The School of Charm: Books 1-5

by Maggie Dallen

  Of course, the whole point of the game was to avoid such a thing, snatching fruit and other treats from the fiery punch bowl filled with brandy. It was a silly game, and one she would typically avoid.

  As her cousin Amelia liked to say, Madeline had all the sense of fun of a corpse. She said it with a teasing grin, of course, but she wasn’t wrong. Madeline was not fun. She was not carefree, and she was certainly not emotional.

  Amelia, who’d spent her entire life knowing she would become a duchess, could afford to be frivolous and carefree. She could make decisions based on her heart and she could hold out hope for a match based on love. Or just a match, period.

  Madeline had learned at a young age that a charity case did not have that luxury. And a charity case was what she had been, what she still was in a sense. Yes, these days she worked for her keep, if looking after her dear friends could be called work. But when Lady Charmian offered her the job, it was out of pity. Sympathy, at the very least, because she’d understood quite rightly that once Amelia left the country with her new husband, the duke, Madeline would be adrift, dependent on the kindness of distant family to take her in and give her a safe place to stay.

  The school had been that place for her for the past two years. It had been home. And now...

  Prudence leaned against her gently, laughing as Damian gave the gathered crowd a lesson on how the game was to be played. She smiled at her friend—a genuine smile. She loved Pru, just like she loved all her girls.

  But now they were all gone, happily wed, and it was only a matter of time before they had families of their own.

  She supposed she would welcome a new round of girls. Start again forming a new family... With young ladies who would undoubtedly leave her.

  She hadn’t realized she’d sighed until Prudence and Miss Farthington both turned to her with a questioning look. “Are you all right, Miss Grayson?” Prudence asked, her brows drawn together in concern. “You’ve seemed distracted all evening. I do hope you’re not ill after being caught out in that storm.”

  She’d spoken too loudly. Or rather, just loudly enough. Particularly since Damian had ceased speaking, stepping aside to let one of his friends take the first turn at snatching a treat from the fiery bowl of brandy.

  A quick glance around showed that Damian was eyeing her from the opposite side of the group with eyes wide with recognition. Miss Farthington was also peering at her closely. But neither of them affected her the way the marquess did. He was standing a few paces away, several partygoers stood between them, but she felt as though they were all alone in the room when her gaze collided with his.

  “Miss Grayson?” Prudence said again.

  Was she fine? No. No she was not. Her lungs were too small, or her stays were laced too tight. Whatever this was, she could not draw breath properly and her heart raced too quickly. His gaze was locked on hers and she could not look away.

  She. Could. Not.

  What was wrong with her?

  “Miss Grayson—Madeline?” Pru’s voice grew sharp. “Shall I help you to your room or—?”

  “No.” She finally found her voice and it came out too sharp, too breathless. “No,” she said again, her gaze still locked with the marquess’s. “I just need some air.”

  Only then could she finally tear her gaze away as she hurried toward the hallway and headed right, not knowing and not caring where exactly she was going, just so long as she got away.

  Air, she needed air.

  Oh, who was she fooling? She needed to leave. There was no way she could stay here for an entire week and suffer the humiliation that burned her alive every time the marquess’s gaze fell on her.

  She stopped when she reached the glass-paned doors leading outside, most likely to a garden or a veranda. It would do. It would have to.

  She threw open the door and a cold wind whipped past her, cooling her skin and forcing her head to stop spinning. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, a hand over her stomach to steady herself.

  “Are you all right, Miss Grayson?” She would know that deep voice anywhere.

  She tensed. “Fine. Thank you.”

  He did not leave. He stood behind her in the darkened room, quiet and still...but she could feel his presence there. When at last he spoke again, his voice was closer and his tone achingly gentle. “Can I offer you my assistance?”

  Again. The word was unspoken but she still hear it. She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of his last offer to help her. “No. Thank you.”

  He was quiet again and she had to fight the urge to turn and face him. To see him. To meet that gaze that had seemed to hold her captive even as it warmed her to her core. When he next spoke, he was by her side. “You’ve been ignoring me all evening.”

  Startled, she turned abruptly to face him. “And you have been staring.” The moment the words escaped she clamped her mouth shut to stop them, but she was too late. Rude. She was being horribly rude. She blinked in shock as she looked away. She was never rude. “I’m-I-I apologize. I did not mean to—”

  She could hear wry amusement in his voice when he interrupted. “No, do not apologize. You were right. It was rude of me to pay so much attention, especially when it was so clearly unwanted.”

  Unwanted. The word seemed to mock her even as she told herself it was the truth. His attention was unwanted. So very unwanted.

  He took a step closer and her heart threatened to break or explode or...oh, she knew not what her heart was up to. Her fingers itched to reach for him so she clasped them together instead.

  “I do hope you’ll forgive me,” he continued, his voice a low murmur. “It is just that I have never believed in visions until tonight.”

  “Pardon me?” She blinked up at him. His eyes. How could anyone concentrate on words when a gentleman was gazing upon them like this...as though there was nothing else in the world that mattered.

