Miss Wilton's Waltz

by Josi S. Kilpack

  As she recounted her week to Aunt Gwen, she managed to make it all sound much less horrible than it really was. She left out the part about being blackmailed, of course, or going to the river . . . twice. She simply said that the girl’s uncle had asked her to give the girl special consideration and she was attempting to fulfill his wishes.

  “What an experience this will be for you,” Aunt Gwen said. “And how well you seem to be handling it. I’m very proud of you.”

  Lenora let the praise fill her. “Thank you, Aunt.”

  “Will you discuss the girl’s deficit with Mrs. Henry next week, then?”

  “Yes, we have a teacher meeting Tuesday morning, and I’ll bring it up then. It explains at least some measure of the girl’s poor behavior—being unable to read is quite a secret to hide.”

  “Perhaps the relief of not needing to keep the secret any longer will invite the humility she needs to be taught. Where did this girl come from?”

  “She’s lived with a variety of relatives until her uncle took over her care. I do not know details aside from there being some musical heritage.” She shrugged, not sure why she’d even mentioned the musical aspect. Music was not a primary skill—much as it pained Lenora to admit it. Reading, however, was essential. “This is her third school in nine months, and Mrs. Henry would not have accepted her at all save for the promise of a generous donation from the girl’s uncle.” She shook her head in silent reprimand of Mrs. Henry’s weakness before remembering her own agreement with the man. She was in no position to judge anyone in regard to concessions made to Mr. Asher. “That is confidential, of course.”

  “Of course,” Aunt Gwen agreed. “It seems as though Miss Manch is very lucky to have her uncle’s support. I hope it pays off for both of them.”

  Lenora did not want to see any action on Mr. Asher’s part as kindness, but it was difficult to argue. He was a young man—early thirties she would guess—and taking great pains to see that his niece was settled when he could more easily send her to that school in Germany and be free of her. It was uncharitable to think that would still be the inevitable result of his attempts, but Lenora could not help it, even if she were ashamed of the cynical thought. Granted, it would be easier to give the man credit for his devotion if he hadn’t threatened her.

  They stopped to converse with Mrs. Gilford—a young married woman Lenora got on well with—before moving forward again. The promenade was as much for meeting with friends as it was for the exercise. Knowing she would not have her river walk tomorrow night left Lenora feeling restless. Perhaps she would need to resume her evening walks instead, never mind that she would be stopped for conversation or have to avoid people and carriages within the city.

  When they stopped to speak with a friend of Aunt Gwen’s, Lenora saw them—Mr. Asher and Miss Manch. She felt her back straighten, and she turned so she would not be facing them as they approached. Lenora tried to appear involved in Aunt Gwen’s conversation but was acutely aware of the pair coming toward them. One park among so many in the city and she had to encounter him?

  Please don’t recognize me, she whispered in prayer. Walk past without noticing so that—

  “Miss Wilton?”

  She closed her eyes briefly, then summoned her politest smile as she turned. “Mr. Asher,” she said, bobbing a quick curtsy. “Miss Manch.”

  Miss Manch narrowed her eyes. Lenora felt her heart speed up even as she tried to grab hold of the even temper she’d managed during her interactions with the girl yesterday.

  Mr. Asher seemed surprised at Lenora’s appearance, which embarrassed her. Dorothea had done Lenora’s hair so that she had curls pinned atop her head with one perfect ringlet hanging down either side of her face. She wore a lavender day dress with matching pelisse and a gray parasol. This man had now seen her in three very different presentations, and it made her feel ridiculous.

  “A pleasure to see you,” she said, resisting the temptation to pat her hair or straighten her glove under Mr. Asher’s attention.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Mr. Asher said with a slight bow.

