The Social Tutor
by Sally Britton
Copyright Information
The Social Tutor © 2018 Sally Britton
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For more information, address the author at: [email protected]
Cover Art by Shaela Kay at ShaelaKay.com.
Dedication
To Skye, who believes in me 1000%,
And to Mother, who taught me how to do everything.
Table of Contents
Copyright Information
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
End Notes
Sneak Peek: Julia’s Physician
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
November 1st, 1811
“Waiting on a letter one knows to be full of exciting news is an excruciating experience,” Christine Devon said, slumping in her chair in a most unladylike manner.
“Are you waiting for the post again?” asked her younger sister. Rebecca glanced away from her book to offer a teasing smile. “Whatever for?”
“I hope the letter will come today and save us all your anxieties on the matter.” Julia, the eldest of the three, did not even look up from her stitching as she commented. This meant she didn’t see Christine’s glare.
“You ought to try reading, Christine,” Rebecca said softly. “The news sheets are here on the table. I know you enjoy them.”
“I find it interesting to be aware of what goes on in the world,” Christine acknowledged, barely glancing at the papers. “Father says I ought not to read them too much. They are meant for gentlemen.”
Julia made a noise which sounded suspiciously like a snort. “He will never know, Christine. If you like them, read them.”
Checking out the window once more, Christine darted to the table to snatch the Times, a week old now, and went back to her seat.
“There. Now you needn’t be so anxious.” Rebecca settled more deeply into her chair and lifted her book again. “Reading helps to pass the time, after all.”
Christine could barely read a full sentence without looking out the window. She did not want to miss the arrival of the post and could not fully attend to the latest opinion piece on the state of the King’s sanity. The proposal of naming the Crown Prince as Regent interested her, she decided she would have to read through the pages again, after the post arrived.
Christine had waited in this manner every day for the last three weeks. Aunt Jacqueline, the widow of an earl, likely did not know how much her niece longed for the missive. The esteemed lady’s letter would be positively full of instructions and lists for the coming London Season, because it was at last Christine’s turn to make her debut into society. At nineteen, she was on the older side when it came to the hopeful young misses stepping out for the first time, but she felt grateful she was granted a season at all, especially after her sister Julia’s spectacular failure four years previously.
Christine did not actually know what Julia’s spectacular failure consisted of, as no one in the family ever told the whole story outright. All Christine knew of the matter consisted of her father’s quiet comments muttered at family suppers, her aunt’s vague mention of the “unfortunate affair,” and Julia’s slow withdrawal from her sisters.
Whatever the past mistake or embarrassment, Christine determined long ago that her triumphant season, as one of the most sought after young women in London, would elevate the family to new heights.
“You ought to stop straining your neck like that, looking out,” Rebecca commented, bringing Christine out of her thoughts abruptly. Her younger sister watched from behind her book, dark eyes twinkling merrily. “You might overstretch it and then where would you be? I doubt goose necks are in fashion at the moment.”
A small chuckle escaped from Julia, and Christine could not help smiling as well. “We cannot have that, I suppose.” She pulled her shoulders up and tucked her chin down against her chest. “Do you think a turtle-like posture more the thing?”
Rebecca pretended to consider, and Christine laughed until Rebecca joined in the merriment. Christine knew her expression mirrored her younger sister’s; they looked the most alike of their siblings, taking after their father with their dark, waving hair and brown eyes. Julia looked more like their mother, her hair an ash-blonde and her eyes made up of several different shades. Their younger brother, away at school, had light, curly hair and dark brown eyes. Only when they all stood together did they look related.
Christine often wished she looked more like their late mother, if only to feel closer to her.
Their mother passed when Christine was fourteen years old, leaving it to their father’s elder sister to turn the sisters out in style for the season. Aunt Jacqueline took charge of sponsoring her into society and chaperoning her to all the important events, with her father paying the bills for the modiste, seamstress, millinery, and whatever else deemed necessary. After all, as he said time and again, a woman’s first season was an investment for the whole family.
At last she saw the footman assigned to retrieve the mail. He fetched it from the inn, where the mail coach stopped twice a day. The poor young man always came the long way around the house to avoid the smells of the stables. Apparently, he had an aversion to horses.
Christine could hardly imagine anything more tragic than to be deprived of horses and daily rides for something as absurd as a damp nose.
Christine hurried from the morning room and across the whole house, choosing to take the servants’ stair instead of the main staircase in order to catch the young man more quickly. Today simply had to be the day that Aunt Jacqueline’s letter came. They needed to plan for the season ahead, and it was already November.
Mr. Devon planned to remove the family to London immediately following the Earl of Annesbury’s annual Christmas ball. That left Christine precious little time to prepare herself for a grand entrance into society.
