A friend. He hadn’t given his name. A faux pas before he even met Mr. Mansfield. But then, he calmed himself, the butler had not asked, either.
When Reggie turned to him with sparkling eyes, a frisson of tension curled in Luc’s gut. He’d seen that look dozens of times before and always just before his friend dragged them both into some scheme likely to get them in trouble, whether with the headmaster at Harrow, the faculty at Cambridge, their parents, or any other authorities.
“Whatever you are thinking—” The entrance of the butler stopped his warning, but did not dim Reggie’s grin.
“Don’t worry, Luc,” he said in a whisper as they followed the butler toward the distant voices. “I’ve a brilliant idea. Guaranteed to let you get to know your lady. Follow my lead.”
As they reached the door to what would presumably be Mansfield’s study, an older woman in a severe blue gown exited. She gave them the most cursory of glances before continuing on her way. From her outfit and the overheard conversation, Luc presumed this Miss Smith was the woman who had raised Bianca and Catherine, and now Thomas. If he were a more strategically minded man, he would befriend the governess and gain insight into Bianca’s innermost desires, into the best way to woo her.
In fact, Luc was quite good at strategy. Where he failed was in putting that strategy into action. The very idea of speaking to Bianca was terrifying. What if he said something stupid or banal? What if she thought him a hulking clod? What if with one utterance he ruined any chance he had?
The thoughts were crippling to action. Better to love and admire from afar. And yet . . . here he was, in her home, about to be introduced to her father.
He had thought himself cured of his reticence, but apparently when the stakes were high, he was still beset by that failing.
Luc had enjoyed the grand scale of Paris, the palazzos and warrens of Venice, the more humble beauty of Prague, and yet, there was something absolutely comforting about Mansfield’s study. It was a bastion of the country gentleman, with classic hunting green the primary color, wood-paneled walls and deer’s heads masquerading as trophies.
Mansfield himself was very like the room. Portly and tall, though not quite as tall as Luc, his thinning blond hair clumped in tufts about his head, his eyes a pale shadow of the vibrant blue of his daughter’s.
“Colburn, good to see you,” Mansfield said, rising from his chair behind the large wooden desk that took center stage in the room. Reggie strode forward and shook the man’s hand. “How are your brother and Lady Orland?”
“Peter is in London dealing with business. He should be back any day now. Mum is doing very well. In fact, I came by to invite the family to dinner, but I couldn’t help overhear that you are in need of a tutor for Thomas.”
“Offering up yourself?” Mansfield ribbed with a chuckle. “Your mum despaired of all your scrapes when you were away at school.”
Luc listened attentively, trying to determine Reggie’s newest scheme.
“Hah, no. My Greek is barbaric at best. But I happen to be accompanied today by Mr. Dore, who recently returned from acting as companion and tutor to my good friend, Earnest Bunbury. He’d be a perfect candidate for the position. Excelled at Cambridge.”
Mr. Dore?
“Really?” Mansfield peered at Luc, who struggled to keep calm at the fiction. This was a drastic mistake. He should never have let Colburn act on any of his ideas. As Mansfield had said, Reggie’s years at Harrow had been spotted by any number of pranks. In fact, their friendship had always been one of complete opposites than of kindred spirits.
And what manner of man would inflict such a masquerade upon an unwitting family?
An awkward silence gathered, and Luc realized they were both awaiting some response from him. He glanced at Reggie, who gave the slightest jut of his chin in encouragement.
“I did, indeed, recently return from a Grand Tour of the old fashion.” Luc was appalled even as he voiced the words. “I assure you I am fluent in Italian, French, German, and Modern Greek, as well as well versed in the classics—”
“Enough, Mr. Dore. Lord Reginald’s word is good enough for me.”
Relief warred with unease. After all, Luc was as learned as he had said, but there was a vast difference between that and imparting said knowledge. Moreover, he wanted only to be a suitor, not a tutor.