  Aunt Gwen bid her friend farewell and turned her attention toward the newcomers. Lenora gave the introductions, counting on her aunt’s manners to keep her from saying, “Oh, you are the student giving my Lenora such a hard time, and you are the girl’s uncle—Lenora did not tell me of your shoulders.” Of course, Aunt Gwen said nothing of the sort and merely inclined her head appropriately and made a remark about the fine weather—it had not rained today, what a blessing. Lenora fidgeted with the tassel of her handbag, and then forced herself to stop when she realized what she was doing.

  The pleasantries ended, Mr. Asher turned his attention to Lenora, who struggled to hold his gaze. His intent look made her uncomfortable.

  “Miss Wilton, might I have a word?”

  This was not proper manners; they were in a public place, and she was being singled out in front of mixed company. She also had a good idea of what he wanted to talk about, and she did not want to address his niece’s behavior here and now. It was the weekend, and she had left the school so that she might be free of it for two-days’ time, not run directly into the worst portion.

  “Certainly,” Aunt Gwen answered before Lenora could refuse. “Miss Manch, would you attend me a bit of the way? I should love to hear what you think of our city. You’ve only just arrived, have you not?” She looked from Miss Manch to Lenora, the picture of innocence. “Shall we meet you at the ruined castle in half an hour?”

  Lenora opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it as she accepted her fate as inevitable.

  Moments later, Aunt Gwen departed with Miss Manch on her arm. Watching them together—Lenora’s favorite and least favorite people—was like watching a pony walk on its front legs: confusing and out of place. She hoped Aunt Gwen would be all right.

  Mr. Asher extended his arm, and Lenora looked at it a moment before remembering the offer was nothing more than good manners. He didn’t mean anything by it other than giving the appearance that he was a gentleman, which he was not. A true gentleman would never blackmail a woman.

  Lenora was uncomfortable being so close to him, and she was inexperienced being alone with a man. They were in a public garden, yes, but the numerous walkways, grottos, and alcoves allowed far more privacy than she felt appropriate. Never mind that she’d been alone with this man twice now at the river, and one of those times had been at night.

  She wished she could fidget with the tassel again, but with her arm in Mr. Asher’s, it would be too overt. She needed something else to soothe her fractured nerves and began counting their steps—another trick she had not needed to employ for months. Not since the Mckays’ garden party, where Elizabeth Bradshaw—a gentleman’s daughter from Leagrave on holiday with her parents—could not stop commenting on how changed Lenora was. The more amazed Miss Bradshaw was, the more Lenora felt like a dolt. Leaving her past behind her was difficult enough without someone reminding her. Counting her steps that day had prevented Lenora from fully reverting to the girl she’d been. Counting them today would help her to maintain a professional composure despite being so close to this man.

  “Did you receive my response to your letter?” Mr. Asher asked. “I sent it to the school last night and had hoped to hear back from you this morning.”

  “I stay with my aunt on weekends and did not receive your response,” Lenora said, staring straight ahead and feeling conspicuous. Fourteen steps. Fifteen, sixteen. People would see her walking with him; they would think he was a beau. “I shall read it on Monday when I return.” Twenty-two, twenty-three.

  “It is a relief to know you hadn’t received it. I had thought you were ignoring me.”

  The comment irritated her. “Because I did not immediately respond to your letter? I am not at your beck and call, Mr. Asher.” Oh, she was peckish today. Thirty, thirty-one . . .

 
“Oh, no, I did not mean that.” He sounded sincerely contrite. “Only, I had made you an offer I was eager to have answered.”

  Lenora stopped walking, causing him to stumble a step on the gravel path. She couldn’t speak and forgot where she was in her counting. An offer? What? Evan Glenside had once made her an offer of marriage, but certainly not . . . She blinked her eyes like a fool.

  “To attend you to the river,” Mr. Asher continued. “I surmised that you must have a routine of some sort, since you have all the clothing necessary to serve as your disguise. Do you go every Sunday night? More evenings than that? You arrived at quarter after eleven last week—do you leave your residence at eleven, then?”

