“Miss Iris, allow me to introduce Miss Miranda, your governess.” Mrs. Keyes gestured to Miranda.
Belatedly, Miranda curtseyed. It was odd to curtsey to her pupil, but she remembered her governess always curtseying to her because of her higher rank.
A smile curved her lips as she considered this twist of fate.
“A pleasure,” Miranda spoke demurely as she rose.
Miss Iris watched her, a tiny frown forming between her green eyes, before she curtseyed as well, albeit it a little awkwardly. That was certainly something they’d have to remedy quickly.
“A pleasure, Miss Miranda.” Iris spoke with a slight accent to her English tones.
Rather than remark or inquire, Miranda gestured to the table and watched as her pupil walked around the table to her place setting.
Mrs. Keyes glanced from Miranda to Iris, then back. “Please let us know if you need anything else.” She bowed her head graciously, then left.
Two footmen stood beside the place settings and withdrew the chairs. Miranda watched as Iris took her seat, then followed suit.
“So, Miss Iris, can you tell me about yourself, maybe starting with your age, interests, education?” Miranda asked, starting the conversation.
A rich broth was brought out as Iris began to answer. “Old enough to wonder why my guardian thought I’d need a governess, quite honestly.” Iris’s tone wasn’t unkind, just forthright.
Miranda suppressed a smile. “Perhaps he wanted you to have companionship as well?”
“Perhaps. I’d find that easier to believe if he’d taken the time to even make my acquaintance.” Iris spoke dryly as she took a sip of the soup before them.
“I see,” Miranda remarked, then took a sip as well. It was rich and flavorful, reminding her of the beef and barley soup at home.
A pang of homesickness waved over her, but she pushed it away. She had a task to complete, and complete it she would. “Why don’t you tell me of your interests? Surely there is something that sparks your curiosity?”
Iris met her gaze, measuring her with her green eyes, as if trying to determine Miranda’s character. “I enjoy traveling. My parents, before they passed, were avid explorers, and I went everywhere with them.”
“That sounds like quite the adventurous life. Where are some of the places you traveled?” Miranda asked.
“Egypt, India, the West Indies . . . to name a few.” Iris shrugged, as if traveling half the world wasn’t of any consequence.
Miranda took another sip of her broth, hiding her reaction. Exposure to the world didn’t necessarily mean an understanding of it. Yet she suspected in Iris’s case, it did. And if so, her pupil was of a vastly different caliber than she’d expected.
“Have you traveled?” Iris asked, pulling Miranda from her thoughts.
“Some,” Miranda answered, not wanting to give away the fact that the only other country she’d visited was the one in which she was currently in residence.
“I already miss it. Meeting new people, studying different cultures. It’s quite fascinating, you know,” Iris said.
“Indeed. Please tell me of your education. What subjects have you studied?” Miranda asked.
Iris watched as a footman removed her almost-empty soup bowl. “Arithmetic, I’ve read most of Shakespeare, and I can speak a few languages. My father taught me to read and write Greek, which isn’t my favorite, but I can do tolerably well. Botany is something I do truly enjoy, but I don’t think I’ll find much to study around here; it seems pretty common to most of the continent. It was a better subject of study in India. I’ve studied Egyptian history, and my father made sure I understood how to navigate by sea as well—it was quite fun to work with the captain when we sailed to the Indies.”
Miranda schooled her expression, trying to keep from showing either shock or a feeling of inadequacy. “You’ve quite the education, Iris.”
“Thank you. So, you can see why I’m curious as to your necessity. But as you said, it would be nice to have companionship.” She lifted a fork to taste the pheasant just placed before them.
Miranda swallowed back the feeling that her assistance was indeed utterly unnecessary. Yet, as she thought over Iris’s words, she noted a few missing elements.
“Iris, you spoke beautifully of your father. What of your mother’s contribution to your education? I’m sure you’re just as accomplished in other areas as well, perhaps things your mother taught you?” Miranda asked, taking a small bite of pheasant. The gentle flavor filled her with delight.
