Miss Wilton's Waltz

by Josi S. Kilpack

  She scowled. “You are to call me Miss Keighly.”

  Catherine scowled back. “Sorry, I forgot.”

  “See that you remember in the future, my dear. You look very nice.”

  Catherine brightened and adjusted her skirts. “Thank you.”

  Miss Keighly looked at her expectantly. “When someone compliments you, it is good manners to return the compliment.”

  Catherine scrunched up her face with a calculating look Aiden knew well. “What if you cannot think of a compliment in return? Lying is a sin after all.”

  Miss Keighly’s smile did not falter. “You can always find something nice to say about someone.”

  Catherine looked doubtful and began fiddling with the latches on the window in order to lower the glass.

  “It is too cold for that,” Aiden told her, reaching over to remove her hands from the latch. “And the wind might dislodge your feathers.”

  Catherine slumped in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest with a harrumph.

  “Young ladies do not pout, Catherine,” Miss Keighly said.

  Catherine glared at her.

  Miss Keighly turned her eyes to him and lifted her eyebrows. Did she want him to reprimand Catherine? Aiden began to sweat.

  “Shall we practice sitting up straight?” Aiden said. “We will be to the theater soon, and we are all to be on our best behavior while we are there.”

  Catherine sighed dramatically but sat up with her back straight. She placed her hands in her lap with exaggerated emphasis and put on a completely polite, and utterly false, smile. “How is this?” she said, batting her eyes. Miss Keighly frowned.

  “Better,” Aiden said, because it was better, and Miss Keighly must learn to acknowledge any improvement.

  “I have been thinking,” Miss Keighly said, “that we ought to develop a reward system for you, Catherine.”

  Catherine was immediately suspicious, and Aiden tried to keep his reaction in check. Miss Keighly had said nothing of this to him, and he didn’t like feeling as though she were usurping him.

  Miss Keighly continued. “For most children, pleasing their caretakers and seeing their own success is incentive enough for good behavior, however, I understand that your raising was . . . incomplete in this regard. Therefore, I thought of creating another incentive. I understand you like the ices at Hoopers.”

  Catherine considered her answer for some time before she answered. “Uncle Aiden takes me every Saturday.”

  Miss Keighly turned her disapproving eyes to Aiden. “Without earning the privilege?”

  “It is an occasion where we can enjoy one another’s company. She does not need to earn it.”

  “I see,” Miss Keighly said, though her disapproval was obvious. “Then something else, perhaps.”

  “A reward for what?” Catherine asked.

  “Behaving appropriately,” Miss Keighly said.

  Catherine rolled her eyes and slumped again, but Miss Keighly’s idea struck a chord in Aiden.

  “That is an excellent idea,” he said, thinking quickly. “Do you remember the white gloves you admired at the shops a few weeks ago?”

  Catherine eyed him with suspicious curiosity. “You said I would get them dirty.”

  “White gloves are inappropriate for a girl her age, Mr. Asher.”

  He held up a hand to Miss Keighly but spoke to Catherine. “You would certainly have to be careful with them, but I think a young lady who attends the opera and behaves as she should could care for those gloves.”

  She regarded him a few seconds, still distrustful. “You will buy me those gloves if I behave well tonight?”

  “Yes. If tonight is a success, I shall bring them to Mrs. Simmons’s tomorrow.”

  Miss Keighly cleared her throat, but Aiden spoke first. “What do you think, my dear? Can you manage your best behavior for the evening in exchange for those lovely gloves?”

  She looked between him and Miss Keighly and then back again. “Miss Wilton gives me two warnings during our lessons. I am only twelve, after all, and I don’t always know that what I am doing is inappropriate.”

  The little minx knew very well what was appropriate and what wasn’t, but he did not disagree with her suggestion. “I think we could keep to those same rules,” Aiden said, liking how this made him feel as though he and Lenora were working together. He looked at Miss Keighly and smiled innocently. “Excellent idea, Miss Keighly. Thank you for suggesting it.”

