Curse of the Mayfair Mummy (Wiggons’ School #4) (Wiggons’ School for Elegant Young Ladies)

by Jane Charles

  She deflated with disappointment at his concise answer. Of course, she’d want to attend since racing was apparently her childhood, but he couldn’t allow her to be seen in public so soon. Not while his plans for her were still formulating. The fact that she spoke French was an unexpected bonus. If all went as he planned, they’d be able to place Miss Doyle amongst the ton to learn who may be French sympathizers so that the Home Office could determine who may or may not be a threat. Further, if others thought to speak in French within her presence, or where she might hear, she’d be able to translate what she learned. Nobody would ever expect a miss from a stud farm in Cork to speak French. The possibilities were endless and the idea of training her almost irresistible.

  However, it was also not something to be rushed if the training were to be done properly.

  “Women do not attend horse races,” he finally stated, hoping to bring an end to the conversation.

  “They attend Ascot,” Miss Doyle argued. “After all, it was Queen Anne who had established Ascot and nobody was goin’ ta keep her away.”

  “Yes, well you may know your history, but we are not attending.”

  “Reconsider, Kilsyth,” Pickmore argued. “It would be an enjoyable time.”

  “The last time I let you convince me into having an enjoyable time I ended up with a ward.”

  Miss Doyle stiffened as if insulted. Well, it wasn’t her fault her brother wagered her in a game of Hazard. “If I go to Ascot with you, I might end up with a horse this time.” Of course, he was making a jest as Tattersalls and Ascot served two separate functions. One for the selling of horses, and the other for racing them. He simply wished to make a point to Pickmore.

  “What is wron’ with ownin’ a horse?” Miss Doyle demanded.

  “I’ve horses aplenty, Miss Doyle. I don’t need any more.”

  With a huff Miss Doyle settled back in her seat. Well she might be disappointed but that was not his concern at the moment. He had a challenge to meet and horse racing wasn’t included. “Now, back to your education,” he changed the subject. “Were you taught any other languages by this progressive governess?”

  “Nay.”

  Nor should he expect it. Besides, it wasn’t necessary that Miss Doyle know any other language as she’d not be leaving England. At least not while she was his ward. After that, she could do what she pleased. However, while she remained with him, she’d serve him and the Home Office well.

  Henry turned to his friend. “You know, Pickmore, I’ve never been one to believe in fate and all of that nonsense, but I may just have to reconsider that idiotic notion.”

  “Is that so?” Pickmore chuckled.

  “I don’t understand.” Miss Doyle frowned as she glanced between Pickmore and Henry.

  Oh, how to explain without giving too much away?

  “Miss Doyle, I’m going to turn you into a lady.”

  She gasped. “My father was a landed gentleman, not titled. Ye simply can’t announce I’m a lady when I’m not.”

  “Yes, well, of course. A miss.”

  “I’m already a miss.”

  Henry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Miss Doyle, in one month I will present you to society, as my ward, and if all goes as planned, nobody will ever know from where you came.”

  She frowned at him, then narrowed her green eyes. “Why?”

  “It’s what I do,” Kilsyth answered.

  “You go around teachin’ misses to be viewed as ladies?” she asked slowly. Kilsyth was a very strange lord.

  “I’m a student of all cultures and languages, Miss Doyle,” Kilsyth began to explain. “I’ve a fascination with dialects, and how they can change from one town to another. Even within separate parts of London.” He moved from behind his chair and came forward. “You’ve been living near Covent Garden while I’ve been living in Mayfair, yet though we share the same city, the vernaculars of the two neighborhoods can be quite different. Whereas Pickmore is a student of history, I am a student of the spoken word. Together, the two of us take on students who wish to learn all they can.”

  Perhaps there was more to the gentlemen than she realized. Though, of all the things these two could be doing, taking on students for such an education seemed very odd. There had to be more to it than Kilsyth explained. “I don’t see how dis would benefit me, as I’m already a miss and received an excellent education.”

