Miss Wilton's Waltz

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Lenora was left without argument. She had felt the balm of forgiveness before—both giving and receiving—and her soul longed for that comfort to soothe the raw and bitter feelings throbbing in her chest. And she had come to care about Catherine, even to see similarities in the fact that both of them had found ways to keep the world at a distance. It was that caring that made the betrayal sting so sharply. To agree to be her private tutor would be to risk greater pain—Aunt Gwen could not convince her otherwise—but she could also see the potential of strength to come. Much like coming to Bath had allowed her to become better and more secure within herself, accepting this challenge could keep her from reverting to the frightened girl she’d been for so long. Even if the arrangement did not work out in the long-term, attempting to do her best could help her be better for it rather than be broken by it.

  “I will accept the arrangement for two weeks,” Lenora said. “Then I will decide if I can continue longer. I will need you to let me stay away from society during that time.”

  “Two weeks then, and you shall have all say.” Aunt Gwen wrapped her arms around Lenora’s shoulders. She was Lenora’s mother’s sister, and when Lenora closed her eyes, she could pretend she was in her mother’s arms. Aunt Gwen held her tight, kissed her temple, and said, “Everything is going to be all right.”

  Aiden stayed in the shadows Sunday night, hoping against hope that Lenora would go to the river so he could explain himself in person. It had been a full week since his escort had ended with her in his arms. It had happened so fast, and yet, if he were honest, it had been a slow and delicious simmer. Starting during their first few interactions, then the greater comfort they achieved when they were together, and then the night they waltzed in the upper rooms. It had all led to the moment when his head bent to hers, the cold rain only emphasizing the heat growing between them. Even thinking of that kiss now seemed to raise the temperature of the October night, which could no longer be described as crisp. It was cold.

  His toes were tingling, and he had not felt his nose for a quarter of an hour. The light was on in Lenora’s bedroom, and he waited for her to blow out the candle as she always did before leaving the house. The light stayed on. Another quarter hour passed. Then another quarter. The candle went out, but the night remained silent. At midnight, he concluded she was not coming.

  His letter of explanation, his agreement of Mrs. Simmons’s plan, and his hoping for forgiveness was not enough. He let out a discouraged breath, the air clouding in front of him, and turned toward his house, where Catherine slept. He’d made sure she was asleep before he left and charged a footman to keep watch so the girl could not go out at night again. Tomorrow he would take her to Mrs. Simmons’s house, and her lessons would begin.

  Before reaching the bridge, however, he changed his mind and continued down the street to the gap in the shops that led to the secret steps he had discovered his first night in Bath. The morning of his first day, his shoes had been oddly scuffed, as though someone had scraped them across stone. His pipe, left on the mantel of the Cheshire estate, was filled with tea, and his favorite walking stick, the thin black lacquered one with the ivory swan’s head handle, was broken into three pieces and left in the entryway. He’d ignored all of Catherine’s “subtle” protests and physically placed her in the carriage for their journey to Bath while counting the hours until he could take her to school Monday morning. When they reached their rooms that afternoon, he’d met with the proprietor to finalize the arrangements and returned to the study to find the book he’d been reading disemboweled. He’d charged the staff to watch his niece and took to the streets rather than shake the girl into submission.

  He had already been at the river when someone came down the steps, prompting him to pull into the shadows to avoid discovery—perhaps he wasn’t supposed to be in this place he thought he had to himself. He hadn’t known for certain that the visitor was a woman until she’d bolted up the stairs with her plait falling down her back, leaving him to hold his foot he’d feared was broken.

  Tonight, the city was lit by a half moon, and he could easily see the stone steps and the water pooling in the uneven portions from this afternoon’s rain. How he wished he could see Lenora again; how he wished she would let him explain in person about his agreement with Miss Keighly.

  After talking to Mrs. Simmons the first time, he’d returned to his study and written a letter that said, in effect: Dear Hazel, against my expectations, my heart has been captured by a woman whom I don’t believe I can live without. He expected her reply any day. Perhaps she wasn’t at her family home in Cheshire, and the letter was chasing her to London or her grandmother’s house in Yorkshire—that could take a week or more. Yet here he was, alone on the banks of the river where he’d first met Lenora Wilton. He had not seen her since their kiss, yet she’d agreed to make one more attempt to tutor Catherine and help the girl reach her potential.

  Catherine.

  He sat down on a dry section of what he thought of as Lenora’s wall and lit his pipe, puffing to catch the tobacco and then inhaling deeply. He smoked and watched the river and thought of the women in his life, and the one woman he wanted in it but wasn’t. Maybe Lenora hadn’t felt what he’d felt. But if that were the case, why would her reaction be so strong?

  He let out a heavy breath, knowing he should have told her he was engaged when they’d waltzed that night. Or he should have walked beside her as they went to the river instead of playing escort as though the waltz had never happened. He should not have given in to his baser desires and taken her his coat, knowing full well he’d wanted an excuse to be close to her. To smell her perfume, to gaze into those dark blue eyes in the moonlight.

