Miss Wilton's Waltz

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “I believe the potential scandal was avoided, Lenora.”

  Lenora was quiet. Hadn’t Catherine told the other students? If they knew, word would have spread. But it had been two weeks. Was she relieved to know she was not being whispered about behind hands? Did that really matter when her heart felt floppy in her chest? It did not change that she had been terminated, nor that it had not been her choice to leave. It did not change that Mr. Asher had not been honest with her, nor that she’d been reminded, again, that she was never a man’s first choice. The kiss on the river was little more than fantasy now, complete with curling edges and muted color. It felt like a step out of time that she hoped would fade from her mind completely one day.

  “Believe me, dear,” Aunt Gwen continued. “If there were a story about the music teacher at Mrs. Henry’s school passionately kissing the handsome uncle of one of her students, I’d have heard about it a dozen times over.”

  Lenora blushed at her aunt’s words. Who was Lenora Wilton to think she could passionately kiss a man and not be punished for it?

  “Please come with me to the Roman Baths tomorrow,” Aunt Gwen said. “I miss your companionship after so many months of being able to take it for granted.”

  “Perhaps Catherine could attend you.” Catherine had accompanied Aunt Gwen last week, and even though nothing could have convinced Lenora to attend so soon after being turned out, it had been hurtful to be replaced so easily.

  “She will be with her uncle.” Aunt Gwen touched Lenora’s arm, then waited until Lenora met her gaze. “And I want to be with you, Lenora. Please come. See for yourself that no one is whispering about you. This is not Leagrave.”

  No, it is not Leagrave, she thought. It is far worse than that. She had not loved the man who jilted her in Leagrave. Her pride and expectations had been wounded, but not her heart. This time, every part of her suffered.

  In the end, Lenora did go to the Roman Baths, though she found them uncomfortable. She did not put herself forward, content to stay to the sides in her brown bathing costume. She’d worn an unadorned bonnet so as to avoid the obvious conversation a more elaborate one would attract. Aunt Gwen, however, wore one of her most elegant bonnets specifically to receive compliments. A number of acquaintances came to them—looking like disembodied bonneted-heads bobbing across the water—to trade compliments and gossip.

  By the time they returned home, Lenora was nearly convinced that Aunt Gwen was right. The scandal had not spread. Several people had expressed surprise at her leaving her position, but she sensed no suspicion that there could be more to the story. Lenora still wanted to hide, but she did not feel like she had to.

  Lenora listened to Aunt Gwen talk about Sunday’s upcoming dinner party as they entered the front door of the terrace house. The Davisons had returned to Bath after nearly a year, and Mrs. Davison was one of Aunt Gwen’s dearest friends.

  Lenora pulled the ribbon of the bow beneath her chin that held her rose-sprig bonnet in place, and then stopped dead in her tracks. Standing at the base of the stairs, hat in hand, was Mr. Asher.

  She was not ready.

  Aiden took a breath as Lenora stepped back from him, treading on her aunt’s foot in the process, the ribbons of her bonnet tangled in her fingers. One would think he was holding an axe above his head.

  “My dear!” Mrs. Simmons exclaimed, pushing against Lenora’s back, which caused her to stumble. Aiden reached out to catch Lenora’s arm, then kept hold of her elbow once she was righted. She stared at him, confused and shocked, but, dare he say it, perhaps glad to see him?

  The look only lasted a moment before she stepped to the side, necessitating that he release her arm. She turned away completely, fiddling with the bonnet in her hand and brushing at the tendrils of hair around her flushed face while looking into the small looking glass placed above the umbrella basket at the entryway.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Asher,” Mrs. Simmons said, polite but obviously surprised at his arrival. She smiled at him, but glanced at Lenora, concerned. “We were not expecting you.”

  “Catherine wanted to show me her room. I hope it is all right that we came.”

  “Certainly.”