  “You wish to become a governess, do you not?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well nobody is ever going to hire you speaking the way you do.”

  Eve narrowed her eyes. Kilsyth was just another person who wished to change her, as if there was something wrong with being a miss from Ireland.

  However, as much as she hated being told what to do and to change herself as her governess had tried, Lord Kilsyth was correct. She’d never be hired for a respectable position until she trained her tongue to speak proper.

  “Of course, you’ll not be seeking a position until you’ve reached your majority. What you do with your life after that is none of my concern. I’m simply offering to help you achieve whatever goals you set for yourself.”

  His dismissal of her when she reached twenty-three held promise. “I can’t imagine why I’d need ta know more than I do ta be a governess.”

  Kilsyth dismissed her concern with a wave of a hand. “Why not challenge yourself?”

  Eve nibbled on the corner of her lip. She’d never been one to back down from a challenge, and though she didn’t see how learning more could assist her in the future, she’d be a fool to turn down the opportunity to learn. However, this seemed terribly important to Kilsyth and she’d not give without getting something in return. “What’s in it for me? I can learn ta speak proper in two years just by listenin’ ta ye.”

  Kilsyth leaned back against his desk and cross his arms over his chest. “She wishes for a reward, Pickmore.”

  “There’s always Ascot,” Pickmore offered good-naturedly.

  Kilsyth frowned at his friend.

  “I did enjoy Ascot the one time I was allowed ta attend,” Eve added. “I could help ye pick the horses,” she offered hopefully. Even though her family no longer participated, Eve had remained up to date with any racing information and the horses for sale at Tattersalls, even though as a female, she’d never been able to attend the horse auctions. Of course, much of that information came from old newssheets abandoned at the theatre, and talk she’d overheard, but it hadn’t been so long that she’d not remember names of breeders and horses that once took the largest prizes.

  “Are you claiming there is a science into picking a horse?” Kilsyth asked.

  “I cannot guarantee a winner,” she quickly insisted. “However, knowin’ the parents of any racer, their times against the other racers, who is ridin’ them, the ownership, and all manner of details has its benefits in determinin’ any outcome.”

  “I say, Kilsyth, let’s take her.” Then Pickmore turned to Eve. “And I’ll let you choose all of my bets.” He grinned.

  Oh dear, she couldn’t do that. What if the horses lost?

  Chapter 6

  Damn and blast, his ward was going to be difficult. “I can’t risk taking you to Ascot because you might be recognized.”

  “It’s not like her being your ward is going to remain a secret,” Pickmore reminded Henry.

  “She is not going and neither am I.”

  “Then I am not learnin’.” Miss Doyle crossed her arms over her chest, lifted her stubborn chin and offered a defiant glare. “And, why does it matter if I’m recognized or not?” she demanded.

  Henry blew out a sigh and cast a glance at Pickmore while he tried to decide how much he could tell her. Or, should tell her. Certainly not the truth. At least not yet.

  He’d not counted on her being so stubborn and intelligent. It was a shame they’d not met in a ballroom because she was a breath of fresh air in comparison to the debutants his mother used to parade under his nose. In fact, getting to know Miss D
oyle was going to be quite delightful indeed, even if much of their time was spent in a battle of wills. It was far better than being with a simpering miss ready to cry or cave at any of his demands. Not that he was demanding. At least, not outside of teaching. Yet, Miss Doyle would be up to anything he challenged her with and Henry was quite looking forward to the next month.

  However, Ascot was too soon to be in public. “Gossips,” he finally said. “I abhor them and as soon as one learns that I won you in a game of chance, the rumors and innuendos will spread through the entire gathering. I don’t wish to spend the afternoon being watched by ladies in ridiculous hats as they talk about us behind fans.” In time it was something they’d both need to deal with, but Henry had no intention of doing so this soon, especially when it wouldn’t give him any time to prepare her.

  Miss Doyle bit her lip and relaxed. “I’d forgotten about the gossip.”

