by Deborah Hale
“You and I know that,” Miss Fairfax replied, “but how can Miss Webster? Perhaps you are not approaching her in the proper way.”
“What way is that?” Frustration made his question come out louder than he meant it to. “It has been a long time since I courted a lady and even then...”
“Even then...?” she prompted him to continue, an amber glint of curiosity in her eyes. “Surely you must recall what you did to engage the affections of your wife.”
“That’s what I am trying to say,” Jasper admitted. “I did not have to do anything in particular to win Susan.”
It was clear Miss Fairfax had no idea what he meant. How could she advise him properly if she did not understand?
“Before I met my wife, I was too occupied with my work to give any thought to romantic attachments. By industry and application, I had risen to become the overseer of Mr. Thorpe’s mill. One day his wife and daughter paid a visit. I was smitten on the spot, but I never thought of being so bold as to pursue the master’s daughter.”
The memory of his first sight of Susan Thorpe glowed softly in his mind. “I could scarcely believe it when her parents invited me to dine with them. When I discovered she fancied me as much as I did her, I thought I must be dreaming.”
Those days seemed so long ago. Where had they gone? Had Susan ever regretted marrying that driven young man? Did she ever wish she’d settled for one of the suitors her parents wanted for her—a man who might have devoted himself to her entirely and not cared about anything else?
“So it was ‘love at first sight’?” Miss Fairfax spoke the way she might have to one of his children who’d fallen ill or woken from a bad dream.
He nodded. “Since I was reluctant to anger her father and risk losing my position, she had to take the lead if anything was to come of our feelings for one another.”
Jasper reminded himself that he was not telling Miss Fairfax all this simply to confide in her. There was a point to it. “So you see, I’ve never had to court a lady. That is why I have no idea how to begin with Miss Webster. I need your help.”
Evangeline Fairfax squirmed in her seat. “What more can I do? I already talked to her about you. I praised you to the skies.”
Jasper had an answer ready for her. “You’re an excellent teacher. You have taught my children everything from music to natural history. I want you to teach me the proper way to court Miss Webster.”
Chapter Seven
TEACH MR. CHASE how to court his future wife? Evangeline’s mouth fell open as all the muscles of her face went slack from shock.
“Will you do it?” he demanded as she sat mute. “You are the one who is so anxious for me to remarry. I would say you owe me all the assistance you can provide.”
His words pierced her bemusement and provoked a response. “Have you gone mad? That is the most preposterous idea I have ever heard!”
“Keep your voice down!” he demanded in a fierce whisper, glancing from his sons’ bedroom door to his daughters’ door. “I assure you, I have all my wits about me. What is so preposterous about my suggestion, may I ask?”
Did he truly not understand? Evangeline found it hard to believe. “Where do I begin? I suppose I should be flattered by your confidence in my abilities, but the reason I am able to instruct your children in certain subjects is because I have studied them myself. I know far less about romantic attachments than you do. How could I possibly teach you anything?”
Part of her wished the children would wake up and put an end to this absurd conversation. It flustered her to think of tutoring her employer in the art of wooing. She wanted him to remarry, but there were limits on what she was prepared to do to bring it about. Unfortunately, the Chase children must have been thoroughly tired out from all their recent excursions. Not a sound from either bedchamber suggested they might wake any time soon.
After a moment, their father came up with an answer to her challenge. “You have never been paid romantic attention by a gentleman? I find it hard to believe that such an attractive lady cannot have had a great many admirers.”
The haste of his words suggested they were sincere, which made them all the more gratifying. Evangeline struggled to suppress a delightful little thrill. She reminded herself that susceptibility to flattery was as great a weakness as fear of failure or ridicule.
She rolled her eyes and pretended to dismiss his remark. “What lessons could I possibly teach such a skilled flatterer? As for my lack of suitors, I could make the same claim you did—that I have been too devoted to my work to seek romantic attachments. I told you, I have no wish to wed.”
“First of all, I was not trying to flatter you.” He sounded offended that she would accuse him of such a thing. “Second, even if you were not interested in marriage, I do not see why that should prevent determined gentlemen from trying to change your mind.”
“There was one who made the attempt,” Evangeline confessed with reluctance. She did not care to dwell on the one time she had been the object of romantic pursuit. “But I finally put a stop to his nonsense. He refused to heed my efforts to discourage him. He tried to persuade me that I should devote myself to a woman’s proper role of wife and mother.”
His efforts to mold her into the kind of biddable wife he wanted had soon destroyed her budding affection for him. He had made her realize that her teachers were right in claiming she was not cut out for marriage. “The only lesson I could draw from his efforts would be what actions to avoid if you wish to find favor with a lady.”
Jasper Chase did not seem any more daunted by her objections than Mr. Preston had been. “That would be a start at least. Besides, you are a woman. Surely you can imagine some ways a gentleman might secure your regard.”
She could tell her employer had his mind made up. If he had decided he needed her to teach him how to win Margaret Webster’s affections, he would keep insisting until she agreed. She might as well consent at once and save herself the argument. He would soon discover how little she knew about anything romantic. Then he would stop pestering her and work out for himself how best to approach Miss Webster.
