“My parents sent me to school in Italy when I was very young.”
“Oh.” Molly’s face lost some of its light. “Being away from family can be very difficult. I do hope you were fortunate as I was to have a teacher like Miss Snow.” The women exchanged a smile that indicated a close relationship. Small wonder he had assumed they were sisters. “You see, she was my finishing school instructor before my father enlisted her to accompany me to Greece.”
Miss Snow’s eyes tightened in a slight wince, and she darted a glance at him. Apparently the information was something she had not wished him to know.
“You are very lucky to have such a person who cares about you.” He glanced once more toward the street, but the soldiers had apparently either lost interest in pursuing him or decided to search elsewhere. “I apologize, ladies, but I must cut our visit short.”
Molly’s brows drew together. “Will we see you again, Mr. Metaxas?”
“I’m afraid not. I plan to be on Corfu for only a few more hours.” He was quite enjoying his new acquaintances, but if he didn’t leave now, he might miss the messenger who would deliver his contact’s rendezvous point.
“Oh, what a pity. I’d hoped we would become great friends.” Molly’s lip pouted.
Did he see a flash of disappointment in Diana Snow’s face as well? Or had he imagined it? He rose and bowed over each lady’s hand as he bid them farewell.
Striding along the street, he attempted to look like he knew where he was going as he studied the street signs and concentrated on the map he’d memorized. Just as his leader had predicted, moving about the city in British clothing would attract less suspicion. If only his movements did not feel so constricted. But there was work to do, and too much depended on Alex fulfilling his mission. He did not have time to dwell on uncomfortable trousers. For that matter, he needed to stop wondering about a particular gray-eyed woman and her prim behavior. Her tidy habits and curt manners were a barrier, designed to keep people at a distance, but he’d seen the gentle way Diana had acted to her young charge. And though she’d tried, she’d not been fully able to conceal her reactions when the conversation had become personal. There was more to this woman than coldness and rules, and Alex wished circumstances were such that he could discover what secrets she protected.
Chapter 2
Diana stood with the other women at the conclusion of the evening meal. She was relieved that supper had ended and the ladies could withdraw, leaving the men to their port and conversation. The two wives of the officers Sir Campbell had invited for supper accompanied her and Molly to the parlor belonging to the suite of rooms Molly’s father had rented for the months they were visiting Corfu.
The room was small and cozy. Diana found the Greek furnishings comfortable and much more practical and sturdy-looking than those found in an English drawing room. Dark, solid wood chairs stood around the edges of the room, and the few upholstered pieces were covered in light beige fabric with brightly embroidered pillows giving a burst of color. No yards of patterned silk covered the plain walls. The plaster was a clean white decorated with an occasional colorful painting. A cool sea breeze stirred the sheer curtains that hung in front of the windows. Rich rugs lay over the stone-tiled floors, and the dark wooden beams showed on the walls and ceiling. Tidy and unassuming, Diana thought. Nothing extravagant or unnecessary—excepting perhaps their guests.
Diana studied Mrs. Wheaton and Mrs. Kerry as they took their seats. Both were young—much younger than their officer husbands—and their hairstyles, clothing, and jewelry were more costly than she’d have expected from a military man’s salary and seemed extremely gaudy for a simple dinner party. She’d noticed throughout supper that, though the women claimed to be the very best of friends, their actions tended more toward competition, each attempting to best the other, no matter the topic. The evening could not end speedily enough to suit Diana.
The women perched next to each other on a settee, facing Molly on the sofa. Between them, instead of a low table, stood a large wooden chest holding a pot of red flowers.
Situating herself in a straight-backed chair, a bit away from the others, Diana found her polite smile and prepared for another conversation about fashion, soirees, and handsome suitors. Luckily, she was not expected to contribute much to the discussion because nobody would direct the conversation to her. She could simply nod or add an occasional thought.
A servant brought tea, and as soon as Molly had finished pouring out, Mrs. Wheaton accepted the offered cup and saucer. Leaning forward, brows raised and thin lips puckered, she said, “My dear Miss Campbell, now that just ladies are present, do tell us about Lieutenant Ashworth. If I am not mistaken, he danced with you twice at the Lord High Commissioner’s ball.”
