by Regina Scott
Charlotte drew in a breath. Her ability to find peace in the midst of turmoil had stood her in good stead since her parents had died and her brother had taken charge. Worth could be capricious. The best way to deal with him was with calm, reason. The approach worked well with most people. Some had accused her of being aloof, unfeeling. But cowardice? That she had never faced.
Until now.
“Forgive me,” she said to the employment agency owner as the carriage moved away from Covent Garden and back toward the more fashionable Mayfair. “You must not have realized the connection when you considered this position for me. Mr. Bateman once served my brother as bodyguard. It would be inappropriate for me to serve him now.”
“So you, like much of London, consider yourself above him,” Miss Thorn said.
That tone was as cold as a pineapple ice at Gunter’s confectionary.
“No,” Charlotte protested. “Not at all. I’ve always considered him a gentleman. And he’s being elevated.”
“Indeed.” Miss Thorn cocked her head, raven curl brushing her ear. “So why the antipathy to the fellow? Was he belligerent to you when he worked for your brother?”
“Never,” Charlotte assured her. In fact, there had been moments—the brush of gazes, the touch of hands—when she’d thought she’d sensed a commonality, a mutual admiration. She refused to call it anything more.
“I assume you have some loyalty to the fellow,” Miss Thorn continued.
Loyalty. What a proper word. Noble, even. That’s what she must feel toward Matthew Bateman, the Beast of Birmingham—loyalty.
“Certainly,” Charlotte agreed, hoping the word hadn’t come out too fervently.
“Then why would you entrust this task to anyone else?” Miss Thorn demanded. “Not all etiquette teachers are kind. The ton certainly won’t be. Can you imagine the slurs and censure Sir Matthew and his sisters will face if they enter those hallowed halls unprepared?”
She could. She had been raised to her position in Society—a lady, the daughter of a viscount, from a family known for its contributions to the world. Worth was excessively proud of their heritage. So was she. But even her impressive background hadn’t stopped the gossip.
Such a shame about Charlotte Worthington—three Seasons and no husband.
Small wonder she hides away with her brother’s studies.
And acts as if no heart ever beat in her breast. So sad.
Charlotte shook herself. “Society can be cruel. I can see why Sir Matthew and his sisters must be prepared for their new roles in it. But I’m still not convinced I’m the right person for this position.”
“Did you or did you not master the rules of the ton?” Miss Thorn challenged her.
“I did,” Charlotte allowed. “Though at times they felt too confining.”
“You have pursued natural philosophy, conducted your own experiments though some looked down on you for it,” the employment agency owner continued. “Do you know another lady more versed in bridging the gap between purpose and polite Society?”
“No,” Charlotte admitted, still conflicted. “But I would be the first to point out how wide the gap and now narrow the bridge to cross it.”
As if to demonstrate that it could be done, Fortune leaped nimbly between the seats to perch beside Charlotte, then bent her head to rub it against her arm. Charlotte ran her hand along the soft fur. Funny how just looking at the cat made her shoulders come down, her breath come easier.
“Fortune thinks you are exactly the right person for this position,” the cat’s mistress said with a nod. “And that is good enough for me. Those girls and their brother deserve a teacher who has their best interests at heart, someone who will not take advantage of them. But if you tell me you cannot put their needs before your own, I will look for another position for you.”
All her life, she’d deferred to the needs of others—her father, Worth, their studies to improve industrial practices. Was this truly any different? She’d begged Miss Thorn to find her something useful, something purposeful, some place she might make a difference. If she helped Beast and his sisters, she not only gave them better lives, she paid him back for all the times he’d helped her and her brother. And as the teacher, she would be the one in control.
“Very well,” she told Miss Thorn. “I’ll start tomorrow, as we agreed.”
Fortune began to purr.
