Christine sat by herself, alone in the quiet room, with only her fashion plates for company.
∞∞∞
Christine resisted the desire to duck into the linen closet when she heard the maid coming to announce the arrival of the Littleton misses and their cousins, the Markhams. She knew she ought to be looking forward to the challenge they presented in honing her skills as a debutante. But being in the same room with her sisters did not suit her at present.
She hovered outside the morning room, still undecided, listening to the soft exchange of voices on the other side of the door.
“Will you all go to London, Miss Devon?” The deepness of the voice identified the speaker as the elder of the two brothers, Mr. Archibald Markham. Christine thought his first name most unfortunate, but otherwise he struck her as the more interesting of the two brothers. He did not go on and on about his clothing, at any rate.
“Not this year, I am afraid. I will remain here, with my youngest sister, and our brother will come home for a short holiday.” Julia’s voice and tone sounded steady, serene as always around guests. Despite their earlier disagreement.
“Such a shame.” Hannah Littleton’s voice was familiar enough to identify. “We enjoy London a vast deal at this time of year. I sometimes wish we did not linger in the country for Lord Calvert’s Christmas ball. I am certain there are even better parties and events in London.”
“That may be true, but Papa would not ever want to slight our neighbor. It is tradition.” Amelia Littleton, the elder of the two sisters, had as much sense as Julia and liberally shared it with others.
If the conversation they shared continued on in such an easy vein, Christine felt equal to it. She lifted her chin and tried to remember her mother’s graceful, confident movements. She opened the door and swept into the room, affixing a pleasant expression on her face.
“Good afternoon, everyone. Please excuse my tardiness. I came as soon as I learned you had arrived.” She made her curtsy as the gentlemen stood to bow.
“Ah, Miss Christine, we were speaking of the earl’s Christmas ball.” The captain eagerly gestured to an empty chair near his and waited to sit until she took it. Julia prepared a teacup for her at once.
“Oh, the ball. I look forward to attending it. This will be my first year.” Christine looked around at their guests, all seated comfortably. The Littletons sat on a sofa, Julia in a chair next to the tea things, and the gentlemen in single chairs across the oriental rug from their cousins. “Will you be there, Mr. Markham?”
“Yes, though we return home for a time, to prepare for London.” Though shorter than his military brother, Mr. Markham had a more commanding air. He sat as straight as a soldier, wore a dark coat, and his expression remained devoid of any true emotion. Christine envied him the ease of such a mysterious countenance.
The younger brother chuckled and took a sip of tea. “I will not be able to attend the ball in its entirety. I have received word that I must be in town immediately following Christmas, to go to some society events as an aid to the colonel. Officers must be present at the best events, to reassure the populace all is well.”
Christine very nearly challenged that statement, wishing to know if all was truly well. Only that morning she read of several frightful engagements on the Continent with Bonaparte troops. She bit her tongue in time, nearly causing pain. She quickly recovered and managed to say something appropriate. “How delightful for you.”
“It is a great advantage to being stationed at home rather than abroad,” the young man answered with a grin. “I hope I will see you in town, Miss Christine.”
“If you are at the best events, I imagine you shall,” Miss Amelia Littleton answered, smiling benignly. “Miss Christine will certainly travel in the finest circles with her aunt, a countess.”
Julia served Christine her tea and retook her seat, presiding over them as hostess with practiced ease.
“It will be a shame if you miss any of the dancing, Captain. I am certain several young ladies hoped to see you in your regimentals.” The half-smile on Julia’s lips nearly caused Christine to choke on her tea. If her sister was attempting to make the young man start conversing on his attire again, she would have to head that off at once.
“Yes, I understand the earl’s ball is always lovely, but woefully short on gentleman to partner with during the dancing.” Christine quickly put her cup down and turned to Hannah. “Isn’t that so, Miss Hannah? Even the most popular young ladies must sit out a time or two.”
Hannah took up that thread of conversation easily. “It is positively dreadful, and you will have to dance with everyone, Archibald. I have several friends who must not sit out, if it can be helped.”
He nodded to his cousin. “I will do my duty.”
Christine relaxed and felt she achieved something, even if it was only an avoidance of the topic of tailoring coats. Though she did think Mr. Markham made the idea of dancing sound dreadful, she did not think it polite to say so.
“The young ladies of Kettering will be pleased,” Miss Littleton stated from behind the rim of her teacup. “The balls held at the earl’s home are amusing and the refreshments are divine.”
“Tell me, does Lord Calvert yet remain unmarried? I thought I heard a rumor he was to marry this Christmas. I thought it surprising he would still hold the ball, but given he is something of an eccentric, I wasn’t certain what to believe.”
Christine’s eyebrows shot up and she turned to look at Julia, surprised by the news that the most sought-after bachelor in their county could plan a wedding they did not hear of until that moment. Julia looked calm as ever. “No, his younger brother is to wed one of my friends, actually. I met her in Bath while visiting a cousin. Miss Ellen Bringhurst. The Bringhurst family lives on the west side of the county.”
“Ah. The earl remains safe.” Captain Markham chuckled. “That is well for my cousins.”