  If he’d written Miss Keighly before he’d held Lenora in his arms, or even immediately upon returning home from the river that night, things might be different. Lenora would still be with Mrs. Henry’s school. That delicious sizzle would still be building between them.

  Yet how did he explain that he’d forgotten proposing marriage to a woman he’d known all his life—the safe and easy and practical choice upon which to build a future for Catherine? He’d never felt anything more than physical attraction for any woman until meeting Lenora, and now that he understood how deeply a man could feel, he could not unfeel it or settle for less.

  He puffed on his pipe and then tapped out the ashes. It was late and fiercely cold, and a new week would start in the morning. Lenora had agreed to teach Catherine for two weeks. Perhaps she would see another side of the girl and take pity on both of them. If she could forgive Catherine, perhaps she could also forgive him.

  When he received Miss Keighly’s response, he would show the letter to Lenora. Once she knew the engagement was broken, she would be able to forgive him, right? And if he could kiss her again, then surely she would.

  In his mind, everything lined up like soldiers in formation. In his mind, it was all so clear. Like leaving his plantation to care for his niece. Like proposing engagement to a respectable woman he could make a life with in hopes of giving Catherine the family she deserved after how poorly she’d been treated in his absence. Like falling in love with a woman he did not expect and therefore being able to change his mind and build a new future. Why was reality so very different than his expectations?

  Catherine moved into the terrace house Monday morning. Lenora watched through an upstairs window until she saw Mr. Asher walking away. When he looked up, she pulled back, hoping he had not seen her. She’d told Aunt Gwen that she did not want to interact with him, and Aunt Gwen had agreed to ensure as much.

  Whatever her relationship with Mr. Asher had been before, Lenora would keep it purely professional this time. She needed time to prepare for even that level of relationship, however.

  A few minutes later, Catherine and Aunt Gwen came into the upstairs parlor. It was small but nicely appointed in shades of yellow and lavender. Compared to the spacious parlor on th
e main level, complete with a large bay window, this room saw little company but would be just right for the schoolroom.

  Lenora swallowed her rising anxiety and lifted her chin. She had her hair pulled up and wore one of her teaching dresses, wanting to set the right tone. The desk from Aunt Gwen’s bedchamber had been brought in to serve as a workspace. Lenora felt as tight as a sail and twice as battered; she had not been sleeping well and hadn’t gone to the river last night—the first Sunday she’d missed in months.

  “I shall leave you two to your studies,” Aunt Gwen said. “I’m going to the Pump Room with Mrs. Grovesford.”

  “Can I go with you?” Catherine asked, a pout in her voice.

  “You have school, dear,” Aunt Gwen said sweetly while Lenora arranged the primer, slate, and letter board Aunt Gwen had procured. “But I shall see you for tea this afternoon.” She kissed the girl’s forehead, and Lenora pushed down an unexpected wave of jealousy.

  “Please take your seat,” Lenora said, once Aunt Gwen left the room.

  Catherine let out a huff, but took dragging steps across the floor.

  Lenora did not smile as Catherine sat in the chair across from her. “Good morning, Catherine.”

  Catherine mumbled something.

  “I said, ‘Good morning, Catherine,’” Lenora said, her hands clasped on the top of the desk. “You are to say ‘Good morning, Miss Wilton’ back to me.”

  “Good morning, Miss Wilton, back to me.”

  Lenora held her eyes, glad that Catherine couldn’t hear her racing heart. “I will not abide rudeness. This is your first warning. You will have two warnings every day, but on your third offense, I will leave the room and you will explain it to Aunt Gwen.”

  Catherine rolled her eyes.

  “This is your second warning.”

  Catherine looked at the desktop, her jaw clenched.

  Lenora took a breath and began the day’s lesson. “You have proved to be very good at memorization, which will greatly help this process, but we need to work on actual writing and, therefore, words. In order for us to know where to start, I need to assess your current level.” She was careful to keep her tone slightly animated and positive, so Catherine would know she was not holding the warnings against her.

  “Miss Grimes already did that.”

  “Yes, well, since you and I will be working together from now on, I need to do my own assessment.”

  Catherine shrugged, and Lenora considered whether or not to count it as a third offense.

  “Sorry,” Catherine mumbled before Lenora could decide, and, relieved, Lenora nodded. “We will need to start below your ability, so I’ll need your patience as we move forward.” Lenora turned the letter board to face Catherine. “Do you know your letters?”

  “Of course.”

  Lenora stared at her and again debated the idea of ending their lesson. They had been together for less than five minutes. But this girl was twelve years old and having to start at the very beginning. Lenora would give her some margin. But only some.

  “Good, then this shall be easy. What is this letter?” She lifted the board and pointed to a letter.

  “N.”

  “And this one?”

  “Q.”

  “And this?”

  “H.”

  “Excellent. What sounds do they make?”

  They went through every letter, and Catherine gave the correct sounds for each one, only missing a few of the secondary sounds for letters J, G, and Y. They moved on to the primer, which had lists of two-letter words. Lenora expected to go through it quite easily, but Catherine read “no” as “on” and “if” as “fi.” Three-letter words revealed similar mistakes of getting the order of the letters wrong, though Catherine seemed bored and unaware of her errors.