Despite all of that, he found himself agreeing to the employment, effective as soon as morning. It was a terrible idea, but there was something insidiously thrilling about the knowledge that within twenty-four hours he would be sharing a roof with the love of his life.
The morning proved overcast and chilly, threatening to rain. Appropriate for Luc’s emotions. His pulse raced as he returned to Hopford Manor. He was anxious about everything, from his wardrobe to his horse. Whereas the day before he had worried because the few clothes he had brought with him were a product of a misunderstanding with the new London tailor that had been recommended to him. Now, rather than being embarrassed about the places where they gaped and clung, he worried that the fine cloth was not appropriate to his supposedly lowly status. Surely, under closer inspection, everyone would know him for a fraud. Despite some abominable accommodations on the Continent, and a rather democratic philosophy of mingling with the locals, he was no servant. Certainly no tutor, though he had studied with a half-dozen over the last three years. Become fluent in a handful of languages, learned something of an appreciation for art and music, for architecture and the interplay of history and geography. The travels had done for him what no amount of classical education in the prison of Harrow could do. But a boy of eight such as his young charge would need to learn mathematics, Latin and Greek, natural science and geography. Perhaps draftsmanship, as well. Those were the disciplines that would hold him in good stead when he joined his peers at school.
Regardless of Luc’s knowledge, imparting it to someone else was another matter entirely. One far more suited to his companion during his travels, Jasper Delacroix. They had parted ways in London.
He rode up to the front door and then, as he handed his horse to a groom, wondered if he were not supposed to present himself to the servants’ entrance. In the end, he lifted his satchel (luckily he had sent his trunks on to his estate from London) and greeted the butler, who did not seem to think anything amiss. Good. It would likely be harder to fool the staff than the family. He winced at his thoughts. The word fool was dishonorable.
“Mr. Mansfield wishes you to attend him.”
The butler ushered him into a room brightly lit by the morning sun.
And there she was, that honey-gold hair bright like the halo of an angel. It took a moment for him to force his gaze away and notice the other occupants of the table: her father, a young boy who was presumably Thomas Mansfield, and Miss Smith, whom he recognized from the day before.
“Have you eaten already, Mr. Dore? Come join us?” The invitation took him aback for a moment even though Reggie had suggested that Mr. Mansfield was notoriously informal, especially when his wife was away from home, which was most of the year. “Meet my family.”
This, too, was rare. Until he was nearly twelve years of age, Luc had taken his meals with his tutors and nannies. Perhaps there had been the occasional quiet dinner without guests, or the nights when he was paraded about like a trained monkey. But Thomas sat at the breakfast table as if this family gathering were a regular occurrence. Would he, as well, be expected to share his meals with the family?
He resisted wiping at his dry eyes. This morning had been the first in ages that he had awoken before ten. But he needed to adjust to country hours, and to the hours of the schoolroom, which were considerably more rigid than the schedule of a gentleman on his Grand Tour.
It was far too early for him to even consider food under usual circumstances, but nonetheless, Luc took the seat proffered him, next to Bianca.
He shook. Or at least his hands did. Hopefully, the slight tremor was undetectable. But . . . he was inches from her
and forced to look only dispassionately in greeting. To pay more attention to her younger brother, his new charge.
After all, he was no longer Viscount Asquith, entitled to respect due that honorific. He was essentially a servant, and a servant did not long for the daughter of the house.
But, of course, he did.
It was a relief when Mr. Mansfield drew his attention to her with introductions and he had an actual excuse to look at her.
“Bianca, this is Mr. Dore, Thomas’s new tutor. Mr. Dore, my daughter.”
“A pleasure, Miss Mansfield,” he said, taking the opportunity to study her. She was so close to him, and at this minor distance, he could see that the smoothness of her skin was no trick of light and shadow. She had a beauty mark at the top of her cheek, and her pink lips were full and wide and made his own itch to know their touch.
“Welcome to Hopford, Mr. Dore.”