Both young ladies colored and protested at once.
“The very idea,” Miss Littleton gasped, looking suitably shocked.
“Really, Nicholas, that you should say such things.” Hannah sniffed and looked away.
Christine bit her lip to keep from laughing. Most of the young ladies of their acquaintance went to great pains to look their best for the earl’s ball, but he had not paid anyone attention beyond the most basic of courtesies, not since the death of his countess. Besides that, everyone did think him a trifle eccentric. Her father often spoke of his unexpected business decisions, which resulted in unlikely success more often than not.
Christine would rather marry a man she understood than one who constantly went about surprising everyone.
“Who will be the hostess, if Lord Calvert remains single?” Mr. Markham asked, turning a disapproving eye toward his brother.
“His mother, the Dowager Countess. She delights in such things.” Julia stood and lifted the refreshment tray. “Might I interest anyone in another biscuit or cake? Cook’s lemon biscuits are a marvel.”
As the conversation flowed about her, Christine found she did not have a great deal to say, and the Markham brothers were content to discourse with Julia and their cousins. She nearly spoke up, several times, but perhaps it would be best to wait until someone drew her out. The fine line between speaking in turn and interrupting remained difficult to discern when everyone felt they had something of interest to share.
How much more difficult would it be to gain attention and conversation in a crowded London ballroom? A room full of people to the point of others calling it a crush. How would she stand out enough that a gentleman would even think he might wish to speak to her? Here she sat, within touching distance of the captain and his brother, and they did not direct their attention to her once.
She tried to sit straighter, to lean forward slightly, and when those small shifts failed she opted to stare directly at Captain Markham for several seconds until he caught the look from the corner of his eye. He actually started, as though surprised by her
, and turned to give her a smile that looked half alarmed.
“Did you need something, Miss Christine?” he asked in a near whisper, as his cousins were speaking about how they hoped the weather would hold.
“Oh.” She blinked rapidly and shook her head. “No. Nothing.”
What a spectacular failure I am, she thought miserably, turning her eyes to the floor. After all of Thomas’s time spent tutoring me, I am still a ninny.
Rather than turn her attention back to the conversation, which obviously did not need her to continue it, she mentally composed a list of questions for Thomas. He would help her and then she need not worry about sitting silently at teas or remaining a wallflower at London balls.
Chapter Eleven
The clouds above threatened to break at any moment, but Thomas kept his word and appeared at the brook early. He checked his watch, hoping Christine would arrive with her usual promptness. He had not long to wait. Christine arrived, coming in at a fast pace, both rider and horse panting.
“I did not think I ought to come,” she said, not dismounting. “Because of the clouds. However, I feared you would uphold your end of our deal, and I decided I had better at least tell you we can forgo our lesson today. The sky looks ready to burst.”
He directed his eyes upward, checking the progress of the clouds. “I thought of that. But it is hard to get away most days and I would not want to miss the opportunity to continue our lessons. I have a plan. Can you come across the brook?”
“Yes.” She tilted her head and regarded him curiously. “It is not as though it is deep.” She tapped the gelding gently with the riding crop in her hand and he moved forward into the water without hesitation. Thunder rumbled in the distance, causing both horses to flick their ears back. “Was that the extent of your plan? That we enjoy the rain from this side instead of the other?” she asked, a teasing sparkle in her eyes.
Thomas wondered at the merit of his idea. The barrier of the brook had been important before. He felt the way one might if a wall was abruptly knocked down in a previously comfortable room: overly exposed and disconcerted.
“Not at all. I thought we would go to my mother’s greenhouse. Hers is rather large, and is mostly empty at present. It is warm and dry. Our horses will have shelter in a shed nearby. What do you think?”
“I think we had best make haste.” She looked pointedly at the sky, frowning now. “This will not hold much longer.”
He strode to his waiting mare and swung up into the saddle. “This way.”
They rode quickly and quietly through the paths familiar to him, until they came upon the gardens. Thomas dismounted and showed her the old gardening shed where they could leave their horses together. Thankfully, the beasts did not mind one another and the shed would not be in use again until spring.
“The greenhouse is around that wall.” Thunder rolled overhead. Thomas, wishing to hurry, took up her hand and briskly walked down the path to the glass house. Christine’s hand clasped his in turn while the other reached up to hold her hat, at its usual jaunty angle, upon her head. She smiled broadly as they came to the entrance, breathing deeply from their pace. He opened the door and allowed her to enter first.
Another crack of thunder echoed through the air, louder now, and the raindrops fell, beating a quick tempo on the glass.
The greenhouse was darkened by the cloudy sky, but there remained ample light to see by, and the room felt much warmer than outside. He shut the door firmly behind them and pointed over her shoulder. “There is a bench there, if you would like to sit.”
Christine nodded and went slowly, her eyes likely adjusting to the change in light as his did, picking her way down the aisle of wintering plants. She lowered herself to the bench with a little sigh and smiled up at him. “That was good thinking. This is a lovely place and much warmer than meeting by the brook, too. You do not think anyone will find us here and make assumptions?”