~~~
Charlotte had regained her composure by the time she knocked on the door of the Bateman home the next day at eleven. Her outfit helped. She generally favored green or grey for her clothes—elegant, but practical, and the color complimented her auburn hair—so it hadn’t been difficult to find a grey gown with simple lines and a white tucker and cuffs. The warm June weather allowed merely a grey and blue patterned shawl and a straw bonnet as accoutrements. But Petunia still ogled a moment before letting Charlotte in.
“Matty says you’re to work with us first,” she said over the shoulder strap of her pinafore as she headed for the sitting room. “He already knows everything about being a knight.”
That his sisters thought they knew everything about being ladies was evident the moment Charlotte walked into the room. Daisy and Ivy were dressed in satin gowns strewn with lace at every hem and across the bodices. The younger sister’s bright smile was nearly eclipsed by the shockingly yellow color of her gown, while Ivy all but disappeared inside her fiery orange version. They both sat ramrod straight, hands folded in their laps, brittle smiles on their pretty faces.
“Miss Worthington,” Ivy said, elongating each vowel. “How nice of you to call.”
“Won’t you take a seat?” Daisy added with an expansive wave, voice as laden with exaggerated refinement.
“She means sit down,” Petunia whispered to Charlotte. “We don’t have enough chairs that you could take one away.”
Charlotte gave her a smile, then went to sit on one of the remaining chairs. Petunia took the other.
They all stared at her.
Might as well practice what she intended to preach. “How kind of you to receive me,” Charlotte said. “Lovely weather we’re having.”
Daisy swiveled to glance out the window. “Looks to be coming on rain to me.”
Petunia nodded. “Best we bring in the wash.”
Ivy cleared her throat, and they both sat up straight again.
“Perhaps,” Charlotte ventured, leaning forward, “if you told me what you’ve learned so far, I can determine where I might lend a hand. That is, where I might help,” she quickly clarified, before Petunia could ask which hand she meant for them to borrow.
“I have done my best to teach my sisters how to be ladies,” Ivy said, nose up and gaze pointed over Charlotte’s left shoulder.
Daisy leaned forward in her seat, rumpling the bow on her bosom. “Ivy showed us how we should act so no one thinks we’re trollops.”
“To say please when you want something and thank you when you get it,” Petunia added, saving Charlotte from responding for a moment. “Wipe your mouth with a napkin, not your sleeve, and don’t sneeze into your hand. The last one’s the hardest. How’s a body to know when she’s going to sneeze?”
Oh, my. Charlotte kept her smile encouraging. “Commendable. What about dancing?”
Ivy drew herself up. “We don’t hold with it.”
“Especially in church,” Petunia put in.
“Needlework?” Charlotte tried.
Daisy preened. “I can hem a dress faster than anyone I know.”
“If you’re willing to stick your toe through the stitches every time you put on the dress,” Petunia jibed.
Daisy gave it up and scowled at her.
“We can all mend seams, darn socks, and attach lace,” Ivy reported with a look to her sisters.
“And Ivy bakes,” Petunia bragged. “Popovers and pies and cinnamon buns.” She sighed happily.
Charlotte refused to let her dismay show on her face. The Bateman sisters might be highly accomplished
in their circle, but they knew very little of what was required to navigate the waters of Society. She had been hired to prepare them, perhaps even to help Ivy and Daisy make advantageous matches. She had much work to do. She’d need tenacity, patience. But she’d also need resources.
And she would have to be the one to explain the situation to their no-doubt doting brother.
~~~
In the little room he’d taken as his study, Matthew paced from the door to the hearth and back again for the third time in as many minutes. He’d heard the knock at the front door. He knew who was downstairs with his sisters. Ivy and Daisy had been determined to make a good impression, wearing the one set of pretty dresses their stepmother had purchased for them. For church, she’d said, as if she meant to honor the Lord instead of herself for once. She hadn’t fooled Matthew. She’d wanted the girls to outshine everyone else at the little chapel to prove how prosperous they were and to hide the fact that any money she had went to her own pleasures first.
