But underneath the shirt was the bodice of a day gown covered by a spencer. And in the next move, she had the breeches unbuttoned and pushed down her legs as the rest of the gown’s skirts followed, covering her legs at the same rate the breeches fell to her feet. She kicked off the breeches, then slipped her feet back into the dance slippers.
Regarding her father with a sigh, she said, “I can’t exactly be seen in your company looking like a dandy when we get to Park Lane,” she replied. “Whatever would the neighbors think?”
The duke blinked before giving a shake of his head. “I am impressed,” he finally admitted. He lifted a finger to her face, plucking the velvet beauty mark from her cheek. “That’s better,” he murmured, just before he flicked the black mouche from his finger, sending it sailing out one of the coach windows
“Father!” Daisy protested as she watched the beauty mark disappear. “Do you have any idea how much those cost?” she asked with a sigh.
“Your inheritance is at your disposal,” he replied, angling his head in defiance. “Not that I’ve completely given up on an advantageous marriage for you.”
Daisy blinked before allowing a sigh of frustration. “I was shot in the leg. I have an awful limp in the afternoons. Do you really think there is a man out there who will—?”
“Yes, yes, I do,” James interrupted. “You’d be a catch for any aristocrat—”
“I’m illegitimate!” she argued.
“You’re the daughter of a duke, for God’s sake!”
Daisy recoiled at the comment. And the curse. Her father rarely raised his voice, but it was apparent she had offended him. “I apologize,” she murmured, her eyes downcast. “I meant no offense. Truly.”
“Just for once, can’t you forget that I am a duke and remember that I will always be your father?” he asked, exasperated.
Shrinking at his forceful words, Daisy settled into the squabs and silently cursed the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes. “I cannot. For mother always warned us that you were to be a duke. That you would one day have to do your duty. That you would have to marry, and sire an heir, and forget we existed.”
Recoiling as if he had been punched in the face, James regarded his daughter in horror. “Lily would never have said such a thing,” he countered in a quiet voice. “I acknowledged you and Diana as my daughters from the day you were born,” he added. “It’s on your birth record. I gave you my name, which you... you have apparently decided is not worthy of you—”
“I could not have been a spy if I’d used the Burroughs name,” she countered, her voice kept low but sounding ever so impatient. “And it is I who is not worthy of the name.”
They had been through this. She was sure Diana had given him the same argument when she was hired at Warwick’s four years ago. At least her marriage to a viscount would have appeased their father, even if Adam Comber had no idea he was marrying the daughter of a duke until the day of their wedding.
James took a deep breath and held it a moment, as if he were counting to ten.
Sighing, Daisy was about to add to her argument—she couldn’t be headmistress of Warwick’s using the Burroughs name—but instead directed her gaze out the coach window.
“Why were you at Angelo’s?” James asked, his voice no longer sounding strained.
Daisy allowed another sigh. “My new employer was sparring with Lord Bostwick,” she said. “I was curious as to how a man with only one arm could fence.”
James blinked. “Curious?” he repeated. “What if you’d been discovered?”
“I wouldn’t have been...” Except by you. “Had anyone said anything to me, I would have feigned offense and stalked out the door,” she added as she gave her skirts a shake. She pulled a pair of gloves from one of the gown’s pockets and slipped them on. When she finished, she took a deep breath and was about to settle back into the squabs when she remembered her hair. She quickly gathered it into a bun atop her head, pulled a few pins from her other pocket, and secured it in place, all while her father watched in fascination.
“Why is it you’re able to dress your hair in a matter of seconds, and it takes my wife’s lady’s maid an hour to do it?” he asked as he watched her pull an eyelet bonnet from another pocket. She pulled it on and was tying the ribbons when the town coach came to a halt in front of Ariley Place.
“Necessity?” she replied with an arched brow. “I can dress myself, too,” she added with a smirk, just as a groom opened the door and set down the steps. She gathered up her disguise into the crook of one elbow and stood up.