“Very well.” She blew out a forceful breath to make it clear she was agreeing under protest. “When am I supposed to conduct these courting lessons? I presume you do not wish to take time away from the children any more than I do. After they go to bed for the night, you are busy with your guests.”
“What is wrong with this time?” he asked. “We are both early risers and have no other calls upon us until the children wake.”
As she considered his suggestion, Evangeline found herself torn. On one hand, she enjoyed this quiet solitude at the beginning of the day and was reluctant to give it up. Then again, she found these private conversations with Mr. Chase enjoyable in a different way.
“Agreed.” She gave a brisk nod. “Now, how do you expect me to present these lessons? Will you require a lecture? Should I assign practice exercises?”
Mr. Chase ignored her ironic tone. “Not lectures. I thought you could suggest some action I should take then we could discuss why it is important and how to do it properly. But practice exercises are a splendid idea! After we practice together, you can suggest ways I might improve. Later in the day, I can try out my new skill on Miss Webster. The next morning, I can report my progress and you can offer further suggestions.”
“It might work.” Evangeline could not conceal her doubts, though Mr. Chase had a way of making such an absurd proposition sound almost reasonable.
“Let us begin then.” He sat straighter in his chair and fixed her with an expectant gaze.
“I beg your pardon?”
“We might as well start now, don’t you think?” Jasper Chase made a sweeping gesture to indicate the empty nursery. “There is little more than a fortnight left until the guests leave. I must begin to make some headway with Margaret Webster soon if I am to have any hope of winning her.”
Evangeline could not disagree with that. But must they start this very
minute? She had hoped to have time to come up with a suggestion that might not sound altogether ridiculous. Then again, an ill-prepared lesson might make Mr. Chase realize his folly in applying to her for romantic advice.
“If you insist.” She tried to recall anything her school friends had written her about their early acquaintance with their husbands.
Perhaps Mr. Chase could invite the lady to sketch a likeness of him, as Viscount Benedict had done with Rebecca Beaton. Of course, that would only work if Miss Webster was as skillful an artist as Rebecca. Sustaining an injury so Miss Webster would have to supervise his convalescence would not be practical, even if it had brought Hannah Fletcher and Lord Hawkehurst together.
After Evangeline had spent several minutes in thought, Mr. Chase began to drum his fingers on the table. “Come, Miss Fairfax, surely you can think of something.”
“I can think of a great many things,” she snapped. “That does not mean they will be of any value.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” He made a beckoning motion with his hand. “Out with it—the first thing that comes to mind.”
“Ask her about herself.” The words tumbled out before Evangeline had a chance to give them any thought. “But that must be obvious.”
He employer gave a discouraged nod. “It is and I have tried it already to no avail. I have asked about her home, her family, her opinion on a number of subjects. She always gives the briefest answer that provides no opening for further conversation. Then she slips away before I can think of another question to ask.”
Evangeline could picture the fruitless, frustrating exchange. “I do not mean you should ask her for superficial information about her. Try to discover something she cares about deeply. If you give her an opportunity to converse on the subject, I am certain she will take it.”
Mr. Chase continued to look doubtful. “How am I to find out this great interest of hers if she will not talk to me long enough to tell me?”
“Why not ask her father?” Evangeline suggested. “You said he seems anxious to foster a match between you. He might be happy to help.”
“You may be onto something, Miss Fairfax.” Jasper Chase nodded, slowly at first, then with increasing vigor. “I knew my faith in you would not be misplaced.”
His praise of her abilities pleased Evangeline more than his earlier compliment on her appearance. She told herself the satisfaction she felt must come from moving a step closer to finding her employer a wife.
“Now to practice my lesson.” Mr. Chase turned the full force of his gaze upon her. “Tell me all about this school you are so eager to set up. Why is it so important to you?”
Eagerness to talk about her school made Evangeline open her mouth, but deeply ingrained reluctance to discuss her past seemed to paralyze her vocal cords. Could a wealthy, successful man like Jasper Chase possibly understand what she and her friends had endured at the Pendergast School and the zeal it had fired in her to provide other girls with a more compassionate alternative?
What had he done wrong? Jasper wondered as he awaited some response from Miss Fairfax. He’d assumed she would be keen to talk about the project that was more important to her than his children. Instead, the lady looked as if he had threatened her with a loaded weapon!
“Is there some difficulty?” he asked. “I thought your school was a subject you cared a great deal about.”
“It is!” Even as the words burst out of her, Jasper sensed her resistance. “But I doubt you would find it of interest.”
“I would,” he insisted.
It was more than simply the chance to practice a skill he would need for courting Miss Webster. It was an opportunity to become better acquainted with the most important person in his children’s life. Jasper regretted not having done it sooner.
“Please.” He fixed her with a beseeching look that she seemed reluctant to meet.
His appeal worked. After a moment’s hesitation, Miss Fairfax replied, “It will be a place to educate and care for the orphan daughters of clergymen. I attended such a school when I was a girl, but it was the bleakest, harshest, most repressive place—quite the opposite of what was needed. I want to do it properly.”