  “You see, I met a young woman earlier today,” he started slowly, his voice soft and low as though he were telling a bedtime story.

  But even with the gentle tone, she tensed, her heart beating faster at the mention of that incident which they’d both so clearly ignored as they allowed themselves to be introduced as strangers who’d never once met earlier this evening.

  “And she was enchanting,” he said.

  She drew in a sharp inhale. He was teasing. Surely he was teasing. She swallowed thickly as he shifted closer. This was inappropriate. They were alone, in the dark, and spinster or no she was breaking every rule in existence right now. “I should get back to the others,” she said, her tone so stiff, so calm, so...proper. This was who she was, who she’d always been.

  The fact that she had to remind herself of that was terrifying.

  He nodded and the disappointment in his eyes cut her to the quick. “Yes. Yes, you are right. I’ll escort you back to the others.”

  She nodded, and yet she did not move. She could not. His warmth seemed to surround her, his scent enveloped her. Her gaze dropped to his chest, and she managed to form the words she should have said earlier. “I apologize for earlier. I thought I was alone and—”

  “Clearly.” The laughter in his voice made her cringe. And when he placed one finger gently under her chin and tilted her head up so she was forced to look at him, she stopped breathing entirely. “You did not let me finish.”

  She couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to, not with his skin touching hers. A spark seemed to be there where they touched, burning her skin more surely than that silly game of snap-dragon ever could.

  His gaze roamed over her face greedily, like he was trying to take everything in. “You did not let me finish,” he said again, quieter this time, but with more intensity. “I came upon a lady earlier today and I was enchanted. She was...spectacular.”

  The word came out on a sharp breath and she trembled at the heat in his gaze.

  This could not be happening. Not to her. Not with this man.

  This was not her life.


  “She was passionate and alive in a way that spoke to me,” he said. “And I’d hoped to see her tonight.” He dropped his hand and she drew in a deep breath that did nothing to distract from the coolness that now kissed her skin.

  His smile was small and wry. “So, you see, I did not mean to frighten you with my attentions. I was merely looking for someone I’d hope to see again.”

  “You are teasing me,” she said slowly, warily.

  His eyes sparked with laughter, but she did not get the sense that he was laughing at her. “I assure you, I would never.” He leaned in slightly and lowered his voice. “I would never risk being the object of your mighty wrath.”

  She could feel heat in her cheeks at the memory but the laughter in his eyes was infectious. She found her own lips tugging up despite her embarrassment.

  “No, Miss Grayson, I assure you I was not in jest. I would very much like to get to know you.” He drew in a breath, his gaze roaming over her. “The real you, not just the perfect, kind, and demure headmistress I’ve heard so much about.”

  The real you. The words seemed to echo inside her. “I’m not entirely certain who that is.”

  His eyes widened slightly with surprise—though no one could have been more surprised than she was to hear those words of honesty slip out of her mouth.

  And yet, there was understanding in his eyes when he said, “Yes, I know the feeling well.”

  Her brows hitched up. For a moment she forgot to be embarrassed. “You? Really? But...but you’re a marquess.”

  His lips hitched up even higher. “I assure you, the title is merely a title. A man’s character is not made clear just because he inherits one.”

  She tilted her head to the side as she studied that. “I suppose it would be the other way around.” A man’s character would determine what he made of the title.

  She pursed her lips. Just as her character had made what she had of the lot she’d been given.

  He leaned against the doorframe beside her and the silence that fell between them was thick but not uncomfortable. “I will readily admit, however, that having a title and all that goes with it has afforded me freedoms that others do not have.”

  She tilted her chin. It was an understatement, but she was grateful he understood that much. She ought to walk away. It was indecent to be standing here alone in the dark with a gentleman she’d only just met. But her feet refused to move. “Have you figured it out then?” she asked.

  She wasn’t even certain herself what she was asking, what sort of reassurance she was looking for. But he nodded slowly. “I thought I had,” he said slowly. “I thought that by the time I passed forty years I surely must have it all sorted out. Who I am, what I want, the future that is in store...”

  Her brows came up in question even as she envied him that certainty.

  His lips hitched up on one side and the lopsided, wry little smile stole the breath from her lungs. “But then I came upon a lady.”

  She blinked rapidly as the words struck. Surely he did not mean...he could not be saying that she had upended his world.

  Why not, when he so thoroughly swept the ground out from beneath your feet? She opened her mouth to accuse him of teasing her once more, for that was the only explanation. But before she could, he had shifted, his demeanor changing effortlessly to something more casual and charming. “I should leave you to your fresh air and return to my guests,” he said with a tilt of his chin and a rakish smile that must have had every lady in the ton swooning when he was near.

  He lifted her gloved hand and raised it to his lips.

  Oh dear.

  She held her breath. If he’d affected her so greatly before without this ease and charm, then she was in dire trouble now. “Wait, I—”

  He’d started to turn away but paused, his expression alert. “Yes?”

  She cleared her throat. “I wanted to thank you for...for not mentioning to anyone the state you found me earlier today.”