  “I took a liberty, and I am sorry. I should have sent a note, or waited until I returned Catherine on Monday.”

  “It is fine,” Mrs. Simmons said, but she glanced at Miss Wilton again just as Catherine traipsed down the stairs.

  “Aunt Gwen!” Catherine said, running into Mrs. Simmons’s arms, forcing the older woman back a step, and hugging her tightly. “Can we stay for tea?”

  “It is impolite to invite yourself, Catherine,” Aiden said, but he glanced at Lenora and wondered if things might soften between them if he were to stay for tea.

  Lenora was watching him in the glass but flicked her gaze away as soon as she realized he’d noticed. She had to be hurting as much as he was, so shouldn’t they put an end to it? He had not yet received Miss Keighly’s response, but surely one private conversation would help them both feel better.

  “I’m going to Mrs. Grovesford’s for tea today, Catherine, and your uncle is right. It is poor manners to invite yourself.”

  Catherine let go of Mrs. Simmons and took a few steps away, a pout on her face.

  “And it is impolite to pout,” Mrs. Simmons added, lifting her eyebrows.

  “Very well,” Catherine said. She clasped her hands behind her back and stood up straight. “I beg your forgiveness for my poor manners, Aunt Gwen.”

  Mrs. Simmons smiled. “You are forgiven.” She inclined her head, and Catherine’s expression softened. She did not like to displease Mrs. Simmons, though displeasing anyone else did not seem to affect her much.

  Lenora did not say anything and moved toward the stairs that would lead to the first level. Aiden watched her ascend, then looked at Aunt Gwen, who waved him forward encouragingly. He was not one to disobey his elders.

  “Miss Wilton,” he said, turning on his heel and taking a few steps after her. She paused on the stairs, but only looked over her shoulder. “Might I have a word?” he asked.

  She said nothing, but looked pained and let out a breath of resignation. She nodded once before continuing up the stairs. He looked at Mrs. Simmons, who gave him a smile.

  “Perhaps Catherine and I shall walk to the corner and back,” Mrs. Simmons said as she put a hand on Catherine’s shoulder and turned her toward the door.

  Aiden entered the parlor and saw Lenora by the window with her bonnet in her hands and still wearing her pelisse. She turned to face him, the light from the window making her look as though she were outlined in charcoal, as if she were a work of art. She held his gaze a moment before turning her attention to her bonnet.

  He wanted to go to her but couldn’t ignore the signals she was giving that he keep a distance. It was difficult not to let his mind go back to their exchange on the riverbank—the last opportunity he’d had to be this close to her. Thinking of the moment filled him with the same sensations now that had overcome him then. This woman intrigued him—a surface of poise and propriety, but underneath, a curiosity about the world. He wanted to uncover the deep thoughts he knew hid behind her eyes. He wanted to be someone she trusted. He wanted to explore the passion she’d shown him a shadow of already when she had put her hand behind his neck and invited him in for a kiss. She’d done that. He wanted her to do it again.

  “I wrote to Miss Keighly,” he said. “I explained the situation and asked for her understanding.”

  Lenora turned away, staring at the street below and not speaking.

  He moved forward until he stood a few feet behind her. His awareness of her prickled, and he had to clench his hand into a fist to keep from brushing the backs of his fingers across the smooth skin of her neck. Did she feel the pull between them as he did?

  She barely turned her head toward him before facing forward again. “Y
ou should have told me,” she whispered, her hurt and distrust louder than her words.

  “Yes, I should have.” He still did not know when he would have had the chance—until they had waltzed, he had not fully realized the energy between them—but he should not have kissed her when she was unaware of his status. He should have broken his engagement with Miss Keighly as soon as he realized how strong his feelings for Lenora had become. “I underestimated the situation, Lenora. Both the engagement to Miss Keighly and my feelings for you. I thought I had more self-control.” He’d meant the last comment to lighten the mood, and perhaps compliment her by explaining how his feelings for her had blinded his senses. Whatever she’d heard, however, was different than his intention. He watched her head go down and her shoulders fall forward.