She flew into the kitchen at the same moment the footman entered and nearly dove at him to retrieve the post.
The startled servant jumped backward as she snatched the letters from his hands. She clutched at the two envelopes and looked at their direction with great anxiety. The first was to their father in a hand she thought to belong to their solicitor, the second was addressed to her.
“Ah, Miss Christine.” The butler greeted her dryly from his place at the table. She blushed as she looked at him but made no apologies. She ought to have waited for him to bring the post to Julia.
“I’ll take mine now, thank you.” Christine tossed the unwanted letter back to the footman without looking and dashed out of the kitchen as quickly as she could, going to the garden. She hardly noticed the chill in the air, and thankfully already wore one of Julia’s knitted shawls.
She stopped at the first sun-warmed bench she came to, sat, and tore the seal on the letter with abandon, nearly wrinkling the paper in her haste.
My Dearest Niece,
It is with great p
leasure that I write to assure you of my determination to sponsor you this season. While it is no secret that I dearly wish to give you this opportunity, your father expressed concern when last we spoke that you might lack another year of experience before entering society. I reminded him that nineteen is more stylish an age and sounds better than twenty to future beaux. If we wait until you are twenty, people will wonder why we have been hiding you. I daresay most have forgotten about Julia’s unfortunate season, but there is no reason to dredge up curiosity in any who recall those events…
Her aunt went on to give a detailed list of Christine’s needed purchases before her arrival in town, and made a suggestion as to colors and styles that a country seamstress might be able to employ to advantage. The bulk of the shopping would be done upon her arrival in London with her father.
Christine clutched the letter to her chest, her elation filling her with hope until she knew she must glow. At last, her season! Her chance to prove to her father that she was worthy of his affection, worthy of his pride. Her chance to step onto the stage of the world and make a match of such societal importance that other debutantes would positively wilt in comparison. Her match would be brilliant. She hoped for a title, and certainly for wealth, and to give her father contacts in the upper echelons of society, thus ensuring her family’s success in the years and even generations to come.
While her father, and indeed the whole family, benefited from his sister’s marriage into the ton, he remained on the fringes, an untitled gentleman with business interests shared by several more noble property owners.
Christine sailed back into the morning room to share the wonderful news. Julia sat in her favorite chair still stitching something in a terribly practical shade of gray, likely for one of their tenants. Rebecca was engaged with her novel once more.
Pausing in her step, Christine looked over the scene with a smile. She loved days like this, where they sat together quietly, enjoying each other’s company. Horace, the baby of the family and their father’s heir, had been away too long. She wondered what he would be doing, were he present. He certainly would not be sitting as quietly as Rebecca, tucked into her chair like a kitten curled in a basket.
She decided to interrupt the quiet, making her announcement cheerfully. “Aunt Jacqueline has written at last.”
Rebecca looked up from her page with a smile. “Oh Christine, how wonderful for you.”
Julia raised her eyebrows, not even pausing in her work.
Christine stared at her elder sister, perplexed by the complete lack of attention. “I am very excited,” she added, still enthusiastic. “She has given me a list of things to purchase before we remove to London.”
Julia nodded and this time deigned to speak. “If you will write it out for me, I will make an estimation on the expense for Father to look over.”
Rebecca closed her book and stood, coming to peer at the letter over Christine’s shoulder. Rebecca and Christine stood near enough in height, making the maneuver easy on the younger sister.
“What else does Aunt say? Does she tell you what to expect when you make your curtsy?”
Highly irritated by Julia’s lack of enthusiasm, Christine deliberately turned her full attention to her sixteen-year-old sister. “She does. She writes all about it; the dress I will wear and who will make it for me, the ceremony at court. She has included the most wonderful itinerary, though a great deal will depend upon the invitations we receive after we arrive in town.”
“I am happy for you.” Rebecca looked from Christine to Julia and her smile faltered. “Aren’t you happy for her, Julia?”
“Certainly.” Julia’s fingers nimbly moved the needle up and down, still not looking up. “Christine has been dreaming of this for years.”
“Ever since your season,” Christine said, lifting her chin. An errant curl fell out of its pin at that moment, spoiling the effect of her now perfect posture. “Four years of dreaming.”
Julia paused and glanced up, her staid expression never betraying her thoughts. “A long time indeed. I hope all that dreaming won’t spoil the reality for you.”
Christine narrowed her eyes at her elder sister, disappointed with Julia’s indifference at a time like this. She didn’t even feign excitement for Christine’s opportunity. “As long as I end the season with a husband of means, I do not think it will be at all spoiled.”
Julia shrugged and went back to her sewing, as though completely unconcerned. “If that is your goal, you are likely right. Be careful, Christine.”