  Thank goodness she understood. Nobody willingly wanted to put themselves in the center of attention, to be judged and discussed. “So, you see why it is best just to remain within this household.”

  “No,” she answered bluntly. “The talk will happen now, or whenever ye decide it’s time dat I can finally leave. I’d rather face it early and be done with it.”

  Henry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Henry didn’t know her nearly well enough to predict her response to many matters, but he should have anticipated this one. She was no wilting violet and rather pragmatic. Why couldn’t there be more ladies like her?

  However, he was still not willing to capitulate and not certain if it was more to protect her or shield himself.

  “You see, Miss Doyle,” he began and focused back on her. “The reason Pickmore and I teach others is because they wish to reinvent themselves and travel to another part of the world. They want to be familiar with language, history and the culture because it is easier to fit in. One is more comfortable entering a strange circumstance with knowledge instead of trying to learn the ins and outs and all of that after arrival.”

  She hitched an inquiring brow. “I am not travelin’ outside of England, unless I return to Ireland.”

  “A bet,” Pickmore blurted.

  “A bet?” she asked him with a frown.

  “Kilsyth is quite confident in his ability to recreate people. He believes that in one months’ time, when we attend his mother’s ball, nobody will realize that you are Irish, despite your last name. And I’d be willing to wager that he could convince them that you are of French heritage.”

  That was not the plan at all. But, Henry couldn’t very well explain the truth—that he wanted to mold her into the perfect miss—one who was intelligent, without guile, sweet—a confidant to many so that she could relay her findings to the Home Office. However, if everyone believed she was French born, it would certainly assist in their purposes of finding sympathizers to Napoleon among Society.

  Except, that would never work. The truth of her being from Cork and related to the famous stud farm would surface too quickly and if Henry had learned anything, it was that Society did not like being duped. It was easier to be truthful of who she was and where she came from, after she attended the ball, of course.

  Her mouth slowly opened as Miss Doyle focused back on Henry. “Have ye lost yer mind?” Then she turned to Pickmore. “Has he lost his bloomin’ mind?”

  “I assure you, Miss Doyle, I am quite sane.” Henry laughed. It delighted him to hear her slip into her natural Irish accent when startled or upset, and then to add a flavor of Cheapside was all the better. “While that is what we do, it’s not what I had planned for you, Miss Doyle.”

  Miss Doyle cocked her head and studied him. “What exactly are yer plans for me?”

  “To prove to an entire population—the male population that is—that an intelligent miss or lady has more value than simply a dowry, beauty and connections.”

  This time she frowned. It galled him that misses were forced to hide any intelligence for fear they might lose a possible match. To date, he’d never been able to determine if it were gentlemen or mamas making this asinine rule. On one hand, he’d understand where many a gentleman would be intimidated by a lady knowing nearly as much as he. On the other, as mamas had hidden any intelligence they may have once possessed to marry, they may have determined that their daughters must do the very same thing or they’d end up as a spinster.

  However, if Miss Doyle were too intelligent, others might not be as free in revealing information as they might with a more ignorant girl. Whereas, if anyone believed her to be ignorant, they’d simply ask her to dance and talk of weather and such, which would never do. Therefore, he must find the right balance in which gentlemen would feel comfortable in speaking with her on any number of topics but not fear she’d outwit them. The key to this was training her to reveal only so much of herself in any given situation—to blend as she should, much like the chameleon.

  “When I was in Society, and attended balls and such, I found I had a much more enjoyable time with the bluestockings and wall flowers.” Henry confessed.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Gentlemen of my class do not understand or appreciate the value in an intelligent female and I intend to change their minds.”

  “We have a new bet?” Pickmore asked in surprise.

  They hadn’t had a wager to begin with, but Henry went along. “Yes. By the time Mother’s ball has concluded, gentlemen will come to realize that they’d much rather court intelligence than fluff for brains.” He demonstrated by stirring a finger around his head. “I’d rather face a life with a female I actually enjoyed speaking to than just, well…” His face began to heat. “...just for heirs. Once you have those, what is left? But, with an intelligent woman, there will still be interesting and entertaining conversations long after the children are gone.”

