The School for Heiresses

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “Did you invite Mr. Turner again this year?” He was one of her father’s oldest friends, an avowed curmudgeon, but Alyssa loved his tales of holidays past when her mother had graced the halls and played hostess.

  He shook his head. “His health plagues him and I’m afraid he didn’t feel up to the journey. But he sent his best wishes and made a point of asking after you.”

  “He is too kind.” She took his arm as they headed toward the salon. “A full house this Christmas?”

  “Not too crowded,” he assured her. “Your cousin arrives the day after tomorrow, and the Cunninghams are already settled. Mrs. Wolfe has descended and brought her pugs! And then there is Mr. Yates.”

  “Mr. Yates?”

  “I met him through my club and may possibly have business dealings with him in the future. I understand his family is wintering somewhere in southern Europe and Mr. Yates preferred to stay closer to home. I was able to convince him to join us for the holidays. No small feat, I can assure you!”

  “Are we infamous then?”

  “Ah, Mr. Yates is not one to make merry, I’m afraid. But I’ve promised him as much peace and quiet as can be managed, and so far, I think he has been content enough.”

  As they reached the salon doors, she braced herself. She was long used to her father’s elderly, eccentric friends and grim business associates. “I will be as quiet as a church mouse, Father. Mr. Yates won’t even know I’m here.”

  His look was skeptical but benign, and she urged him through the doors before he could point out the obvious flaws in her pledge. Rounding the corner, she put on her best hostess smile.

  “There she is! Oh, Reid, she will break countless hearts!” Mrs. Wolfe gushed, and crossed the room like a galleon at full sail. She was an old neighbor and family friend, who Alyssa tolerated for her father’s sake. Mrs. Wolfe’s large bosom was barely restrained as she leaned in to give Alyssa a kiss on the cheek. Pugs darted between their feet and Alyssa stepped back as soon as she could manage it.

  The woman’s improper use of her father’s first name had not escaped her notice, but it wasn’t the correct moment to press a point of etiquette. “You flatter me, Mrs. Wolfe. I’m so glad to see you here, and with your—beautiful little dogs.” One of the little darlings had wriggled under her skirts, and Alyssa had the distinct impression that one of her ankles was under attack.

  “They are dears, aren’t they? I can’t go anywhere without them.” Mrs. Wolfe beamed, oblivious to the chaos.

  Alyssa did her best to agree, glancing about the room for an ally. Mrs. Cunningham had deliberately stayed seated, wisely keeping her feet safely tucked under the settee. Mr. Cunningham rose to offer a polite bow, but also returned to the sanctuary of his seat at the earliest chance. They smiled from their perches, though Mr. Cunningham kept a close watch on the four-legged ambushers.

  Her father cleared his throat before releasing Alyssa so that he could move further into the room and avoid stepping on one of Mrs. Wolfe’s dears. “Energetic things…”

  “Oh!” Another nip at her ankles, and Alyssa wished she’d had the forsight not to change out of her traveling boots into daintier shoes, which evidently drove pugs wild. “H-how many do you have now, Mrs. Wolfe?”

  A subtle kick only made it more of a game, and still Mrs. Wolfe failed to notice Alyssa’s dilemma. She was literally trapped just inside the doorway.

  “Five,” the lady said proudly, sweeping one of the culprits into the crook of her arm, then sailing toward a seat next to the fire. She glanced back at Alyssa. “Won’t you join us? Mrs. Cunningham was just about to tell us of her eldest daughter’s engagement.”

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Cunningham. Fern must be so excited.” Alyssa shifted her weight, and tried to edge away from the pug’s increasingly relentless teeth. The dog, however, apparently had determined that she was too tasty a prize to relinquish and planted himself in a maneuver worthy of a master strategist.

  Her lifelong nemesis, gravity, entered the fray.

  With one more attempt to neither crush the pug nor lose her footing, the inevitable occurred. With a small squeak of surprise, Alyssa found herself tumbling backward.

  Instead of making an undignified landing, strong arms caught her from behind and a familiar voice rumbled in her ears. “Pardon me, miss.”

  “Binkley!” Mrs. Wolfe cried out, spotting at last the offending pug emerging from underneath Alyssa’s skirts. “What a naughty boy!”