Christine raised her eyebrows. “Careful of what? Repeating your missteps?”
For a brief moment, Julia’s posture stiffened. Christine dared to think she rattled her sister enough, at last, to find out what those missteps had been. Julia, ever the master of her emotions, swiftly regained her poise.
“Father is an exacting person. He will expect perfection and, as a mortal being, you will fall short of that. I have no doubt you will do your best, but if you hope to gain his approval by marrying correctly, I am afraid you will be disappointed. His expectations will grow with whatever consequence a good marriage would bring you.” Julia kept her eyes on the work in her hands, her words falling almost carelessly from her lips.
Hardly believing her sister uttered so many words regarding a topic she normally avoided, it took Christine a short space of time to recover her thoughts. “I do not think it is as impossible as you make it seem. I will succeed in a way that makes Father proud. In fact, I will exceed his expectations.” She nodded smartly.
“I suppose nineteen is so much more mature than seventeen,” Julia said lightly. “When I attempted to do the same.”
“Precisely why Father made me wait those extra two years,” Christine stated, crossing her arms before her. “Greater maturity of thought. A better understanding of his wishes.”
Julia shrugged, her disinterest in the conversation clearly expressed by her lack of attentiveness. “Certainly. I do wish to caution you. Father’s ambitions for you may not be entirely what you expect. Be careful.”
While Christine loved Julia dearly, there were moments when she wished to throttle her sister for ruining things for the rest of them.
Rebecca interjected with an overly bright tone. “Will you write Aunt back today?” Christine had nearly forgotten her younger sister was present, which happened with greater frequency of late.
Christine ignored her younger sister and took a step toward Julia. “Careful of what, Julia? What sage advice have you to offer, considering the lack of success during your season in London?”
Julia’s eyes snapped up and narrowed. “My lack of success, as you call it, happened for a reason. I hope you take care that our father’s goals do not overshadow your happiness, Christine.”
“Our father’s goals are the same as any other father’s when a daughter comes of age,” Christine argued, clenching the hand not holding the letter. “We should consider and respect his wishes in this matter, as dutiful children.”
Rebecca darted forward, between them, clearly sensing Christine’s prickly feelings on the subject. “We do respect Father. I think Julia meant that she wants you to be happy with the choice you make this season. That is all. Julia? Isn’t that what you meant?”
Julia rose, lifting her sewing basket with her. “Yes. Exactly that. I hope your choice makes you happy.” As she moved to leave the room she added, in a most unconcerned manner, “If you are given any choices, that is. Receiving an offer is never a certain thing.” Without another word she swept out the door.
“Why does she do that?” Christine asked, glaring at the empty doorway. “Why can she not be happy for me?”
“Her season was a failure, Christine,” Rebecca said softly. “I think it hurts her to be reminded of it. Father brings it up so often.”
“If she would tell us what happened, we could be more sympathetic to her,” Christine huffed, folding her arms across her waist. “Instead, we are left to guess, and she refuses to say
a word unless to offer dire warnings.”
Rebecca laughed, though it sounded strained. “She loves us, Christine. Julia wants us to do well. So we do not end up as she has.”
“A spinster.”
“That is not kind,” Rebecca said more softly. “She is our sister.”
Christine lifted her chin but refrained from saying more on the subject. Though she may regret her words later, at the moment she wished for someone to be happy for her. She thrust the letter out to Rebecca, determined to regain her former excitement. “Here. Read Aunt Jacqueline's letter. I must make a list for Julia.”
Christine left the room, determined to do all in her power to avoid Julia’s fate of spinsterhood and disappointment.
Chapter Two
Thomas Gilbert, lately returned from abroad, rose early to walk his family’s grounds. His arrival after dark the night before left him little time to reacquaint himself with his home. But this morning before his parents woke, he had already managed a ride down his favorite paths. The exercise invigorated him and he could not yet bring himself to go inside, despite the chill in the air. Morning light glowed gold upon the garden walks, the sun doing little to warm the stone, and the shadows in the garden remained a silvery blue. Winter crept nearer every day.
In boyhood he spent hours in his mother’s gardens, following behind her to ask dozens of questions, or stealing away to read beneath the trees. He did not realize how much he would miss this small, quiet place while out in the rolling hills of the Italian countryside. He missed the green grasses and the well-cultivated wildness of an English garden. Coming home this late in the fall, however, meant he must miss them for a while longer. Until spring.
He turned a corner around a wall covered in ivy, where the path led to his mother’s hot house filled with more exotic blooms, and stopped when he saw his father. The elder Gilbert was out walking, which struck Thomas as strange. He had never known his father to leave the house before breakfast, as the man spent as many waking hours as he could with Mrs. Gilbert at his side.
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