  He placed a hand over his heart. “It would be an honor for that cherished encounter to be ours alone.”

  She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Now you are teasing.”

  He grinned. “Yes, but only a little.”

  A laugh bubbled up and slipped out before she could stop it.

  He made to leave but turned back again. “If it helps...”

  She straightened, tensing at the hesitation that flickered over his features as he studied her.

  “I think you know precisely who you are. I’m certain that if you were honest with yourself you know what you want.”

  She opened her mouth to protest. It wasn’t about what she wanted, it was about what she could have.

  But he didn’t give her a chance to reply. “That woman I met earlier today certainly had an idea.”

  She bit her lip. “That woman you met earlier, she...she does not exist. Not normally.”

  “’Tis a shame,” he murmured. When he next smiled his eyes glinted with wicked amusement. “I truly was hoping to meet her again. Perhaps if I play my cards right I shall draw her out.”

  Her lips parted as a thrill trickled through her veins. Excitement mixed with terror and nervous anticipation. Gone was the stately and intimidating marquess who’d been glowering at her all evening and in his place was a veritable rogue.

  “Is that a threat?” she managed.

  His laughter was low and rumbly as he turned to head back, not speaking until he was closer enough to feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. “It is a challenge.”

  Chapter Five

  For the first time in either of their lives, Edward found himself on the receiving end of a lecture by his nephew. “You could at least try not to be so obvious about it,” Damian was saying with an exasperated sigh.

  The early afternoon sunlight had drenched his study in brightness that had them squinting at one another across the desk. At least Edward was still the one seated behind the large oak desk. It would have been a humiliating day indeed if he were being called to task by his nephew whom he’d raised since he was a boy.

  “You have a point,” Edward conceded. “I was too obvious in my interest last night.”

  “Last night?” Damian’s brows shot up. “What about this morning? The looks you were giving poor Miss Grayson nearly burnt the dining room down.”

  He gave a huff of amusement at Damian’s theatrics. “It was not so bad.”

  Or perhaps it was. He couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He’d spent a lifetime being the perfect gentleman, putting the title and his family duty first.

  Perhaps that was the first thing that had called to him when he’d first spotted her. The way she was shouting, the way she’d been lashing out—it could have been his own soul crying out for release.

  He wished to be selfish, just this once. Was that so wrong? After all, no one would be hurt.

  “What about Miss Farthington?” Damian asked.

  Edward frowned. Drat. He’d forgotten all about that young lady.

  “She came here in the hopes of catching your eye,” Damian pointed out. “Her mother was beside herself this morning when she realized you were not paying her any mind at all.” Damian shook his head in a way that made Edward shift uncomfortably in his seat like a schoolboy. “Fortunately, Miss Grayson had already left the room before Lady Bradford came downstairs or even she would be aware of your intentions. Or rather, your lack of intentions when it comes to her daughter.”

  Edward fidgeted. It was one thing to not worry about what his guests might think. It was quite another to rudely hurt a young lady's feelings. “You’re right,” he muttered. “I shall try to be better about paying attention to all of the guests.”

  “Particularly those who are in the market for a husband,” Damian said. His expression was bland, but there was mischief in his eyes.

  Edward knew very well that his nephew was baiting him, trying to see how serious he was about this newfound interest in Miss Grayson.

  Serious, indeed.r />
  But he was not about to tell Damian that. Damian would have no qualms about the fact that Miss Grayson lacked in connections and had likely very little in the way of a dowry. His nephew was so anxious to vacate the role of heir presumptive he’d welcome any lady as his future aunt just so long as it meant there might be another heir to take his place.

  An heir. Edward tapped his fingers against the desk. The mere thought of it was unsettling. After so many years of knowing that marriage and children were not for him—despite his nephew’s attempts to convince him otherwise—the thought of having a child had become rather abhorrent. Not because he hated children but because he’d realized long ago that he was not meant for a family.

  He’d tried it once. It had not suited. The memories threatened to come back, but he forced them away. Instead, he thought of Miss Grayson’s kind face, of her gentle smile, and of the way her eyes seemed to change color with each passing emotion.

  The thought of a child was unsettling...but no longer abhorrent.

  He found himself picturing those same pretty, expressive blue eyes in the face of a little girl and had to swallow down a wave of emotion.

  No, a child might not be such a bad thing after all.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there staring into the distance with what must have been a stunned expression on his face. After all, it wasn’t every day he realized he might want to be a father, after all.

  “Did you hear a word I just said?” Damian asked. Concern and amusement seemed to be warring for supremacy on his nephew’s features.

  He cleared his throat. “Er, no. Sorry.”

  “I said, Prudence is worried about Miss Grayson. She says she has not been acting like herself.”

  Edward’s brows drew up in hope. She felt it too. He knew it. He could not be the only one suffering from this affliction.

  “You don’t need to look quite so pleased with yourself.” Damian’s voice was droll as he leaned forward. “My point is, Miss Grayson is Prudence’s dear friend and a guest in this house. We should not wish for her to be made uncomfortable.”