  Perhaps that was the reason he planned to remain a bachelor his entire life, as he’d yet to meet a woman who wouldn’t bore him to tears within a year. He could have married any of the debutants his mother favored, bedded them when necessary to beget an heir, but there would be nothing else in the marriage. Now that he was responsible for continuing the family line, Henry was determined not to thrust such a miserable fate upon himself until absolutely necessary.

  Miss Doyle studied him, a shrewdness he’d not noticed before coming to her green eyes. “What’s in it for me?”

  “Admiration of gentlemen and you will be able to marry where you please.”

  She snorted. This was a difficult undertaking, to change the thoughts of gentlemen when they’d been raised to want something so, well, empty.

  “Very well, if you don’t find a husband, you’ll be known for your intelligence and breeding and by the time you’ve reached your majority, could probably pick in which household you’d like to become a governess.” There, that should do it.

  “Or, families won’t want me near their precious daughters for fear I might put unnatural thoughts into their delicate brains,” Miss Doyle retorted.

  Ah, there was that. Society was so fickle in what they admired, yet would not accept for themselves, which could be exactly what happened to Eve. “Let’s see how this experiment goes, shall we. In one month, if it’s not working as it should, we’ll abandon it.”

  “Ye, only care about winning yer bet, whereas I could be ruined.”

  Well, not exactly ruined, but sometimes an intelligent woman was avoided as much as those who’d been caught doing things she shouldn’t prior to marriage.

  It also stung that Miss Doyle believed him to be so cold. However, it was better for them both if she considered him heartless. “In that, you are quite correct.”

  “Then, if I am ta help ye win this bet, I want somethin’ I can enjoy now.”

  Of course she did. Promises of a future she couldn’t yet appreciate held little appeal. Her brother had lost her in a game of chance and her clothing when she arrived was quite distasteful, in complete contrast to the lavender gown she currently wore.


  “Why don’t you try for a week, Miss Doyle, and see how it goes?” Pickmore suggested. “Then we’ll take it from there.”

  “I don’t need a week. I need a month,” Henry argued.

  Her green eyes lit with calculation. “I’ll try it for two weeks, but I want somethin’ in return.”

  “You have a roof over your head, a bed to sleep in, new clothing to wear and food to eat. What else could you possibly need?”

  “Those are thin’s yer givin’ ta me. I did not ask for any of it,” Miss Doyle pointed out.

  “Then perhaps I should send you to a corner in the kitchen and you can clean for your food,” Henry threatened.

  “I’ve been in worst situations.” Miss Doyle stood. “I’ll inform Mrs. Peade of my reduced circumstances.”

  “Oh, do sit back down,” Henry ordered. Eve Doyle was the most exasperating female of his acquaintance and he liked that about her far too much. She’d also gotten around him as she well knew. Blast, he hated when someone got the better of him, but Miss Doyle had done exactly that.

  “If you go along for two weeks, what do you wish for in return?” Irritation laced his tone.

  Miss Doyle slowly smiled. “Ascot.”

  Damn and blast. He had Pickmore to blame for this trouble. If Henry didn’t grant Miss Doyle Ascot now, she’d not go along with any of his plans. “Very well,” he ground out. “But you are not to speak to anyone but me or Pickmore.”

  She blinked at him. “Not speak at all.”

  “Well, not where anyone can hear you. We want them to be curious and to leave us alone. Build the suspense as to who you are, so to speak.”

  Miss Doyle studied him as she cocked her head to the side. What would she demand for each additional week, once she’d gained Ascot? After all, they’d still need to work on correcting her pronunciation for two weeks, before the ball.

  Blast, Henry had no intention of engaging in the same battle over and over. Unless he offered her something she couldn’t possibly resist, Miss Doyle would fight him at every turn. And, he had a very good idea of what might bring her into line and do as she’s told.