  Miss Keighly was not pleased, but because the reward system had been her idea, she was loathe to argue. She nodded and then raised her eyebrows at Catherine. The girl correctly interpreted the gesture and sat up straight again—without overdoing it this time. She looked at Miss Keighly for several seconds. “I very much like your . . . necklace, Miss Keighly.”

  Aiden inhaled slowly. Miss Keighly’s dress was ornate and splendid in every way. She wore an elaborate headdress and satin gloves, yet Catherine had complimented the simple string of pearls at her neck. No one missed the point Catherine was making, and yet no one could fault her for it either. The girl was frighteningly clever.

  “Thank you, Catherine,” Miss Keighly said tightly.

  “I would prefer you address me as Miss Manch, if you do not mind. It is only proper.”

  “Did you have a nice evening?” Lenora asked the next morning when Catherine joined her in the school parlor, as it had come to be known. They had delayed lessons until eleven so that Catherine might get enough rest after her late night. She had not returned until almost midnight; Lenora knew because she had been sitting by her window without a candle so as not to reveal her silhouette.

  Lenora had watched Mr. Asher alight from the carriage first, then help Catherine step out. A short time later, he returned and climbed back into the rented carriage, but not before looking up at Lenora’s window. She was certain he could not see her in the dark, but his attention left her flushed all the same. He had gone to the opera with Miss Keighly. It could have been her by his side, if she had allowed it, and yet she couldn’t imagine simply deciding to trust Mr. Asher. Trust what he said he felt for her. How could he feel that way, after all? It was misplaced guilt and gratitude and . . . perhaps attraction. Not enough to change one’s life over, and better they both accept it now rather than later.

  “The evening was nice enough,” Catherine said with a shrug. “I still do not much care for the opera, a great caterwauling if you ask me, but I thought the costumes were interesting. A man wore a ruffled collar that seemed to stretch his neck out the whole night. His jowls bounced against the folds when he sang with his shaky voice.”

  Lenora held back a smile at the girl’s assessment. “I think you mean vibrato. It’s a great skill for a vocalist.”

  Catherine shrugged.

  Lenora had been to the opera only twice, both times in Bath, and claimed to like it more than she did for Aunt Gwen’s sake. She found the orchestration more interesting than the vocals, though she could appreciate them for the sake of proficiency. “I am glad you found some portion of the night to enjoy. That is an important skill in life—holding to the good of every situation.” Lenora would be wise to follow her own advice, but sometimes it was difficult.

  “Uncle Aiden is buying me gloves because he only had to issue me two warnings, though he likely could have failed me when I accidentally stepped on the back of Miss Keighly’s dress.” She frowned. “It was not good of me to do that, was it?”

  “No, it was not,” Lenora said, giving Catherine a knowing look. “Especially if it was not actually an accident.”

  Catherine pulled her eyebrows together and cocked her head to the side. “Sometimes I cannot tell the difference. I had thought it would be funny if I stepped on the back of her dress, possibly causing her to stumble, but then I told myself not to do it, and then suddenly her hem was beneath my shoe. I was si
ncere in my apology, though.”

  Oh, this girl. “Perhaps next time, if you think of such a thing, you should make sure there is enough distance between you and the hem so that you don’t accidentally act on such a thought.”

  “That is a good idea,” Catherine said with a nod.

  “I would like to start today with the ‘th’ sound.” She opened the primer just as Jacobson entered the room.

  “A package for Miss Catherine and a letter for you, Miss Wilton.”

  Catherine was out of her seat like a shot and met Jacobson halfway across the room. She pulled both items from his hand and spun back toward Lenora, then paused and turned back. “I am sorry for grabbing these from you, Jacobson.” She held them out to the footman, and Lenora tried for the third time in ten minutes not to laugh. “You may give them to me properly this time.”