  For a moment, Alyssa wasn’t sure whom Mrs. Wolfe had called “Binkley”—the pug or her rescuer. The man was still holding her, politely waiting for her to steady herself, as shock and surprise worked against her recovery.

  What was he doing here? Had Mrs. Wolfe just called him a naughty boy? What would the woman say if she could read my thoughts? If she knew that every time this man touches me I turn into a wanton?

  She pulled away, painfully aware that her cheeks were ablaze with embarrassment as she turned to face him. “Th-thank you, sir.”

  “Mr. Leland Yates,” her father intervened jovially, “you have just met my daughter, Alyssa.”

  The man who had rescued her twice today bowed briefly, his expression unreadable. “Miss Martin, a pleasure.”

  She curtsied, wishing once again for invisibility. “Mr. Yates.” Her breath caught in her throat as she took in his appearance. In his crisp and impeccably fashionable attire, he looked even more handsome than he had before.

  “Join us, Mr. Yates,” Mrs. Cunningham invited, gesturing to a vacant chair. “We’ve seen so little of you these past few days.”

  “I apologize if I’ve been reclusive. I fear I have no talent for drawing rooms and prefer the library.” His hesitation was palpable.

  “Ah, you’ve talents enough, sir!” Mrs. Wolfe cooed.

  Alyssa glanced across the room, seeing nothing that would lure a man to remain there. Between Mrs. Wolfe and her pack of miniature black-faced marauders, the Cunninghamses’ promised tales of their daughter’s engagement and her own exposure as his host’s rude offspring, what man would linger? One look at her father confirmed that he was at a bit of a loss to offer Mr. Yates an out in the wake of Mrs. Wolfe’s enthusiastic coaxing. She had no choice but to attempt to rescue the man on her own.

  “Mr. Yates’s talents are not in debate,” she said with a smile, as if they were all in accord. “But we can hardly compete with the quiet solace of the library, can we?”

  There. A graceful opening to allow the man to slip out of the noose.She was sure that Mrs. Harris would have approved.

  “The library provides a different kind of entertainment, Miss Martin,” he replied, his eyes flashing with mischief. “But I would hate for your father’s guests to harbor the wrong impression of me.”

  To her amazement, he moved into the room, taking a seat across from a delighted Mrs. Wolfe. The pugs eyed him briefly, but made no effort to overrun him or taste his footwear.

  “Ah, this is much better!” Mrs. Wolfe beamed in triumph. “Now, we can all become better acquainted.”

  As all eyes seemed to focus on Mr. Leland Yates, Alyssa took a seat on one of the window cushions, still in shock at finding the man who’d witnessed her humiliation earlier that day in her father’s house.

  “Yes,” he agreed, then patted one of the pugs. “Have you known the Martins long, Mrs. Wolfe?”

  She puffed up visibly with pride, happy to take center stage in the conversation. “For as long as my memory can fashion history! I remember when Mr. Martin bought this house to please his young bride, and I remember his daughter’s great adventures when she was barely out of swaddling clothes.”

  “Really?” he responded innocently. “Miss Martin does not give the appearance of being a great adventurer.”

  Alyssa’s eyes widened as she realized he had just deftly maneuvered himself out of the line of fire—and thrown her into it. Her sympathy evaporated and she silently vowed to kick him in the shins when the opportunity presented itself.
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br />   “Oh, yes!” Mrs. Wolfe gleefully continued. “Wicked little thing! Don’t let her demure appearance fool you!” She turned toward their host. “She had more adventures than any child I have ever known. Do you remember, Mr. Martin? Climbing trees and scampering about like a wild creature till I thought you’d resort to a cage for her.”

  “She was hardly a wild animal, Mrs. Wolfe!” her father protested gently.

  “Ha! Caught her naked in the vicar’s garden—”

  “I was eight! I was not being wicked, and I most certainly wasnot naked!” Alyssa’s composure scattered as she noted how closely everyone was following the scandalous turn of the conversation—especially Leland Yates. “I was chasing a rabbit and it had gone down into a hole. I took my dress off so that it wouldn’t be spoiled. I had a slip on!”