Molly’s face lit up, and Diana couldn’t help but smile at the happiness she saw in the expression. “Oh yes. Isn’t he the most agreeable gentleman? So thoughtful. And very handsome. He has asked to pay me a visit tomorrow morning.” She tipped her head, and her eyes softened while she let out a sigh.
The women on the settee exchanged a look.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if he were to make you an offer, my dear.” Mrs. Kerry did not smile but raised her brows in a knowing manner, precisely as her friend had done a moment before.
Molly pressed her palm against her chest. “An offer? Do you really think so?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Mrs. Kerry glanced at her fingernails and regarded Molly as if she were the expert on all matters concerning matrimony. “You are pretty, young. He seems to have taken a liking to you.”
“A royal marine. One could certainly do worse.” Mrs. Wheaton set her cup into the saucer on her lap. “And so connected. His uncle is the Duke of Southampton, you know. And his father, Lord Vernon, is apparently quite wealthy in his own right.”
Molly’s cheeks grew red as the women talked, and her eyes brightened further. She twisted slightly in her seat to face Diana. “Miss Snow, do you think Lieutenant Ashworth truly thinks to propose marriage? And if he does, what then? Should I accept?”
Diana thought for a moment before she answered. “I cannot speculate as to the man’s intentions. But as for you, I think you would be wise to know him better before making a decision of that magnitude. Learn more about what sort of person he is, then consider if he is the type of man you wish to marry.”
A line grew between Molly’s brows, and she nodded slowly as if thinking about what Diana said.
The other women, however, looked anything but thoughtful. Mrs. Kerry’s nose wrinkled as though she’d smelled something foul, and Mrs. Wheaton blew out a puff of air.
Mrs. Kerry set her teacup and saucer onto the wooden chest with a clatter. “What kind of advice is that, I ask you? Did you not hear?” She turned toward Molly. “He is wealthy, connected, and in a position for military advancement.” She spoke slowly, drawing the words out, as if Molly may have a difficult time understanding.
Molly nodded. “Yes, but, I think Miss Snow is right. I do not know him well. I should—”
Mrs. Wheaton spoke right over her words. “Trust me, the less you know about a man before you marry him, the better. He is at his best behavior before vows are said. But not to worry. Once you are married, you will make friends with the other officers’ wives and not have to give more than a few minutes of thought to your husband each day.”
Diana could not believe what she was hearing. True, she’d not had any experience with courting or marriage herself, but the advice of these women seemed perfectly ludicrous. Molly deserved a person who respected her. She clenched her hands tightly in her lap.
Mrs. Kerry made a show of appraising Molly from head to foot. “Make sure you look your best tomorrow, and do not do or say anything that might make him think you are considering his character—or considering anything seriously at all for that matter—or he may turn his attention elsewhere. A man does not want to know his wife thinks too deeply.”
Heat filled Diana’s chest as she
watched Molly soaking up the advice. She knew she could wait to speak to her young charge in private, but she did not want her silence to be taken as agreement. She turned her full attention to Molly, lest the other women see the annoyance on her face. “Miss Campbell, I hardly think Lieutenant Ashworth would fault you for considering either his nature or your own feelings before you enter into an arrangement as consequential as marriage. It shows a strength of character.” The idea that Molly would think to “catch” a man because he was wealthy and pretend to be a brainless buffoon to do it made Diana ill. Though Molly was a bit silly and entirely too romantic for her own good, Diana cared for her, probably more than she ought, and it worried her that her charge would listen to these women and their horrible advice concerning a matter that would affect the remainder of her life.
Mrs. Kerry leaned to her friend and whispered something from the corner of her mouth. Both women turned toward Diana. Mrs. Kerry smiled, though her eyes were so cold that Diana thought the temperature in the room may have dropped. “Miss Snow, I do not believe I asked about your background. I believe I heard you are an instructor at Elliot School for Young Ladies in London?”