  “Lenora?” He’d only ever called her by her Christian name one time before today—the moment before she’d put her hand on his neck and pulled him to her.

  “I suppose you have likely encountered that often, then. The inability to control your actions regardless of your commitments.”

  Aiden was shocked by the vehemence of her words, though she’d little more than whispered them. Did she mean . . . ? He reviewed what he had said, unsure if he was properly understanding her. “I am not a rake, if that is what you are implying.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  She’d been bold with him before, but not like this. Not with cruelty. She is protecting herself, he said in his mind. He decided to respond with equal boldness. “I have never felt anything toward a woman like what I feel for you.”

  She faced him, but he sensed that it took all the strength she had left to do so. She wanted to hide from him; she was afraid of being alone with him—as though she were a glass he could shatter with the merest flick of his wrist. His heart ached.

  “I have been Miss Keighly,” she said. “I have been counted as so little by a man I thought cared for me.”

  “I explained to you in my letter that my arrangement with Miss Keighly was not a love match.”

  “But you made a promise to her, Mr. Asher—a legally binding one that assured her of security and devotion. You pledged to spend your life with this woman, but you are willing to bring it to an end with such little consideration of the impact it shall make on her.” She took a shaky breath. He could see tears in her eyes, but determination in the set of her face. “I cannot reconcile the displays of your character with the type of man I could allow into my heart. If you can break your commitment to her so easily, what might happen five years down the road? Or ten, or twenty? A woman needs to trust and respect a man above all things. I have been taught as much all my life, and I am humiliated to have forgotten it in a moment of weakness.”

  A slap would have left less of a sting. “You are questioning my honor and character because I have fallen in love with you?”

  She flinched at him proclaiming himself, and yet the words felt as natural for him to say as anything he had said before. He did love her, and he’d truly believed she loved him too. Had he been wrong?

  Her mask of impenetrability was quickly recovered. “You blackmailed me into giving your niece considerations she did not deserve. You omitted telling me of your engagement. And you kissed me despite being promised to Miss Keighly. All of those things together have made me realize that you are not the man I thought you were. I will continue to teach Catherine and do my best by her, but I ask that you forget what has passed between us and keep your engagement in place. I will wish you happy and forget everything else. It is the right thing to do.”

  Heat crept up his neck—anger and embarrassment. He was not a cad, nor a man who took his obligations lightly, as she accused, but arguing would only prove her point. Despite all that had passed between them, she had chosen how she would see him. Any attempt he made to talk her out of her feelings would only reinforce that choice.

  “That is all you have to say? That I should marry a woman I do not love to please you?”

  She turned away from him, and though he sensed she was faltering, he suddenly wondered if he wanted to prove himself.

  He straightened, drew his feet together, and bowed at the waist. “You have made yourself quite clear, Miss Wilton. I will take no more of your time. Good day.” He turned sharply, almost militantly, and quit the room without looking to see if she turned to watch him go.

  Mrs. Simmons and Catherine were coming up the walk when he burst through the front door, causing them both to startle. Mrs. Simmons smiled hopefully at him, but he only shook his head and pressed his hat onto his head. “Come along, Catherine,” he said, his tone sharp enough that she did not argue.

  Catherine almost had to jog to keep up with him, but he did not slow his pace and wished he could run in an attempt to burn through the emotions. Had he ever felt so . . . reduced? So small and insignificant and absolutely humiliated? His chest ached, wanting to convince Lenora that he was not the man she was determined to see. But what made sense in his mind did not seem to translate to reality. For the first time since stepping off the ship that had brought him home, Aiden truly wished he’d never come back to England.

  He reached the rented house and pushed through the door, startled to see his man standing in the foyer as though waiting for him.

  “Mr. Asher?” Martin asked.