  Laughter erupted in the room and Mrs. Wolfe clapped her hands. “There, you see, Mr. Yates? One can never tell.”

  Mr. Yates shook his head. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  Alyssa gasped. “Iam sure, sir. I am absolutely sure my rabbit-chasing days are far behind me.”

  “I only meant that the story reveals a creative mind and apparently one with a unique way of approaching problems.” His serious visage at last yielded a smile. “I didn’t mean to imply that we should worry about your current modesties.”

  Alyssa crossed her arms, caught between the urge to box his ears or answer his smile with one of her own. The man was infuriating!

  “My daughter is like no other,” her father said in a tone full of protective pride, “And we will have no more tales.” He walked over to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Even the most proper lady is allowed to keep her childhood mishaps to herself.”

  She put her hand over his, delighted by his defense. “Thank you, Father.”

  Mrs. Wolfe pouted, openly displeased at the jest ending too quickly, “Granted, Mr. Martin, but we meant no harm. Who is not entertained by pleasant reminiscences?”

  Mrs. Cunningham, who was notoriously shy, intervened softly, “I am always entertained in your good company, Mrs. Wolfe.”

  “You are a dear!” Mrs. Wolfe gushed. “But then we are forgetting your own great news! I am sure Mr. Yates will be delighted to hear of your daughter’s impending matrimony this summer to Mr. Bonner.”

  “Oh, perhaps we can spare the poor man!” Her father laughed. “No bachelor wishes to hear about impending matrimony.”

  “Few men not already netted can abide the subject,” Mr. Cunningham agreed. He gave his wife a loving look, briefly touching her hand. “Wait till he has felt the sting of Cupid and met his own match; then he will cheerfully suffer stories of wedding trousseaus and household china.”

  Mr. Yates shook his head vigorously. “You mistake me for another man. I do not subscribe to a belief in cherubs with arrows and I do not seek a match.”

  “No man does!” Her father gave Mr. Cunningham a conspiratorial look. “But whether we look for them or not, they seem to happen nonetheless.”

  Mr. Yates shifted in his seat, “I fear I am outnumbered with none to take my side.”

  Alyssa bit her lower lip. She would have loved to chime in that he had every right to choose his own fate. But in light of her looming debut, Alyssa knew any comment she made would ring false. After all, a good marriage was considered the “ultimate prize” and to argue against it would only upset her father and alert him that his daughter had learned more than Latin at Mrs. Harris’s school.

  “Ah, you see! Miss Martin looks terribly disappointed, Mr. Yates.” Mrs. Wolfe chuckled.

  “You mistake my reaction,” Alyssa said, unwilling to let the misunderstanding go unchecked. “Envy is not disappointment, Mrs. Wolfe.”

  “You feel envious of our poor bachelor?” Mrs. Wolfe pressed merrily.

  Alyssa’s chin came up in defiance, terribly aware that every eye in the room was on her, so she did her best to convey carefree bravado. “Men have the luxury of doing what they will. I am simply envious of Mr. Yates’s skills. After all, he seems sufficiently agile to avoid Cupid’s arrow if he keeps a clear head about him. As for me, I can’t seem to avoid tripping over a little dog.”

  Her remark ended the standoff as everyone broke into peals of laughter. All at her expense, but Alyssa paid the price without hesitation.

  Alyssa studied her hands in her lap until the conversation shifted to less harrowing topics. Mr. Cunningham enquired after her father’s new hounds and then Mrs. Wolfe compared the recent weather to the storms of the month past. When Alyssa was sure it was safe, she risked a glance upward.

  The rise and fall of voices faded as she realized that Mr. Yates was looking directly at her. Not in judgment or even as if she were the brunt of a great jest, but instead his dark brown eyes seemed to study her intently. He looked as if he were trying to determine her secrets or decide a great question. Alyssa wasn’t sure if she should be insulted or even allow such an intimate assessment. It would have been easy to duck her chin down and break her brazen acknowledgment of his scrutiny. But it would have been a cowardly choice, and something in her refused to yield.

  I’m not afraid of you, Mr. Yates. And I’ve no worries of humiliating myself in front of you, as I have already handily accomplished that a few times over. So look your fill!