Diana nodded. “Yes, that is true.”
“How nice. And how did you come by that position?”
An icy chill rose in Diana’s stomach, but she did not flinch. “A church man from St. Luke, Chelsea, recommended me.
“A Christian charity orphanage?” Mrs. Kelly’s eyes hardened further, and an ugly smile pulled her lips. “Oh. How fortunate that they would take you with your workhouse background.” She shrugged her shoulders as if making pleasant conversation. “I’d thought Elliot School was a more reputable institution.”
Mrs. Wheaton nodded. “You must be so grateful for the mercies shown to you in your . . . circumstance. And you must realize you are in no position to give advice to a refined young woman.”
Diana held her feelings tightly, not permitting the turmoil inside to show on her face. After years of practice, she’d become an expert on not revealing her emotions. People thought her cold, and she’d even heard some of the students refer to her as “Stone Heart,” but to let the feelings out was unbearable, and she’d pushed them deep inside for so long that she’d become an expert at maintaining her mask.
Mrs. Wheaton tapped her finger on the side of her chin. “I wonder, does Sir Campbell know the pedigree of his daughter’s companion? Indigents do so tax society . . .”
Molly bounced in her chair, her hands clenched into a ball on her lap. “No, no. You are completely mistaken. Miss Snow is an elegant lady and very accomplished. She speaks French and German and is now learning Greek. Lady Stanhope herself considers her an expert in matters of etiquette, and she is quite respected in London Society.”
“An oversight, I would think,” Mrs. Kerry said under her breath, though it was certainly loud enough for the entire room to hear.
Molly stood, her arms trembling and tears in her eyes. “Madam, I’ll not have you speaking of my companion in such a way. It is intolerable to—”
Diana rose and placed a hand on her arm. “Thank you, Molly, but there is no reason to be upset. Please do not allow me to spoil your evening. If you’ll excuse me, I have a bit of a headache.”
“There is no need to leave, Miss Snow. I—”
“Good night.” Diana squeezed Molly’s arm and smiled reassuringly.
“Miss Snow, please, do not . . .”
Diana shook her head as she walked to the door. Her heart pounded, and her muscles ached with the effort of maintaining her calm. “I am sure Mrs. Kerry and Mrs. Wheaton would love to hear about our visit to Venice.”
Mrs. Wheaton clapped her hands together. “Oh, we certainly would. Venice is so lovely this time of year. Tell me, what did you think of the Piazza San Mar—?”
Diana closed the door behind her and leaned against it. The backs of her eyes stung, and her throat was tight. Drawing in a shaky breath, she raised her chin and pushed down her shoulders, forcing the emotion rising inside of her back into the depths where it belonged.
The two women were unhappy and petty, and she would not let their mean-spirited words affect her. And Molly . . . When Diana thought of the young lady’s defense of her, a fresh wave of feeling surged up, but with a self-control developed over years of practice, she stifled it.
She heard men’s voices. Before the gentlemen happened upon her in the hallway, she hurried to her bedchamber, closing another door behind her and not missing the symbolism in her action. Shutting out anything that could hurt her had always been her best method of protection.
In a moment her breathing had calmed, and she could think of the conversation objectively, without the painful tightness in her throat.
The women had been right. Diana was not a lady, or anything close, no matter the gracefulness of her deportment, the perfect spacing of her embroidery stitches, or the number of languages she spoke. A child who taught herself to read and spent every moment devouring the books in the kind Reverend Delaney’s library did not have much hope of enduring the physical rigors of an orphan’s workhouse. Few alternatives for a woman in her position existed, and she could imagine surviving none of them. Diana truly believed Lady Stanhope had saved her life by offering her a position at the finishing school.
She stepped across the room and opened the curtains, carefully sliding the sheer fabric along the rods to leave the same amount of space between the folds. The evenness of the arrangement helped calm her. As there were few things in her life over which she had power, she took immense care to make them impeccable. Having the ability to manage her emotions and her surroundings gave her some semblance of control.