Her voice. Prior to that moment he had loved her only from afar, but now . . . her voice was sweetness itself, slightly husky. The sort of voice that melted over a man’s skin. Not that he’d ever heard a voice like that before. But now he had. It fit her perfectly.
“And our governess, Miss Charlotte Smith. She has been in charge of Thomas’s education until now.”
Charlotte Smith was a thin sparrow of a woman. In that realm of indeterminate age, in which he could as easily believe her to be merely a few years older than him or two decades. Her brown curls sprung about her head, the sort that a brush would only make worse, and her pale eyes studied him critically and he rather suspected he was coming up short. Although that could simply be his own bias, as he had a young man’s usual aversion to governesses and other figures of schoolroom authority.
Nonetheless, it would do him well to be in her good graces as she had nearly raised Bianca and her opinion was likely influential.
Luc nodded his head toward her. “I am certain I will need much of your guidance and assistance in the transition.”
“I will do my best to help you however you need,” Miss Smith said graciously. Yet he still felt that he was lacking in her estimation. Perhaps it was the deception that made him oversensitive.
“And last, my son and your new pupil, my little Thomas.”
“I’m not little, Papa,” the boy protested.
However, unlike his father and half sister, Thomas was a small child. Luc hadn’t been around any since he was one himself, and he wasn’t certain what an eight-year-old should look like. The boy was thin, too, and pale and had the same coloring as Bianca and her father, though, Luc understood from Reggie’s description of the family, he was a half-sibling,.
Who was staring at him with wide, fascinated eyes. And seemed on the verge of a question but held his tongue.
“Compared to Mr. Dore, you certainly are,” Bianca quipped and Luc flushed. Half with pleasure that she was aware of him, half with embarrassment. As he always had been about his towering size.
“Quite right,” Mr. Mansfield agreed with a laugh. “You cut a rather imposing figure, Mr. Dore. Miss Smith tells me that my son can be rambunctious and disobedient in the schoolroom. I’ve never seen any evidence of that myself.” The words were laced with humor. “But perhaps you can manage him.”
“Very funny, Papa.” Thomas rolled his eyes.
Mansfield reached out to ruffle his son’s hair, and the boy squirmed in his chair till he was just out of reach. It was clear he doted on his son.
“We’ll frighten Mr. Dore away with such talk,” Miss Smith said with a smile, levity lightening the governess’s stern façade.
Luc laughed. As he’d already embroiled himself in this suspect escapade, nothing could now frighten him away. Not when the woman of his dreams was sitting right next to him.
It was impolite to stare, but regardless both Thomas and she did so. Lottie did so, as well, but far more discreetly. However, Bianca knew her governess well. Those downcast lashes concealed a sharp perusal, one that Bianca had been the focus of many a time. And now she was using that technique to study the new tutor, who was quite possibly the tallest man Bianca had ever met. He towered several inches over her father and a good half a head above her, at least. In fact, she felt petite and slight in his shadow, something she had never felt before. Unlike Kate, who took after their late mother, Bianca took after their father. But Mr. Dore possessed an athletic build, like some ancient Olympian. His proximity and great height made it difficult for her to notice other details, and instead she formed a vague impression: shaggy brown hair, a prominent nose in a broad face, slightly ill-fitted clothing that was still of good quality, as if originally made for someone other than he. Bianca’s own clothes, a joint effort of the village seamstress and herself, were sewn to her proportions but no more elegantly made.
“Henrietta and Catherine are off to Brighton,” her father said.
She should have expected that her father would discuss the letters they had all received the day before. And even if she chose to ignore hers, it would still be a topic of conversation. As usual.
“My eldest daughter,” he continued, filling Mr. Dore in.
“Yes, Lord Reginald did mention her.”
Bianca smirked. There at least she could find some sympathy. She knew Reggie didn’t hold Kate in any particular regard. No, as neighbors they were too close to keep bad behavior secret. If only Kate’s bad behavior wasn’t continually rewarded.
“Henrietta is particularly eager for the sea air.”