  “I know all of this,” she said as they finished reviewing the first-level primer.

  Lenora said nothing as she placed the second-level primer on the desk between them. It was what a seven- or eight-year-old would typically study. That was when things began to turn poorly. Catherine read “hour” as “or” and “left” as “felt.” She had to sound out the word “away” and did not correctly pronounce the different A sounds in the word. Even though Lenora did not comment, Catherine seemed to know she was making mistakes, and the tension in the room began to rise. When she said “jump” as “goomp,” she suddenly pushed the primer toward Lenora, who caught it before it fell in her lap.

  “I do not like this and want to do something else.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Lenora.

  “What would you like to do, then?”

  She pulled her eyebrows together. “What?”

  “I said, what would you like to do? Maybe I can make a lesson out of it.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked warily.

  “Every thing is represented by a word,” Lenora said, thinking off the cuff. “And you know those words, so you choose something to do and we can make labels for the items involved or write out the words on the slate.”

  Catherine considered this. “Anything?”

  “Within reason,” Lenora said, then made herself smile in hopes of cutting through the tension between them. “Shooting pistols, for instance, would be an unreasonable request.”

  “What about taking a walk?”

  Lenora’s smile softened, remembering the walk they’d taken during the last week at the school. “Excellent suggestion,” she said, pushing back from the desk. “I’ll bring the slate, and we’ll practice the names of things we see along the way.”

  “I did not say that was what I wanted, I just asked if a walk was a possibility.”

  Lenora laced her fingers on the desktop and raised her eyebrows while unclenching her teeth. Could nothing about this girl be simple?

  Catherine’s expression turned smug, which should have been a warning. “I want to see my uncle.”

  Lenora’s heart skipped a beat. “Choose something else.”

  “But that’s what I want. I want to see my uncle. You can label the door as we leave, the streets as we pass them, the door of his house in Laura Place, then paste a label on his fine eyes, and his thick hair, and—”

  Lenora stood and left the room. She did not speak, she did not look back, and she did not feel bad about it either. Catherine could run out into the street for all she cared. She was not the girl’s babysitter. If Aunt Gwen wanted to be the mother figure, then she could deal with her daughter figure and sort it out.

  Lenora took the stairs to her room, shut and locked the door, and then stood in the middle of the room with clenched fists at her sides. She is a monster, she said in her mind. And yet, Lenora had worked with Catherine up close today. The girl knew her alphabet and the sounds of the letters. She could string some words together but not other words, even simpler ones. Catherine seemed most familiar with nouns—door, rock, bird. Why?

  Lenora wished she could consult with Miss Grimes, but the idea of talking to anyone from the school made her insides shrivel like last year’s potatoes. She was a second-class teacher now, dismissed from her first and only position because of the very girl she was now trying to help. Her interest in having decoded some of Catherine’s deficiency was easily eclipsed by the girl goading her about Mr. Asher.

  Lenora closed her eyes and felt fresh fire wash over her face and neck and chest. She tried not to think of Mr. Asher’s fine eyes and thick hair, but of course, trying not to think about them meant they were the only things that would come to mind.

  I should have gone to Mary’s, she thought, looking at the days ahead with absolute dread. Why had she believed she was up to this? She had agreed to this plan in hopes that Aunt Gwen was right and it might somehow help her, but she could not—would not—continue if Catherine made a game of taunting her. Her battered heart could not take that kind of abuse.

&
nbsp; Lenora skipped tea because she was unable to think of a single reason to put herself in Catherine’s company. Instead, she began transcribing some sheet music she’d inadvertently brought home from the school for her personal collection. She desperately wanted to lose herself in playing the pianoforte or walking by the river. Taking comfort with the pianoforte would require going to the main parlor and likely crossing paths with Catherine. Going to the river required leaving the sanctuary of the terrace house, and she wasn’t ready for that either. Perhaps she should take up the flute; she could play in her room and maybe find some peace.

  Aunt Gwen knocked with three short raps and then opened the door. “Could we talk in the schoolroom?” Already the second-floor parlor had taken on a new identity. Lenora wondered how long it would remain as such. Based on today’s attempt, she did not see this arrangement succeeding.

  Lenora searched her aunt’s tone and expression for censure but found none. She nodded and followed her aunt to the schoolroom. Once seated in the chairs next to the desk, Aunt Gwen asked for Lenora’s version of events.

  “I imagine Catherine gave a different account,” Lenora said when she finished, keeping her tone even.

  “Slightly, yes. She claims that you dislike her and were irritated. And of course, she made no mention of having brought her uncle into the discussion.”

  Exactly what Lenora had expected Catherine would have said. “I was irritated.” She was willing to concede her part, though she did not say out loud that she disliked the girl. She honestly had no idea how she felt toward Catherine. “But I did my best to hide my feelings and act professionally, Aunt Gwen.”

  “I have no doubt of that, my dear.” Aunt Gwen patted Lenora’s arm. “Not being able to read words seems to have made Catherine rather good at reading people, and she seems to know how we feel even when we are trying very hard to hide it.” Aunt Gwen smiled at her little joke.