  Jacobson bowed slightly but put his hands behind him rather than taking the items he would only hand right back to her. “It is very good, Miss Catherine.”

  He left the room, and Catherine ran back to her seat. She practically threw the letter at Lenora before attacking the paper-wrapped parcel.

  Lenora recognized her name written in Mr. Asher’s handwriting across the front of the letter and took a breath before reluctantly breaking the seal. She had not seen him since the churchyard on Sunday, if she did not count her view of him from her window last night. Would he try, again, to explain himself? Did she want him to?

  “Oh, they are lovely!”

  Lenora looked up to see Catherine putting on a pair of white leather gloves—finer than anything Lenora had ever owned, though she was not jealous. Rather, she was genuinely happy for Catherine and pleased at the brightness of the girl’s face. Once Catherine had the gloves on, she practiced waves and flourishes, stretching out her fingers and smoothing first one glove and then the other. She put her elbows on the desk, laced her fingers, and propped her chin on her hands. “How do I look?” she asked, casting her eyes at the ceiling as though she were a cherub gazing toward her heavenly home.

  Lenora did laugh this time, and the joy that washed through every part of her felt good. “You look perfectly elegant,” she said. “Like a proper young lady.”

  Catherine grinned and settled back in her chair, lifting her hands to admire the gloves a few more moments. “Could I show Aunt Gwen?” she asked eagerly. “It will take but a minute.”

  “I am not certain she has returned from the Pump Room.” Aunt Gwen tended to leave them to their studies until tea so as not to distract Catherine.

  “Might I check? I told her I would be receiving the gloves today, and she wanted to see them, I’m certain of it.”

  Lenora glanced at the letter in her hand and decided she would prefer to read it in private. “Go on, then, but no more than five minutes. Come right back if Aunt Gwen is not yet returned.”

  Catherine spun on her heel and was gone before Lenora unfolded the half page sheet.

  Dear Miss Wilton,

  I hope you do not mind my adoption of your warning techniques with Catherine. As it proved to be a great success at the opera, I would like to further implement the methods into her studies, if you would support it.

  I would like to offer rewards to be given at the end of each week dependent on her behavior during your lessons. If she can go the entire week without you ending lessons early, I shall plan an activity of some kind. If she can go the whole week without warnings of any kind, I shall have a more tangible reward in addition. I feel this will help her see you and I as a team in regard to her education as well as provide opportunities for her enjoyment.

  Please let me know if this is acceptable to you. I look forward to your reply.

  Sincerely,

  A. Asher

  Lenora hated that she was disappointed by his purely professional manner, even though she told herself that was exactly what she wanted. She was his niece’s teacher, and that was all she would ever be.

  Catherine seemed to be improving without the additional rewards, and Lenora worried about spoiling the girl, but she could appreciate Mr. Asher’s desire to be a part of her education and could not help but admire his continued devotion to his niece. He was making so many sacrifices on Catherine’s behalf, not the least of which was marrying a woman he did not love. The thought shot a bitter dart through Lenora’s heart, but keeping his agreement was still the right thing for him to do.

  She thought back to how confident he had been that Miss Keighly would cry off and allow him to pursue his heart—pursue Lenora—and she wondered what she would have done if things had happened that way. She had been certain of her decision when she denounced him in the drawing room last week, and yet now she was not sure. The uncertainty made her uncomfortable, and she pushed the matter aside.

  Lenora was penning her acceptance of his terms in her mind when Catherine returned, removing her gloves as she crossed the room. When she reached the desk, she placed the gloves carefully back in the box and then put the box beneath her chair. “Aunt Gwen told me to be extra careful with them and that the best place to store them would be in the original box. She says they are of the finest quality and therefore will require my finest attention.”

  Lenora smiled, her feelings warmer toward Catherine than they had ever been before. “I am sure you will take excellent care of them. Now, shall we begin?”