Still, Ivy and Daisy had looked as bright as canaries as they’d waited for their teacher to arrive. With any luck, Miss Worthington would see they needed no help and leave him in peace. He noticed a book sticking out of the tall walnut bookcase on one side of the wood-wrapped hearth and hastily shoved it back into place.
He still didn’t understand why she was here. Lord Worthington, her brother, had married recently and was off on his honeymoon. He’d given Matthew a holiday with the understanding that they would speak about Matthew’s future when the couple returned. Matthew had originally been hired as bodyguard after Lord Worthington had begun receiving anonymous threatening notes. But that danger had been unmasked and neutralized. Was he even needed?
And was it proper for him to go on serving? Gentlemen elevated to a hereditary knighthood generally didn’t work for their supper.
Then again, neither did Miss Worthington. Her brother would provide any money she needed. Why seek a position through an employment agency?
The stairs creaked. Someone was coming up. He ran his boot over the rug to tug it into place on the hardwood floor, aimed a kick at the other armchair near the fire to settle it in place. Then he hurried to take his seat in front of the hearth, head high and proud. His voice didn’t waiver as he answered the knock. “Come on, then.”
Miss Worthington slipped into the room. Truly, was there a more elegant lady in London? He’d seen the princesses royal at a distance when he and a squad of pugilists had been asked to accompany the prince. Those haughty ladies didn’t hold a candle to the beauty in front of him.
“Done so soon?” he asked.
She regarded him, and belatedly he remembered that a gentleman stood in the presence of a lady. He climbed to his feet. She smiled, and he felt very clever.
“For the moment,” she answered him. “I wanted to ask you a few questions, so I know best how to assist your sisters.”
Easy enough. He might not understand the niceties of Society, but he was the only available expert on his sisters. “Ask away.”
She must have considered that an invitation, for she came to sit across from him. Matthew returned to his seat. The coal settled in the grate. If he listened closely enough, he could hear her take in a breath.
She gazed at him, grey eyes as cool as a misty morning and as mysterious. “Ivy talked about teaching her sisters,” she said. “Did you lose your mother early?”
Too early, though at the time he’d wondered whether his mother had had the better of it. “She died shortly after Petunia was born. Ivy was twelve at the time.”
She pressed her fingers to her lips a moment. He made himself look at the fire instead.
“How awful,” she murmured. “And what a burden to put on your sister.”
She didn’t know the half of it. “Da remarried,” he told the hearth. “Our stepmother took a fancy to Tuny, at least until she was old enough to talk back.”
“Did she pass away as well?”
“Not yet, more’s the pity.”
She gasped, and Matthew hurried on, gaze returning to hers. “She keeps house in Birmingham. I wanted my sisters closer. What else do you need to know about them?”
“Your hopes, for one,” she said as if she hadn’t noticed his comment. “I’m assuming you’d like Ivy to make her debut this year, even though it’s late in the Season and she’s older than most. We could wait and have Daisy come out next year.”
Matthew cocked his head. “Come out, like with a fancy ball?”
“Or a family party,” she explained.
He straightened. “Best do it all at once. Ivy will only push Daisy forward. And Daisy won’t take kindly to waiting.”
She nodded. “Very well then. Once they are out, I can introduce them around. Vouchers to Almack’s are probably out of the question, but I’m certain I could arrange invitations to soirees and musicales.”
She was outpacing him. He’d accompanied her and her brother to a ball or two, but he’d always stayed with the coach. And he wasn’t entirely sure what Almack’s was or why anyone would want a voucher to it. Still, he wasn’t about to let her know that.
“Very well. But I intend to approve any gentleman who wants to take my sisters driving or walking or such.”
She inclined her head. “Of course. That’s settled, then. What about you?”
He frowned. “Me? I’m fine.”
She was watching him. “You’ve been told what will be expected of you at the levee, then?”
By no less than three lords, all of whom had seemed certain he’d embarrass himself even with their wise counsel. He shrugged. “More or less.”
