this morning. The task would have to be postponed until after supper. Chasity gave a mental shrug. The book she was reading, The Influence of Literature Upon Society, wasn’t riveting, and she could definitely wait to get back to it. In truth, she was only reading the tome because it helped calm her mind so she could drift off to sleep.

She eyed the miffed headmistress from beneath her eyelashes.

This temperamental display was most unusual. Most rare indeed. Mrs. Crenshaw’s ability to mask her emotions was rather eerie. That she revealed even an iota of what she felt stirred Chasity’s curiosity.

How could it not?

The rapid rise and fall of Mrs. Crenshaw’s scarecrowish chest, the reflexive tightening of her bony hand upon the edge of the desk, and the repetitive thinning of her lips into a taut line revealed the usually unflappable woman’s distress.

Chasity’s attention gravitated to the letter. The wax seal wasn’t visible, but bold penmanship lashed the page.

Peering at the missive, Mrs. Crenshaw made a slight noise in her throat that might’ve been exasperation or aggravation.

Whatever could’ve upset her to such an extent she must forego dance lessons and pen a prompt response? The headmistress hadn’t missed a dance lesson since the school opened. In point of fact, Chasity suspected Mrs. Crenshaw might be mildly infatuated with the engaging and much younger Mr. Terramier.

With a start, Chasity realized she hadn’t responded to Mrs. Crenshaw’s directive to oversee the dance lessons this morning. “Of course, Mrs. Crenshaw. I would be happy to supervise.”

Perhaps not happy, but assuredly capable.

Before Chasity reached the doorway, the headmistress had pulled a piece of foolscap from the desk drawer and dipped the quill into the inkpot.