“Well, I mentioned my father, but he and my mother did most things in tandem. So everything I learned from my father should give credit to my mother as well. It was my misspeaking that didn’t include her. For that I apologize. My mother thought it important that I be able to do all that a man could do, so she gave a far greater weight to my father’s education of me, versus the more ladylike aspects.”
Miranda nodded, inwardly affirming her suspicions. To confirm, she continued to ask several questions. “Have you studied the pianoforte?”
Iris glanced to the side. “No, and before you ask, I can’t embroider and have no desire to learn either.”
Miranda nodded. “Both are worthy venues of education, but if you’re not interested, have you learned how to dance? Surely you have some delightful experience in other cultures’ expressions of dance?”
Iris toyed with her pheasant. “No. My mother wasn’t much of a dancer and my father had no rhythm.”
Miranda’s feelings of inadequacy fled like the darkness at daybreak. Not only was she more than adequately educated, she was utterly necessary if Iris were to appear on the marriage mart next year.
“Have you any social experience? Have you been to parties, a ball or two?” She highly doubted it. Iris hadn’t had a come-out, but she asked regardless.
“In India we attended a wedding,” Iris replied, her tone hopeful.
“I’m sure that was delightful,” Miranda replied, noting that the first area of her education needed to be of the social variety. And that was going to be a challenge in Scotland, especially because she didn’t know the area well. Certainly Mrs. Keyes would be willing to provide the necessary information.
“Iris, I’m going to be quite frank, because you seem to appreciate forthright conversation.” Miranda set down her fork and regarded her pupil. Iris nodded, though suspicion was evident in her gaze.
“Your education has been exceptional, and you do not need my assistance in furthering the basics of reading, writing, or arithmetic, as I’m sure you are aware.” Miranda paused, watching as Iris nodded once.
“But you do need my assistance in the more feminine pursuits. For example, if we were at a dinner party, who would be sitting in your place?”
Iris blinked, then studied the table, then turned back to Miranda. “A countess,” she answered confidently.
Miranda called her bluff. “That’s indeed true, if . . .”
Iris confident façade fractured a little. “If a duke was sitting over there?” She pointed to a chair.
Triumph washed over Miranda. “No, and there aren’t a great many dukes who attend dinner parties.” She would know; her father was a duke after all, she added to herself. “At a dinner party, the host will sit at the head of the table, then from there you’ll have assigned seating to benefit the flow of conversation. The highest-ranking men and women will usually be seated toward the head of the table by the host, but in some circumstances, they will not. We will learn all this, and much more.”
“Why?” Iris asked, her light brows arching.
“Because if not, you’ll appear the fool should you be invited to a party, and no one wishes to feel that way, Iris,” Miranda answered, using the response that would hit the weak chink in Iris’s armor, her confidence.
“Oh.” Iris bit her lip. “But what about embroidery? I can’t see any benefit in learning it.” Her confidence returned in full force.
Miranda lifted a delicate should
er as the footman took away their plates. “Perhaps, but that’s simply one area of study, and probably not the most important.”
“What would you suggest is the most important?” Iris asked, a slightly impudent tone to her voice.
Miranda smiled, not even trying to hold her response in check. “Dancing.”
Iris’s brows pinched, her confidence faded, and she took a deep breath, as if steeling herself.
“You might even enjoy it.”
“Entirely doubtful.”
Miranda chuckled softly. “It’s actually delightful, and as bright as you are, you’ll catch on quickly, I’m sure.”
“You’ve just met me. You’ll be taking back those words once you see me try.”
“So, you have danced?” Miranda caught her.
“No. I said I’ve tried. There’s a difference,” Iris remarked, folding her napkin and setting it to the side.
“Well, there is no time like the present.” Miranda gestured for a footman, and he quickly pulled back her chair. As she stood, she realized Iris had scooted her chair back on her own.