She puffed out a sigh. “Come now, Beast. You must know there are expectations for your behavior.”
He could feel his frown deepening. “Like what?”
“Like introductions, for one. How do you bow to the prince?”
He rose and inclined his head.
She stood and put her hand on his shoulder. “Deeper. He is the sovereign.”
“And I’m a knight,” Matthew reminded her. “Or I will be soon. Don’t I deserve some dignity? If you’re supposed to keel over for a kingly sort, do you at least kneel to a knight?”
“Never,” she said. “Your obeisance is tempered by the elevation of the person you are greeting. Knights, even the hereditary ones, are at the very bottom.”
“No, that’s reserved for us common folk,” he said.
Either the tone or the look on his face must have said more than he’d intended, for her eyes dipped down at the corners, and she removed her hand from his shoulder. “Now, then, you and your sisters may need to brush up on Society’s expectations, but you know many things I’ve never been taught.”
“Like what?” he asked, struggling to see her as anything less than perfect.
“Like boxing,” she said with certainty.
Matthew snorted. “Fat lot Society needs to know about that.”
“Some know far more than they should,” she informed him primly. “But my point was that you are an expert in that area. For example, how would you go about besting me?”
His brows shot up. “What? You think I fight women?”
She laughed, a warm sound that made him want to move closer, as if he’d stepped through the door of his own home for the first time in a long time. “No, of course not. But you must have a strategy. Appearing before the prince is no different. You have to know what you hope to achieve.”
Matthew stuck out his lower lip. “All right. But when I fight, I mostly think about staying alive, avoiding injury.”
She frowned. “All defense? No offense?”
“Well,” he allowed, “I did have one particular move that served me well. I can take a punch better than most, but if a fellow was especially trying, I’d wrap him up.”
“Wrap him up?”
“Yeah, like this.” He reached out and wrapped his arms about her, pinning her against his chest. Her eyes were wide in surprise, but he didn’t see any fear in the
grey. She fit against him as if she’d been tailored just for him.
He knew he should let go. Yet everything in him demanded that he hang on, hold her close, all the days of his life, no matter the cost.
Chapter Three
His eyes had green flecks in them. Charlotte felt as if she were peering into the depths of a forest. His arms held her effortlessly, protecting her, cradling her. Surely this wasn’t the Beast of Birmingham.
He dropped his arms and stepped back, red climbing in his cheeks. “A lady like you has no need for such tactics. And I can’t very well use them on the prince.”
The prince. Of course. That’s why she was standing entirely too close to Beast. Charlotte stepped back as well, surprised to find her hands trembling. “Certainly not. You are being elevated for saving His Highness’ life. Wrapping him up, as you call it, would jeopardize that elevation.”
He regarded her a moment as if wondering whether jeopardizing his knighthood might not be a bad idea. Then he turned away to study the fire. “Won’t matter. You can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear. He may knight me, but I’ll never be accepted among the nobs.”
Indignance raised her head. “Then you are associating with the wrong nobs. You are a fine man, Beast. There’s no reason you and your sisters can’t find a circle of friends.”
He glanced back at her, eyes now shadowed. “If I’m such a fine fellow, why do you call me Beast?”
Her cheeks heated. “I thought that was your boxing name, a badge of honor.”
He returned to his chair. “I was called that, but it was never an honor.”
“Then I beg your pardon,” Charlotte said, resuming her own seat and arranging her skirts. “I suppose I should accustom myself to calling you Sir Matthew.”
He grimaced. “Why? I can’t accustom myself to it.”
Charlotte knit her fingers over one knee. “I wonder sometimes how the sons of the higher titles manage it. The oldest son will have his father’s courtesy title for years, then suddenly be called by the main title when his father passes. Worth’s friend the Duke of Wey was Lord Thalston when he was younger. And highly regarded generals collect titles like pretty girls collect suitors.”