  She began walking again, and he quickly fell into step beside her. She tried to angle her parasol so it would hide her flaming face from the two women who appeared from around the hedge ahead of them, coming their way. Mr. Asher inclined his head in greeting as they passed. Lenora could not manage any acknowledgment at all. At least she did not know them.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked in little more than a whisper.

  Mr. Asher lowered his voice and ducked his head toward her, which made her swallow. He smelled of pipe smoke and cedar—earthy and masculine. She didn’t pull away from him, even though she told herself she should. “I likely ruined your evening last week and had hoped to make it right by offering to escort you when you next planned to go out. You obviously feel comfortable in the city, but it isn’t safe for a woman to wander the streets at night, no matter how familiar she might feel.”

  It took Lenora several seconds to process what Mr. Asher had said. She couldn’t accept his offer—of course not. But she had to concede being mildly grateful. “Thank you, but that would be inappropriate.”

  “I am only concerned for your safety, Miss Wilton, and whatever remedy your excursion gave you. I have no intentions beyond assisting you, I assure you.”

  “Thank you, but no.” It was embarrassing; he was the uncle of the worst student Lenora had ever had, and he was blackmailing her into trying to help the girl. She did not need, nor want, his help, and if she felt a tiny bit touched by his kindness and willingness to take a risk on her behalf, that was only because she had such little experience with men like him—men in general, actually.

  They walked in silence for a distance and turned onto another pathway. She did not know the garden as well as Aunt Gwen, but he seemed to, and she followed his lead. His offer of escort must be to assuage his guilt regarding the blackmailing. That reason fit in perfectly with the man she knew him to be.

  As they passed three younger women, Lenora heard twittering giggles behind them. Lenora glanced at Mr. Asher, who had been the object of the girls’ attention, surprised to see his neck flushed. She couldn’t fault the girls’ notice, he did cut a striking figure, but they didn’t know him the way Lenora did, and she looked ahead and stopped thinking about how comfortably her arm was wrapped around his elbow. Soon enough she recognized the path leading toward the aviary, which meant they were still some distance from the ruined castle. Had they not been walking a full hour already?

  “My offer was only one part of the message I sent to the school,” Mr. Asher said. “I am distressed by your report that Catherine cannot read. Are you certain?”

  His niece was a topic Lenora was glad to take hold of. “If she were more compliant I would be certain, but she’s trying to hide it—embarrassed, I’m sure. I have not yet confirmed it. Language is not my expertise, but I will bring it up in our staff meeting on Tuesday so that we might formulate a plan to best help her.”

  “A plan will be put in place for her? She won’t be dismissed from the school?”

  Lenora looked up at him. “She is our student; we are her teachers. It is our job to help her improve.” She left out the part about improvement being impossible if Miss Manch didn’t cooperate. Nor did she ask how he could not know his niece could not read. “Have you spoken with her about it since she returned to your care last evening?”

  Mr. Asher shook his head. “I did not want to put her on the defensive when she has not yet forgiven me for bringing her here. I mentioned that I’d heard she played well, I thought she might discuss that topic more easily, but she made it very clear that she did not want to talk about it.” His shoulders fell. “We dance as cautious partners, Catherine and I.”

  Lenora considered this as they paused before the birds of the aviary. She paid them little attention, pondering over what he’d said. “She has been in your care for nine months?” She resisted asking a direct question, not wanting to appear nosy.

  Mr. Asher nodded, and, as she’d hoped, filled in additional details. “I had been managing my family’s interests in Jamaica since before Catherine was born. I traveled home every few years, but Catherine’s father, my half-brother, was fourteen years my senior. We were not raised together, and were often at odds when it came to family matters. He was heir to his father’s holdings in England, while I received my grandfather’s plantation upon his death, which is why I left England in the first place. I needed to make my own fortune, since my brother would not see to my education, and my mother had no control over her own income.