“We wait for assistance.” Miranda gestured for Iris to sit back down, and she reluctantly obeyed. “When you’re finished at the table, signal for the footman and he will help you withdraw your chair.
Iris signaled for a footman with a quick and impatient gesture.
“No. A lady is always patient,” Miranda remarked, mimicking the tone and words of her governess when coaching her older sister Liliah. In a way, Iris reminded her of her sister: headstrong, stubborn, capable, and confident.
Iris resignaled the footman, and Miranda noted the slight twitch of his lips, as if he were amused. She wondered just how many times her own footman at home had suppressed grins at her and her sister’s antics.
“Much improved,” Miranda encouraged as Iris rose from the table properly.
Turning to the footman, she requested the presence of Mrs. Keyes.
In a moment, the woman entered the dining room, a smile on her kind face. “How can I be of assistance, Miss Miranda?”
“Mrs. Keyes, Iris and I are going to have a short dancing lesson. Where would you suggest we attempt such an activity?”
Mrs. Keyes thought a moment. “I do believe the red parlor will suffice. There’s a pianoforte and ample room for the two of you. If you’ll follow me?”
At Miranda’s nod, Mrs. Keyes led them down the hall.
It was a lovely thing, to be needed. And Miranda wondered if somehow she’d been missing that sensation all her life. To be more than just obedient but to contribute.
Maybe she had something more to offer the world than just a pretty face.
Who would have thought?
Chapter Four
Heathcliff signed another document on his desk as he waited for his carriage to be ready. It had been a hell of a week, and he was more than thrilled to escape London and once again feel the Scottish country air. In part, the events of the week were his own fault.
After another visit from the investigators, he took it upon himself to leak the information to the Times about the marriage of the Earl of Heightfield to the Duke of Chatterworth’s daughter, Lady Liliah Durary. The ton had buzzed with the sensationalism of it all, which only put the bloody duke in the forefront of the fanfare. It was a scandal of biblical proportions, with many voicing their opinions at the recent party at Temptations. Of course, that there had been a large betting pool placed in favor of the duke’s daughter marrying the son of the Earl of Greywick only added fuel to the blazing fire. But with Greywick now admitting to his empty coffers, it was a delightful ending for Heathcliff to witness.
He couldn’t stand either of the men. And this was more than their due.
He mused over the story the duke had created to explain the absence of his youngest daughter, and Heathcliff hoped that wherever she was, it was far from his clutches.
The party had been heavily attended, as was their silver ball. Every member, with the exception of a select few, one of those being the Duke of Chatterworth, had come to the event. The brandy had poured forth like the Thames in spring, and the gambling tables were overflowing with willing gamers. Ramsey left the safety of his office to attend Heathcliff in the ballroom, policing the event. The news of Heightfield and Lady Liliah was the prime subject of the evening. Heathcliff couldn’t walk two steps without having some lord inquire about Lucas’s quick work in marrying the duke’s daughter. Lord Greywick didn’t dare show his face in the gambling hell, not with the debt he owed. Before Lucas had spirited Lady Liliah away to wife, the Duke of Chatterworth and Lord Greywick had had an understanding for their son and daughter to be betrothed. It was a miserable arrangement for both but satisfied the fathers’ needs; the duke needed Greywick’s silence about his scandal and Greywick needed the dowry to fill his empty coffers.
It was a horrible mess, but one that seemed to have some silver lining, at least for Greywick’s son. It would seem that Lord and Lady Grace had finally approved of the match between their daughter and Meyer, heir to the Earl of Greywick. It was a love match that had been whispered about for months. And while Lord Greywick was no longer plump in the pockets, Lord and Lady Grace had more than the necessary to redeem the title. It wasn’t Heathcliff’s usual mode of operation to follow gossip, but in this case, he was certainly glad for the news. Happy endings rarely happened these days.
He would know.