When she appeared in the doorway, ready to take her leave of the conveyance, Daisy made sure to glance at the servant, whose expression of boredom turned to shock in a matter of seconds. “My lady?” he whispered, quickly offering her a hand.
Daisy gave a nod, descended the two stairs, and then stepped aside. Once the duke was out of the coach, Daisy watched with a bemused expression as the groom stuck his head into the coach. He glanced around, as if he were looking for someone.
Placing her arm on the duke’s proffered arm, she said, “You’ll have the neighbors all in a twitter about this,” she warned.
“About what?” he countered.
She was about to say, “Two days in a row, escorting a woman other than your wife to your front door,” but thought better of it. A sideways glance was instead her only response as they made their way to the front door. Just as they stepped into the house, the butler was quick to inform her that the drayage cart with her furnishings had just departed.
Daisy turned to her father and angled her head. “I must visit your cook, and then I must go,” she said, giving him an apologetic glance.
He sighed. “Then go in the coach, and be sure to return tonight and join us for dinner,” he said, not making it an invitation she could turn down. “I’ll send the coach for you at six—.”
“Seven,” she interrupted. She needed as much time as she could manage setting up her new household, although the thought of playing with her siblings for a few minutes nearly had her changing her mind.
“Half-past-six,” he countered, his manner suggesting he was done with negotiating.
Daisy sighed. She rather doubted the small kitchen at the apartment would have anything edible left in it. “Very well.” She leaned up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I would tell you not to worry for me, but I suspect it would do no good.” She dipped a curtsy. “I’ll take the rest of my things when I go back tonight,” she added before she hurried to the kitchens.
Once the cook had supplied her with two tins of biscuits and enough food to last her a few days, she headed to the coach.
She wanted to arrive at her apartment while the movers delivered her furniture. Although they could simply leave the items out front, she needed them to put the furniture in place, and she knew they wouldn’t leave without her—they were expecting a tip.
Chapter 15
A Meeting of the Minds
Tuesday morning
As she regarded Alpha House from her vantage on the other side of Glasshouse Street, Daisy wondered if it was too soon to introduce herself to the instructors who lived within. According to the information she could find in Mrs. Streater’s desk, only one of the teachers didn’t live at the school. Mrs. Pendergast, famous for her penmanship and comportment classes, lived in a townhouse in Kingly Street.
Daisy had learned two of the instructors were past thirty. Both had been governesses before being hired by Mrs. Streater more than a decade ago. Miss Betterman taught the art and music classes while Miss Anders taught French. A third, Mrs. Fitzgerald, fancied herself an expert in Shakespeare, her theatre appreciation class rarely touching on a play written by anyone else but the Bard. From the notes Daisy could find in Mrs. Streater’s old desk, Mrs. Fitzgerald also taught a literature class for the older girls.
That left Miss Crofter, a younger woman who wore a pair of spectacles perched on the end of her nose and who possessed the skill of unlimite
d patience. She taught the needlework classes. And, from what Daisy had heard from her stepmother the night before, Miss Crofter made her distrust of members of the opposite sex known at every opportunity.
Daisy secretly wondered if the woman had been courted and then ruined by a rake, or if one of her sisters might have suffered that fate. Young ladies didn’t hold such poor views of men without a reason.
Having studied the daily schedule—Mrs. Streater had been thorough in her documentation of everything that happened at Warwick’s—Daisy knew to report to the small ballroom to teach dance at eleven o’clock and then return to the same building to teach arithmetic at two o’clock in the afternoon. Grammar followed, although she found notes mentioning a morning class when necessary.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Streater’s notes didn’t indicate the progress of any of the classes. If ever there was a time she wished her sister was in town, this was one of those times.