  “Apparently, my brother did not care for Catherine after his wife died when the baby was only a few months old. She was raised by a variety of family members since then. I’m ashamed to say I never paid much attention. I unexpectedly became her legal guardian upon the death of my brother nearly two years ago. It took some time for me to make arrangements for an extended stay in England in order to take over her care. Now that I am here, I am trying to rise to my responsibility. It is proving to be a fierce campaign. Running a sugar plantation was a far more comfortable occupation than this has proven to be.”

  Yet he stayed. Why? “And the family members who cared for her did not tell you she could not read?”

  He was quiet, then led her further along the path. She sensed he did not want her to look at him too closely, that he was uncomfortable or perhaps ashamed? She watched the toes of her shoes peek from beneath the hem of her dress with each step and realized that she hadn’t been counting for some time now.

  That does not mean I am enjoying this, she said to no one but herself. But what did her lack of nerves mean? She’d felt this way in his company before, and suddenly something her sister Rose had told her once sprang to mind: “The right person makes up for your deficiencies. I feel more myself with him than I feel with anyone else.” She’d been explaining how she’d known that her husband was the right choice. Like Lenora, Rose was shy, though not quite like Lenora.

  If circumstances were different and Lenora were walking with Mr. Asher through the garden at night, with the lights casting a romantic glow and him wanting her to be there because of his own interest in her, she might wonder if he were the fulfillment of that explanation Lenora had never fully understood before. But he couldn’t be. Not after blackmailing her. Not after causing her so much misery. Having never felt what Rose described made it impossible for Lenora to know, which meant it was impossible for her to feel such a thing.

  Mr. Asher saved her from her maddening thoughts by continuing, regret tinging every word. “By the time I returned to England, Catherine was under the paid care of a complete stranger. My aunt and two cousins in turn had had their fill of her, and the last had cast her off nearly six months earlier. They said she was incorrigible and that they did their best before her behavior made it impossible for them to keep her. The woman in whose care she was left did not spare the rod and was not concerned with education. I assumed Catherine could read—she is twelve years old. The other schools she has attended since my return have said nothing of either issue.” He paused thoughtfully. “If you had known her when I first collected her from that woman’s house, I daresay you would be impressed by her improvement these last months despite her continued difficulties. Unfortunately, I’m running out of ideas
on how to cross the remaining breach.”

  Lenora was contemplating what she’d learned as they crossed the bridge to the east side of the park. The sympathy for both Miss Manch and Mr. Asher was impossible to ignore, accompanied by perhaps a bit of a relief. That there were reasons for Miss Manch’s difficulties was helpful to know, that her uncle was devoted enough to do so much on her behalf was impressive.

  Miss Manch and Aunt Gwen came into view ahead of them. The two of them seemed rather deep in conversation, and Lenora frowned in worry. As they got closer, Lenora saw that Aunt Gwen was smiling as Miss Manch gave a detailed explanation of something. Miss Manch had many faces, and they all made Lenora nervous.

  When the two couples were again face to face, they exchanged partners and shared farewells. Lenora was relieved to be free of Mr. Asher’s company and let out a heavy sigh to show it. He and Miss Manch continued toward the labyrinth elsewhere in the garden, while Aunt Gwen and Lenora moved toward the bridge she’d just crossed with Mr. Asher. She hoped that meant they were heading home; if she encountered Mr. Asher during another round through the park, she might turn and run.

  “I must say, Lenora, that while I do not doubt your rendition of your interactions with that young woman this week, there is a part of her that is absolutely delightful.”

  “Be glad you did not have a slate or need her to conform to any behavior.”

  Aunt Gwen laughed. “I required her to walk politely and make engaging conversation, and she did both quite well.”

  Lenora felt a twinge of jealously, but reminded herself that Aunt Gwen had known the girl for only half an hour. “I’m glad she at least knows good manners,” Lenora said out loud, feeling petulant. “I had begun to wonder.”