But now that Lucas had settled in Scotland for the time being, or so he assumed, based on his friend’s earlier plans, Heathcliff decided it was time to head back home as well. As much as his title was of the English variety, he never felt as if London were home. No, that name was reserved for Edinburgh. So it was with great anticipation that he awaited the few days’ travel to his beloved estate. The only thorn in the situation was the bloody ward waiting for him at his residence. With any luck, she’d been trained enough that the governess could shine her up a bit and send her off to be married next season.
A man could hope, could he not?
Wilkes bowed as he entered the study. “My lord? Your carriage is ready.”
“Brilliant,” Heathcliff remarked. “Please make sure Ramsey receives this, and if there are any questions, he knows how to reach me.” He handed several documents to his butler.
“Of course, my lord.” Wilkes replied. “Have a good journey.”
“Thank you, I’m sure I will.” Heathcliff tugged on his great coat and strode toward the foyer. Already he could feel the freedom of the countryside calling his name. He took the stairs to the courtyard quickly, and soon he was traveling away from the smoke, the ton, and the expectations.
He only hoped that what awaited him was tamer than all he was leaving behind.
But if history had taught him one thing, women were almost never tame.
Chapter Five
“Yes, like that. Hold your frame,” Miranda coached Iris as she held her in a position of a waltz. A pang of sadness ached in her heart as memories of doing the same sort of practice with her sister filtered through her mind. They had practiced dancing for hours in the parlor of their home, perfecting each step. It was abundantly clear that none such practice had happened at Iris’s house. It would seem that dancing was the poor girl’s Achilles’s heel. Even after two weeks of coaching, Iris still failed to use the correct footing.
All because she insisted on leading, not following.
Miranda rather thought it was a thread that ran through her life.
Lead, don’t follow; it was Iris’s unspoken motto. It would be commendable if it weren’t so painful when she stepped on Miranda’s toes because of her insistence on leading.
“I’ll just dance the cotillion.” Iris spoke through clenched teeth. Her brows were so light, one could hardly see them, but her frown highlighted their position.
“Afraid of a dance—is that what you wish to be, Iris?” Miranda asked, keeping her smile in check as she neatly dodged one of Iris’s feet as they turned. It hadn’
t taken long for Miranda to note that logic wasn’t the best way to change Iris’s mind, but give her a challenge? She couldn’t turn it down.
“You’ve said that before,” Iris grumbled, biting her lip as she clumsily took the next few steps.
“And it remains true, unless you’ve decided to give up?” Miranda asked sweetly.
“I know what you’re doing.” Iris glared, misstepped, and landed on Miranda’s toe . . . again.
Miranda sucked in a breath as she winced in pain. Her toes were ever so sore, but just as Iris couldn’t back down from a challenge, nor could she. “I’m attempting to teach you to be a lady of quality.”
“I am a lady of quality,” Iris enunciated.
“Then waltz like one,” Miranda replied, holding out her hand once more and counting. “One, two, three . . .”
Iris sighed, stepped into the frame of the waltz. “One day—“
“You’ll meet a gentleman you wish to dance with, and you’ll thank me. Because my toes will have taken the punishment in his place, saving your pride,” Miranda finished, turning cautiously. “And for heaven’s sake let me lead!”
“I don’t follow well,” Iris grumbled.
“You don’t follow at all,” Miranda replied, but even as she said it, Iris relaxed slightly and performed the steps with adequate grace.
“See, it’s possible.” Miranda released her and stepped back, smiling with encouragement.
“Just not probable,” Iris retorted.
“And a quick tongue is not something you should exercise on the dance floor. Ladies think before speaking.”
Iris’s expression turned mutinous, but she didn’t say anything. Wonders never ceased.
“Now that’s been accomplished, why don’t we turn our attention to the pianoforte?” Miranda had learned she had her work cut out for her regarding the ladylike pursuits in Iris’s education.
Escaping His Grace Page 3