  Aiden gritted his teeth but stopped instead of taking the stairs that led to his study on the third level. He was only mildly aware of Catherine stopping behind him, apparently unnerved enough by his behavior not to press him. That was a good thing because he did not feel that he could deal fairly with her right now.

  “Yes?”

  “A woman is here to see you, sir. She said she would wait in the drawing room until precisely two o’clock, at which time she would leave an address for you to call upon. As it is only a quarter to the hour, she is still waiting. We have already provided a tea tray at her request.”

  Aiden felt his stomach drop. He moved slowly up the stairs toward the drawing room, trying to convince himself that there could be another woman in England who prized punctuality and schedule as much as the one he feared waited for him. He felt Catherine slip her hand into his and looked at her worried and yet irritatingly curious face. He stopped on the stairs and turned toward Martin, who remained in the foyer.

  “Could you ask Paulette to accompany Catherine to her room and stay with her until I come for her?” A good scolding regarding her part in writing Catherine’s letter had resulted in Paulette’s sincere apology and promise to keep Catherine in hand, which she had done a remarkable job at since.

  “Yes, sir,” Martin said with a slight bow, disappearing toward the kitchen, where Paulette was likely helping Cook with supper.

  “I do not want to go to—” Catherine broke off at the look Aiden gave her. Paulette came running to the bottom of the stairs, then slowed her steps and gave a quick curtsy before taking Catherine by the hand. Catherine tried to resist, but Aiden glared at her, and she dropped her head.

  Aiden waited until the two of them disappeared at the end of the hall, then he turned to the drawing room door and steeled himself for what awaited him on the other side.

  A woman in a navy dress with white adornments looked up from a small notebook. She set down her pen and closed the book. Miss Keighly’s looks were more classic than beautiful, but she exuded confidence and practicality, traits which had been attractive to him eight months ago when he was desperate to create a stable family for Catherine.

  She stood and put out her gloved hand for him to cross the room and kiss, which he did. Another woman, older and plainer, sat in the corner of the room—Miss Keighly’s maid, he felt sure. She would need such a companion for when she traveled a hundred and sixty miles to confront her fiancé instead of sending the letter he’d been expecting a fortnight ago. Once again, his plan had gone awry, and he was at the mercy of whatever fate seemed determined to wring out of
him like a dishrag.

  “Mr. Asher,” she said with a smile as he stood from his bow. “I made plans to come as soon as I received your letter. I would like to discuss such a hasty change and see if we might be able to address the situation directly. Where would you prefer we discuss the particulars? There is a lovely tearoom just down the road that I visited when I was in town last fall for my cousin’s wedding, and there is a particularly cozy table in the corner that might be the very place for us to work this out in private. What do you think of that?”

  Miss Keighly listened attentively as Aiden explained his feelings for Lenora. He did not mince words. There was no reason to be less than perfectly and humiliatingly honest. Saying them out loud further convinced him of how real his feelings were. Not that it was easy to tell the woman to whom he was engaged that he loved someone else—it was terribly uncomfortable—but it was his only option. He had to convince her to end their agreement, one made in haste and desperation on his part before he understood what he was choosing against. He did not explain that Lenora had turned him out that very afternoon and felt him a man of low character, nor did he recount the kiss on the banks of the River Avon that played through his mind continually. As that detail had not gone public, he did not wish to cause either of them further embarrassment.

  “Hmm,” Miss Keighly said, tapping the pointer finger of one white-gloved hand on the table. “Miss Wilton is Catherine’s teacher, you say?”

  “Yes. She was the music teacher at the school, but has since agreed to a private position now that we are beginning to understand the depth of Catherine’s difficulties.” At the time he’d made an offer of marriage to Miss Keighly, they had both believed Catherine needed nothing more than structure. Perhaps now that they realized how much she truly needed, Miss Keighly would be discouraged by the commitment.

  “And the arrangement is working well?”

  “Yes.”