“I highly doubt it. This is my mother’s refuge. Even the gardener rarely ventures here. She prefers to keep it to herself. She spent the last several days here, preparing plants for the winter. She finished yesterday morning.”
Christine looked around, noting plants with and without greenery. “My sister, Rebecca, has been reading about horticulture. Father says it is a very ladylike pursuit.”
Thomas found a stool against one glass wall and lifted it, bringing it to where Christine sat. He did not think sitting directly next to her would be beneficial to their tutoring session. The bench was really too small, unless two people wished to be abnormally close.
After he settled on the seat a few feet away, he looked around the greenhouse again. “I have heard of several noblemen who are dabbling in the pursuit. Especially in terms of growing pineapples and bananas. It is more than growing flowers for adorning homes. Horticulture, agriculture, are important facets of keeping a large household operating smoothly.”
“Rebecca does not see it that way. Nor does my father. He believes a woman ought to know how to raise and arrange flowers, for ornamentation.”
He could not tell by her tone what her thoughts on the matter were, though his were not favorable. Thomas resisted the urge to make an observation about her father’s lack of vision.
“To each their own,” he said instead, directing his eyes to her again. He affected a more serious tone. “And how are you since our last meeting? Have you had the opportunity to practice what we discussed? Finding things of interest in the gentlemen you converse with?”
She sat straighter in what he recognized as her “pupil” attitude, ready to focus on the subject at hand. “I had opportunity to practice at tea with the Markhams, and I did find my results improved. To an extent. I still felt like I had to put a great deal of effort into being attentive. Perhaps that is because I am aware that the gentlemen I spoke to are completely inappropriate when it comes to choosing a husband.”
“Because they have not the money or connections,” Thomas said, crossing his arms and leaning away from her. While he well understood the ways of the world in marriage he did not necessarily like society’s expectations. A man could be a good, honest, hard-working member of his community, committed to giving his whole life over to the support and care of a wife, and still be overlooked for lack of material possessions.
While his situation was not entirely desperate, it still rankled that the likes of Miss Christine Devon would never give him a second thought. In fact, she was so determined he was an inappropriate choice that here he was, tutoring her. Like a common tradesman.
“Yes.” She looked down at her lap, her eyebrows drawing together. “Father has been very specific about the sort of man I should be pursuing.”
That irritated him even more. Devon struck him as the worst sort of gentleman, putting pressure on his children to fulfill his expectations. “I suppose fathers have certain hopes for marriageable daughters.”
“Indeed. And specific demands.” She forced a smile, which really looked more like a grimace, and took a deep, slow breath before meeting his eyes again. “But I do believe that is the reason I find myself struggling. To put so much effort into a gentleman I know cannot ever be a real matrimonial option feels like playing false. Or being dishonest. I would not like to lead either Markham on.”
“How kind of you,” he said, listening to the rain beat down upon the glass as the storm grew in intensity. If he followed this line of conversation much longer, he knew he would end up being argumentative. The girl followed her father’s orders. Debating with her on the priorities of her husband hunt would help no one. “What would you like to center our efforts on today?”
“Gaining attention,” she said at once, “from the sort that I wish to attract. Let us say I wish a gentleman to be introduced, or I want him to notice me. How do I get notice without being too forward?”
“That is the easiest thing in the world,” he said, half smiling. Thomas did not doubt her abilities to attract anyone she wished. “And your chaperone can easi
ly manage the more difficult points for you. If you tell your aunt who you most wish to be introduced to, it will be her duty to see it done.”
“I still think I ought to know how to go about it for myself,” she countered, “in the case of my aunt not having the right connections or being unavailable.”
He sighed. His mind stretched back to the flirtations of London ballrooms before his trip to the Continent.
“You make eye contact, Miss Christine. Across a room, or during a dance. Make sure the gentleman catches you looking.” He closed his eyes and imagined himself at such an event, standing and looking out over a crowded room. What about her, standing opposite, would draw him in? “Offer the tiniest, barest smile. Too large a smile is considered vulgar. Then look away. Give it the space of, oh, a quarter hour, and then allow him to catch you looking again.” He opened his eyes to see her staring incredulously at him. “If that does not do it, he is likely uninterested at that point in time.”
“That seems very subtle,” she said with obvious misgivings. Her lips pursed as she regarded him earnestly, giving a great deal of weight to the matter. The range of expressions he watched her go through during their time together always amused him. One moment she laughed and the next looked as though she belonged in Parliament, discussing the weighty matters of the world.
Most young ladies were schooled from a young age to always look pleasant and content without drawing attention to their emotions or thoughts. He hoped she would never learn to keep her face a mask as they did. Such a thing would be a shame when the emotions written on her lovely face were as enlightening as they were engaging.
He chuckled and turned his attention back to the present. “That is the goal. You cannot approach a gentleman and introduce yourself. He must seek the introduction. If you give him reason to think you would like to meet him, most unattached gentlemen will make an effort. They will speak to the hostess or the master of ceremonies. They know their part.”
The Social Tutor: A Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 1) Page 9