Jasper had to seek far back in his memory to recall a bleak, harsh, repressive place. But when he did, the images sprang to life, provoking powerful emotions. It had never occurred to him that strong-willed, managing Miss Fairfax might harbor similar memories and perhaps bear similar scars upon her heart.
“Tell me more about your old school,” he urged her. “Where was it? When were you sent there?”
Again she hesitated, which he could now understand. But at last she began to speak. “The Pendergast School is in Lancashire. I went there at the age of nine after my father died. The school trustees enriched themselves off the endowment, leaving only a pittance to operate the institution. We were always short of coal for the fires. Food was scant and of the poorest quality. The teachers were ill-paid and overworked, so many of them took out their frustration on the girls.”
Her words lit a blaze of outrage within Jasper, as injustice and abuse always did. He might have vented those feelings with some pithy remarks, but Evangeline Fairfax gave him no opportunity. Now that she had begun to speak, more words poured out.
Perhaps sensing Jasper’s sympathy, she told him about the dampness and overcrowding that had bred disease. She told him about the bullying that was a deplorable consequence of any group having too little of life’s necessities.
“That is monstrous!” Jasper growled when he could no longer contain his indignation. “If ever there was a situation calculated to crush young spirits, that vile place sounds like it. How did you manage to turn out so well?”
His words seemed to release Miss Fairfax from the grip of her dark memories. But before she could reply, a small voice piped up from the direction of his sons’ bedroom.
“What monsters, Papa?” asked Owen as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Was Miss Fairfax telling you a fairy tale?”
“Something like that.” Jasper beckoned his youngest son toward him. “Fortunately, like most fairy tales, it all works out in the end, thanks to the bravery and goodness of the heroine.”
As he spoke, it occurred to him how many fairy tales were stories of girls, often orphaned, who had to overcome great hardship to secure the happy ending they so richly deserved. Evangeline Fairfax had all the makings of a fairy-tale heroine come to life. And he had only heard the beginning of her story. Now Jasper longed to learn more, but he would have to wait.
Owen padded over to the table and crawled up into his father’s lap. “Miss Fairfax tells good stories. They make me see pictures in my head. She says that is called ’magination.”
No doubt his governess could evoke dramatic images of the characters’ suffering, drawing on her own experience.
The boy snuggled into Jasper’s arms and asked his governess, “Will you begin the story again, please, so I can hear?”
“I’m afraid that will have to wait until bedtime.” Miss Fairfax reached out and bestowed a fond caress on the child’s golden-brown hair. “Now I must wake your brothers and sisters. You have all slept in late this morning.”
She rose and headed for the girls’ room with her accustomed brisk composure restored. But Jasper had glimpsed the downtrodden charity pupil Miss Fairfax kept as well hidden as he did the overworked bobbin boy. There were some who might look down on the lady for her early misfortunes, but the knowledge of what she had overcome only raised her in Jasper’s esteem.
As she roused the other children for the day and took refuge in familiar nursery routine, Evangeline sought to push her recollections of the Pendergast School back into the deepest recesses of her memory. Though those experiences had helped to make her the person she was and spurred her to establish a better school in its place, she seldom permitted herself to dwell on her darker memories from those blighted years.
As she helped Emma and Rosie dress for the day, she recalled the
drab, ill-made dresses the Pendergast pupils had been obliged to wear, all identical. Which had been worse—the flimsy fabric that afforded little protection from the pervasive damp chill or the way such strict uniformity sought to stifle any flicker of individuality?
Watching the children eat their breakfast of porridge studded with plump raisins, followed by buttered eggs and muffins, Evangeline sickened with the memory of watery gruel that had no taste at all unless the cook let some of it burn to the bottom of the pot. Unappetizing as it had been, she’d wolfed it down to dull the gnawing ache that seldom left her belly.
While the young Chases larked about with their father, Evangeline was more than usually indulgent with them, recalling the frequent punishments that had been a way of life at the Pendergast School. The slightest infraction of numerous, often conflicting, rules had earned penalties that ranged from whippings to standing on a chair for hours or being deprived of meals that were already inadequate.
Jasper Chase was right. It had been a situation calculated to break young spirits.
As she watched him exchange a fond smile with Emma while patiently answering a series of questions from Matthew, it dawned on Evangeline that Mr. Chase truly seemed to understand what she had endured. His indignation had been so tangible she could almost feel its sharp edge. Somehow, his outrage on her behalf soothed the turbulent feelings her memories provoked.
She told herself it would be worth her distress if the things she’d told her employer made him understand why it was so vital for her to establish a new school. At the same time, her memories reproached her for allowing him to delay her mission for as long as she had. There were girls, perhaps no older than Rosie, suffering the same hardships she and her friends had endured, when she might have spared them. That was not Mr. Chase’s fault, but hers.
Evangeline roused abruptly from her troubled thoughts to find her pupils staring at her.
“Did you hear me?” asked Matthew. “Are we going on another outing today?”