She lined up the shoes in her closet, moved a few gowns along the hanging rod into a more satisfactory pattern and felt relieved when everything was in order. She turned back toward the room, and her eyes fell on the nightstand, specifically on the pair of men’s gloves that looked so out of place in the room. A tremor fluttered in her middle.
She sat on the bed, turning the gloves over in her hands. It had been so unlike her to take them. Of course, when she realized they had been left behind, she’d thought to hand them over. Perhaps the owner would return to the inn and inquire about them. But for some reason, once she picked them up, she’d not wanted to surrender them. The gloves were a link to an incident she could not quite understand, and turning them in would somehow mean the experience was over before she had time to fully contemplate why something as ordinary as a conversation with a stranger had felt so significant. And if she were to be honest with herself, she hoped to see him again, though she knew she would not. He had probably already left Corfu. But she liked the idea of having something tangible that had belonged to him.
She smoothed the gloves on her lap, tracing the stitching around the hollow thumb with her fingernail, thinking of the man to whom they belonged.
Alexandros Metaxas had worn scuffed boots, a poorly tied neck-cloth, and no hat. Not to mention, he’d forgotten his gloves. Such a disorganized person was so unlike her. But his manner had interested her. Why was he in Corfu for merely a few hours? Whence had he come? Why was he dressed as an Englishman? And even more confusing was the fact that he’d seemed interested in her. He’d held her gaze, asked questions—she’d even thought he’d been staring. Aside from the minister at the orphanage, no man had ever taken notice of her at all—especially not a handsome man with an accent.
Though she knew it was silly and romantic, she’d thought perhaps he’d enjoyed speaking with her. Had he truly been impressed with her study of language? Or was he simply acting polite? She thought of his dark hair, his tidy mustache. He had straight, white teeth, tanned skin, and coffee-colored eyes that studied his surroundings sharply. His gaze seemed very astute. She’d wondered what he’d seen when he looked at her. Had he known she’d admired his appearance? The fluttering she’d felt earlier returned.
The exchange had left Diana so flustered that anything she would have l
iked to say had flown from her head. She wished she could have chattered or teased like Molly to dispel the fluttering in her stomach. But she had the feeling Alexandros would have seen right through any attempts at falsehood. When he’d turned his intense gaze on her, she’d felt flattered at his notice, and at the same time, horrified that he saw more—understood more—than she wanted to reveal.
She paced to the window, allowing the ocean breeze to cool her, embarrassed that her skin had been heated by her thoughts. Streetlamps cast pools of yellow light on the darkened cobblestones. The sound of the waves and the feel of the night air had become familiar to her as she’d strolled around the streets near the inn after dark. As Diana was not a gentlewoman, walking alone was one of her freedoms, and she found she enjoyed the small indulgence. She’d been assured by the hotel manager that, unlike London, Corfu was safe at night. “The British soldiers, they patrol the streets,” he’d said, his eyes narrowing but he returned quickly to a smile as if he remembered to whom he was speaking. “You have only to worry about cats, miss.”
She loved the wide open squares and fragrant flowers. And she smiled, with not a little envy, as she heard the sound of bouzouki music and Greek voices spilling out of tavernas well into the early hours of the morning. It was nearly impossible not to compare the booming laughter to the shallow conversation of the dinner party she’d just attended.
Diana leaned forward, closed her eyes, and let the whispering of the waves work its magic, lulling her into calm. She scolded herself for the ridiculous way she’d allowed her mind to meander. Alexandros Metaxas was certainly not interested in her.
A man educated abroad was obviously not without means—despite his lack of fashion sense. He must have simply intended to be courteous in his conversation. If he knew her true circumstance, she was certain he would not give her another look.
The officers’ wives were right—though it was hurtful to admit. She was fortunate to be accepted on the edges of a society she was not a part of. Though she loved Molly, she was not Molly’s friend. Diana was her chaperone, her father’s employee. They didn’t move in the same circles, nor would they ever, and she would do well to remember it.
A Place For Miss Snow Page 2