As she approached the front door of Alpha House, the hairs on the back of her neck had her slowing her steps. The feeling of being watched had her slowly turning around, her gaze taking in the morning traffic. Dray carts and carriages, coaches and a few men on horseback made the most noise while a few men walked the pavement. One rather tall, dark-haired gentleman stood across the street, apparently in wait of a hackney. Given the distance, she couldn’t make out his facial features.
When she was sure no one was watching her in particular, Daisy returned her attention to Alpha House. She wondered if she had erred in choosing a drab round gown for her first day. The brownish-orange color did nothing for her complexion, but it had allowed her to blend in, back when she was an operative. Despite her brunette hair, currently pulled back and wound into a tight bun on the back of her head, she wouldn’t be noticed in a crowd.
Daisy paused when the front door of the house suddenly opened. Two women chatted with one another as one turned and used a key to lock the door.
“Good morning,” Daisy said as she curtsied.
The two women exchanged quick glances. “Good morning,” they responded in unison, both bobbing curtsies.
Introducing herself as the new headmistress, Daisy watched carefully for their reactions. Miss Betterman was quick to offer a hand and a welcome. “Miss Albright? Why you must be related to Diana,” she said with a warm smile.
“I am her older sister,” Daisy acknowledged as she took the proffered hand and gave it a shake. Although she hadn’t seen her sister in quite some time, she decided she must still bear some resemblance to Diana given the woman’s comment.
“Miss Jane Betterman. I teach the art and music classes, and this is Miss Annabelle Anders,” she said as she turned to indicate the slight woman who stood next to her. Despite wearing a gown nearly the same color as Daisy’s, Annabelle looked resplendent in hers. Given her chestnut hair and slight freckles, it stood to reason she would.
“Why, I must admit I am surprised,” Annabelle said as she shook Daisy’s hand. “If I may be so bold, I wouldn’t have expected our new owner to hire a headmistress for at least a week. I half-expected he would ask one of us if we were interested in the position.” This last came with a roll of eyes that suggested the idea was ludicrous.
Daisy had at first wondered if Miss Anders expected to accept such an offer, but from the way she made the comment—almost disparagingly—she rather doubted it. “He may still,” Daisy replied carefully. “He’s hosting a tea Saturday afternoon to introduce himself to everyone.”
The two teachers exchanged quick glances and nods. “We were just on our way to our classrooms,” Jane said. “With all the rain last night, I expect I’ll have a bit of clean-up to do.”
“Me, as well,” Annabelle agreed with a sigh.
Daisy frowned. The mention of rain and a clean-up suggested a leaky roof. “How long has the roof leaked in your classroom?” she asked as the three of them turned and made their way toward one of the classroom buildings.
Jane and Annabelle both giggled. “We’ve never known it not to,” Jane said with a wave of her hand. “But there’s a bucket that catches most of the water. I just have to see to emptying it if Mr. Jenkins doesn’t get to it first.”
“Mr. Jenkins?” Daisy repeated. “Isn’t he the gardener?”
Annabelle gave a shrug. “He is, but he’s sweet on Jane.”
Jane colored up and gave her colleague a look of shock. “Annabelle!” she scolded, before daring a worried glance at their new headmistress.
Trying with all her might to suppress a grin, Daisy changed the subject. “I shall inform Mr. Streater and see if we can’t arrange for a repair.”
The two instructors exchanged glances again, although neither offered a response just then.
“I’ll be sure to mention it at the tea on Saturday,” Daisy offered. “I do hope you can both attend. You should be receiving invitations any day now. Lady Bostwick is seeing to them.”
The mention of an aristocrat’s wife had the two exchanging quick glances again. At least this time, they seemed impressed.
“How do you find him?” Annabelle asked, her voice kept low. They had just entered the building that held four classrooms, two of which featured buckets near to brimming with water in the middle of their floors.
Daisy tore her gaze from the evidence of roof leaks and replied, “Oh, Mr. Streater is quite agreeable. Since he is the head of clerks at a bank, I rather doubt we’ll see much of him, though.”
“Or his money,” Jane said under her breath.