  Lenora and Catherine were finishing their lessons on Friday afternoon when Jacobson brought them two letters on a silver tray. Both were addressed to Catherine but included different postscripts written on the back. On the first it said, “To be opened if warnings were issued throughout the week. Burn immediately if no warnings were given.” The second said, “To be opened if there were NO warnings issued throughout the week. Burn immediately if warnings were given.”

  Lenora read the instructions of both aloud and then looked across the desk to her pupil. “You had no warnings this week, Catherine.” She handed over the appropriate letter, and Catherine took it, but looked at the letter Lenora was holding.

  “I wonder what that one says,” she said, curiously. The forbidden was always so enticing.

  Lenora smiled, then stood and made her way to the fire.

  “No!”

  Lenora tossed the letter into the fire and watched the edges catch, the wax seal melt, and the words disappear into black smoke as the fire bloomed, then reduced again.

  Catherine was beside her. “Now we will never know what it said.”

  Lenora put an arm around the girl’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze, only then realizing that she’d actually initiated a physical display of affection. Did that mean she felt affection for Catherine? If so, did that mean she had forgiven her? “I would hate for your uncle to rescind his generous rewards due to our not following the rules he set out, wouldn’t you?”

  Catherine was not convinced, but she looked at the letter in her hand and her face lit up with excitement as she broke the seal and unfolded the paper.

  “Dear Catherine,” she read, though Lenora knew that those two words were ones she had memorized by sight.

  “As a roo-way, roowayd foor . . .”

  Lenora kept her teeth clamped together so as not to rescue the girl. Catherine had to learn to decipher words, even if they danced away from her on the page. “Hay-vie—oh, having. As a reward for having.” She stopped to grin at Lenora, who gave her an encouraging nod. It was a few minutes before Catherine had read the entire letter.

  As a reward for having behaved so well this week, we shall take a horseback ride tomorrow afternoon. You may bring one friend to accompany you. Instruct them to be at Hilltop Stables at two o’clock in the afternoon. I am very proud of your accomplishment.

  Sincerely,

  Uncle Aiden

  “I get to bring a friend,” Catherine said, her eyes dancing.

  “We must send an invitation right
away.” Lenora returned to the desk and extracted a sheet of paper. Catherine’s handwriting was abominable, but they had been practicing correspondence, and the girl was improving. Even still, she had a bit of a scowl on her face as she took her seat and glared at the paper.

  “Who would you like to invite?” Lenora said, moving the paper across the desk and readying the pen for Catherine to use. “I had thought of Mary from school.” She was a day student whose family lived near the Parade, and Catherine had gone to tea at her house a few times.

  “Mary Cranston?” Catherine frowned. “I do not know if she rides.”

  “Hmm, that is an excellent point to consider. Well done. Are there any girls at the school you know ride? Perhaps those raised in the country.”

  “Martha Rumby rides, but we are not very good friends, and she is three years older.”

  Lenora knew Martha. Not only was she three years older, but she was often impatient with the younger girls, and Lenora was unsure she would accept the invitation. Lenora would hate for whomever Catherine invited to refuse. “Anyone else?” Lenora positioned the slate in front of her. “We can make a list and consider each girl in turn.”

  She led Catherine through the process of writing Martha’s name on the list, then added Mary as well since it was good practice. Catherine looked between the two words on her slate. “Their names start the same, but Martha is a soft A and Mary is an ‘eh’ sound.”

  “Very good,” Lenora said. “Who else should we put on the list?”

  Catherine thought for a moment, then scrunched her face and began writing, angling the slate so Lenora could not see. Catherine’s lips moved as she wrote each letter, often stopping and going back and then stopping again. After some time, she smiled and turned the slate to show Lenora.

  Lenora was surprised enough that she did not correct the mistakes. “Me?”

  Catherine nodded, obviously pleased. “You were raised in the country, so you ride, do you not?”

  “I do ride,” Lenora said slowly. “But I believe your uncle intended one of your school friends to be invited.”