  The fluttering in her stomach belied her courageous thoughts, though. His attention unnerved her, as shimmering heat flashed through her and reminded her of their ride home together. No man had ever held her with such intimacy before; once again, she could feel his strong chest and shoulders at her back.

  She blushed and gave up the battle, looking away to the relative safety of a shelf of curios. For the first time, Mrs. Harris’s warnings returned—with more weight and substance. Apparently, mencould be more trouble than mismatched slippers.

  Dratted man.He had a bruised shin coming at the very least!

  When she looked at Leland again, she saw he’d turned his attention to her father. Now she could study him unobtrusively. Dressed in dark colors, barely relieved by the solemn white of his cravat, he looked like a panther seated among them. His hair was in fashionable disarray, soot-black curls burnished with dark mahogany streaks. His features well formed and elegant. She liked the firm lines of his mouth and the tiny crease between his brows when Mrs. Wolfe said something particularly grating. Her father had described him as a man who didn’t make merry, and she believed it. Though she suspected he hid a livelier sense of humor he didn’t want others to see for some reason.

  The thought made her smile. She would regard him as she did any of her father’s associates. Allowing for his younger age, he was no different from previous male guests they had entertained. He would linger in male company, prefer talk of business and horses and cross her path with only a polite nod.

  Now if she could just picture him with the gout, the illusion would be complete.

  Three

  Sleep eluded her, and Alyssa finally gave up the struggle. Kicking off her bedcovers, she sighed, resolving to make the best use she could of the dark, quiet hours. She’d never been one to waste the gift of time granted by an occasional bout of insomnia—though this bout had a new unique twist. Her brain simply wouldn’t stop replaying the sensations of her ride with Mr. Yates earlier in the day. It was an exhausting exercise, to say the least.

  Donning her dressing gown and slippers, she made her way to the windows to admire the wintry scene outside. Frost covered everything in a subtle glittering layer that appeared and disappeared as clouds moved across the moon.

  Home.She’d missed it during her months away, long absence adding appeal to every remembered detail of the house and its occupants. Now the return was just as sweet. Her belongings had been recovered that afternoon, and carriage and horses retrieved without great ado. But word of the accident and Gilbert’s state had reached her father and he had pulled her aside after dinner to give her a tight hug and express his concern. Due to her pleading, her father had been lenient w
ith poor Gilbert. Instead of unemployment, the driver had earned a month of mucking stalls for his merriment, and Alyssa was relieved. She leaned her head against the cool glass wishing she could worry her father less and please him more.

  Pulling the sash of her dressing gown a little tighter, Alyssa decided that there was nothing more to be done than to put the day entirely behind her. She needed no candle to guide her as she found her way to the library. Reading a good book perched in her favorite reading chair was going to be a home-coming gift to herself. It would certainly clear her mind of the troublesome Mr. Y—

  “Don’t young ladies always have a dragon-like chaperone in tow?”

  She froze as she entered the doorway and saw that the man in question already occupied her favorite chair though she replied readily enough. “Mrs. Hale wouldn’t appreciate the description, if she were here. Unfortunately, her sister became ill and she went home to attend her for the holidays.”

  The panther rose from his chair by the lit fireplace. “Leaving you unprotected?”

  She lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m not…unprotected.”

  His eyebrows rose as he looked about the room. “You brought one of the pugs with you?”

  She smiled. “Theyare formidable. Am I in need of protection?”

  He closed the book in his hand. “From the likes of me?”

  “I…I mean…” she said haltingly. “You’re not…”

  “Dangerous?” he supplied with a wry grin.

  The question sent an odd thrill down her spine. He had shed his coat and cravat, and wore a simple white linen shirt untucked over his elegant breeches. He stood before her in disheveled elegance, with his throat bare. She couldn’t take her eyes off that newly exposed bit of flesh. She imagined she could see his pulse jump in the corded tension of his neck keeping pace with her own wildly beating heart. “You’re a guest of my father’s. He’s not in the habit of inviting…dangerous men to the house.”

  “I see.” His look was inscrutable, and made her skin feel flushed and warm. “You’re sure of this?”