“Jane!” It was Annabelle’s turn to scold.
“Oh, I have reason to believe Mr. Streater will see to the maintenance of Warwick’s,” Daisy offered, remembering the reference to him having inherited a fortune. “And if he does not, then I shall.”
All she had to do was see to it that part of his fortune was spent fixing the roof.
And who knew what else.
“Mrs. Fitzgerald has arrived rather early,” Annabelle remarked, noting the older woman was already in one of the classrooms. A platform was situated at one end of the room, apparently for use as a stage, and a pile of costumes covered a table. “But then I believe dress rehearsals are beginning for her next production.”
Daisy paused by the door, deciding it better she not ask what play that might be. “Thank you for walking with me this morning. And for sharing your insights,” she said as she gave a wave to the other teachers.
“Just so you’re aware, I am not... cavorting with Mr. Jenkins,” Jane said in a whisper.
Angling her head to one side, Daisy furrowed her brows. “Do you wish to?” she asked in all seriousness.
Jane blinked. She started to say something, but closed her mouth before she could utter a sound.
Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Of course, she wishes to, but—”
“Then you should make your wishes known to Mr. Jenkins,” Daisy said in a whisper. “Or you will always wonder what might have been.” She, more than anyone, knew what it was like to wonder about the might-have-beens. Regret did that. Jane Betterman was of an age where any interest from a man should be taken seriously. Acted upon. “Just... use discretion,” she added with an arched brow.
Staring at the headmistress, as if Daisy might have sprouted three heads, Jane gave a quick shake of her head. “Of course,” she replied in a hoarse whisper. For a moment, she seemed almost lost in thought. “Pardon me, but my first class is due to start in a few moments.”
“Don’t let me keep you from it,” Daisy replied, just as a middle-aged man passed them, tipping his chapeau before he entered the classroom where Jane was about to teach a drawing class. “Mr. Jenkins, I presume?” Daisy asked as she crossed her arms and straightened.
“Indeed,” Annabelle replied with an arched brow. “Widowed two years now. Has a daughter who attends here, although I don’t believe she pays the same tuition as all the other girls.”
“Well, I should hope not,” Daisy replied. The comment earned her a look of surprise from the younger w
oman. “Employees of the school should benefit from some consideration.”
“May I say, I find your position rather enlightened?” Annabelle said then. She glanced toward another open door, where several young ladies were regarding them from where they sat at wooden desks. “I must go. Although most of our students have learned some French from the their mothers, they have not learned proper French,” she said as she gave a slight curtsy.
“Good day,” Daisy said in perfect French, returning the curtsy. She took a deep breath and then was about to take her leave of the building when Mr. Jenkins walked by with a bucket full of water. “Pardon me, but are you Mr. Jenkins?” Daisy asked as she moved to walk by his side. When he seemed about to stop and bow, she added, “Please, don’t stop what you’re doing on my account. That pail looks rather heavy. I just wanted to introduce myself,” Daisy said.
“Miss Albright, aren’t you?”
Daisy blinked, rather surprised he already knew. “Why, yes.” Try as she might, she could not remember having met the man before. His skin was bronzed from too much time in the sun, and he sported a body with broad shoulders and legs that suggested he rode a horse. His clothing, a rough muslin shirt, dark wool waistcoat, and breeches stained green at the knees, gave away his profession. Although his blue eyes and broad face were anything but aristocratic, Daisy could understand why Jane would be attracted to the man. “How did you know?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
“You look just like the other Miss Albright. Or Lady Breckinridge, I suppose I should say,” he replied as he opened the exterior door and allowed her to step through before he joined her again. “I’m guessing older sister, but please don’t take offense. She once told me she had an older sister,” he explained. He paused to empty the bucket onto a carefully tended flowerbed that rimmed the classroom building. When half the bucket was empty, he moved to the other side of the crushed granite path and poured the rest onto a spiraled topiary tree.
The Conundrum of a Clerk Page 11