“I’ve never been to the sea,” Thomas informed Mr. Dore. “Have you?”
“Yes, many a time. And many seas. My favorite—”
“Perhaps we should join them,” Bianca interrupted, half-surprised that the words were actually coming out of her mouth, but it was time. Time to stop accepting everything and to confront her father. As much as she loved him, neither of them could live their lives in fear of Kate, in hopes of keeping a peaceful home. This was barely Kate’s home, in any event, as she only resided at the manor a mere handful of weeks a year. “I’m certain Henrietta would love your company.”
Her father frowned. Sent her a disappointed glare, as if he were hurt and dismayed that she would even bring up the possibility.
“There’ll be time for that soon enough, Bianca. You’ll be off to London this coming spring.”
“That’s optimistic of you, Papa, but I shall hold you to that.”
“You’ll need a new wardrobe,” Lottie added, helpfully. “It’s never too soon to start planning for one’s first Season. We’ll have to hire a new ladies’ maid for you.”
“What’s wrong with Sarah?” Bianca asked referring to the upstairs maid who also doubled as Bianca’s Abigail.
“Oh you’ll be wanting a ladies’ maid who is well versed in all the styles and trends of the current season,” Mr. Dore interjected. “I know that my valet studied continental fashions for months before our journey.”
“Your valet?” Lottie said sharply.
Her question made Bianca realize just how odd it was that an impoverished gentleman would have a valet.
“Mr. Bunbury’s valet,” Mr. Dore corrected. “Although he was kind enough to share Geoffrey’s services.”
“Exactly,” her father said. “You will share Henrietta’s maid when you go to London.”
Bianca had imagined numerous times what it would be like to go to London for a Season, but in each of those times she couldn’t quite envision it in the company of her stepmother. While Henrietta was unobjectionable, that was purely because she was so often absent. Even before she and Kate had begun their two-year circuit of the social centers of England, her father’s second wife had been nearly absent in Bianca’s life. Partly that was Bianca’s own fault. As much as she loved Thomas, she hadn’t wanted a mother to attempt to replace the one she had loved.
Kate hadn’t had any such qualms. Naturally. How different they were. That two siblings could be so opposite had always puzzled and amazed her.
But it didn’t matter. Nothing
about Kate was her concern anymore.
CHAPTER THREE
* * *
For the first day after he arrived, she stayed away from the schoolroom. She wasn’t entirely certain what strange shyness had seized her, but she remembered clearly the moment their eyes had met during breakfast. She had felt . . . unsettled. Overly aware of him, especially as he sat beside her. Thus, instead of her usual routine, she crossed the fields on the southern border of the property to visit her friend, Alice Lovell.
Watersham had always been a small community, surrounded by seven notable estates. Fairview, Hopford Manor, Sir Julian Lovell’s estate, the Buncombes, the Dunnetts, the Brooks, and a minor estate belonging to the Marquess of Penforth, which was rarely visited by the Marquess’s family. In fact, the only times Bianca had ever seen any of them was when they were all invited to a dance at the Fairview, which was the country seat of the Duke of Orland. The Colburns, on the other hand, had shockingly little of the superiority of other well-born families. Or rather, Lady Orland and her sons did not. The late Duke of Orland had been rather intimidating.
As such a small community, Watersham was immensely safe, but it also offered a limited society of young women of a similar age. Alice was only a year younger than Bianca and, as a result, the two had become friends. However, they had such different temperaments that Bianca often wondered if they would have been friends if their governesses had not conspired to bring them together often. Even now, Alice was chattering on about the new ribbons she’d ordered from London. Admittedly, the red velvet would look fabulous on the chip bonnet against which she was holding it. It wasn’t that Bianca didn’t care about fashion. It simply wasn’t as interesting as a dozen other activities with which she could spend her time.
“What do you think of John Dunnett?” Alice asked as she placed the ribbon aside and reached for the newest edition of La Belle Assemblee, which had just arrived from London that week.
Woo'd in Haste Page 2
