The Social Tutor

by Sally Britton

  Thomas hesitated to answer. Would he? The point did not bare commenting upon, he told himself, brushing aside the unsettling thought. He answered briskly, “You hardly need worry about me, Miss Christine, or my tastes in ladies. We determined I would teach you according to society’s likes and dislikes. Not mine.”

  Her smile faded and she released an exasperated sigh. “I know. Society. I merely thought that you, as a gentleman of the right age—"

  “But not the right means,” he reminded her, turning his attention to a leafy vine growing on the lattice above her. The conversation made his shoulders feel tight and his back stiff. He had no desire to discuss his family’s shortcomings. Or his. The entire line of conversation nettled him.

  “Do men of varying means think so differently?” Christine asked softly, drawing his attention back to her. He realized her dark brown eyes watched him carefully, though he did what he could to keep from meeting them.

  “We are all flesh and blood, Miss Christine,” he answered as lightly as he could. “Our account books and titles affect us very little when we see a pretty face.”

  “And you do think my face is pretty.” In anyone else, the statement would have sounded incredibly vain. But the innocent way she spoke, her voice soft and her eyebrows raised, kept him from passing such a judgment upon her. She sought reassurance, not flattery.

  Thomas could not help his smile, his feelings put aside. “Yes. I do think your face lovely. As we have established before. Very well. Let us practice the art of smiling across a crowded room. I believe our current crowd of plants will work well. On your feet, Miss.” He stood and offered his hand to her, assisting her to stand. He withdrew it quickly, barely giving himself time to enjoy the warmth of her fingers. He strode down the path between greenery quickly. “We will try this first. An unobstructed view of your quarry.”

  Her eyes brightened and her smile returned, full force, lighting the whole of the darkened building. “Quarry? Am I a huntress now?”

  “All women on the marriage mart are either hunted or hunting,” he quipped. She covered her mouth and giggled. He waved the merriment away, though he nearly smiled. “Enough of that. Here. I stand facing you. Give me your best ‘I would like to meet you’ smile.” He put his arms behind his back and affected an indifferent expression.

  Christine's smile remained wide and bright, despite his irritation.

  “That will never do.” Mr. Gilbert sighed deeply and rolled his eyes heavenward. “Far too forward.”

  She laughed and raised her hands in a helpless manner. “I cannot help it! Practicing my smile is ridiculous.”

  “I have heard of young ladies sitting in front of mirrors for hours to practice smiling and pouting. This is nothing compared to that level of dedication. We must hope you are a natural, as we do not have that sort of time. Look away if you must, to compose the expression, and then look up.”

  Taking his advice, she looked down at the floor to school her amusement. He watched her take a breath before lifting her head slowly and offering him a gentle, small smile.

  Thomas’s heart skipped.

  A natural, indeed. Be careful, Tom, he reminded himself.

  “Excellent. Now, do not maintain eye contact for too long. Prolonged staring might actually frighten a gentleman. Or give him the wrong idea about your intentions. Glance away, slowly.”

  Maintaining the facade, she turned her head as though to look at something to her side.

  He relaxed and released his breath, wondering at what point he started holding it. “Good, yes. Now. I shall turn to one side. My view of you is unobstructed but you must still gain my attention. I can see you from my peripheral.” He took the position and pretended to be looking into the distance, aware of her deep red riding habit on the other side of the enclosure. After a moment of apparent indecisiveness, he noted a quick movement from the corner of his eye. He turned his head and saw that she had pretended to wave to someone behind him.

  Once he was turned, she directed her eyes to him and offered that little smile and lowered lashes, then looked back as though seeking out the person to whom she had waved behind him.

  “Not a bad tactic,” he said, voice raised to carry. “But it would not truly be effective unless someone you knew was on that side of the room. You may be caught in your ruse.”

  “Ah.” She frowned and raised a finger to tap upon her lips, drawing his attention to them in a manner which made him catch his breath again. “I had not thought of that. Very well. One more time?”

  What was she asking? It took him a breath to recover his thoughts.

  “If you wish.” He turned again and waited, trying to ignore the lip-tapping. Ought he to mention how distracting a habit that was?

  “Miss Christine?”

  Her voice carried over from her side of the building. “I am thinking. If I had a fan, I could snap it open quickly. Would that work?”

  “Ballrooms are usually very warm. A fan would not be out of place. Suppose you did not bring yours? Think.”

  Finally, she simply walked across the room, moving with a slow grace he did not think could be taught, as steady in her movements as when she rode her horse into the clearing, until she stood more in his line of sight. She gave him the now perfected expression, and it was potent enough to cause his disobedient heart to flip.

  Thomas shoved that sensation away and attempted to focus on Christine, his pupil and nothing more.

  “I suggest you employ the same tactic when the view of the gentleman is obstructed. Keep in mind to never stray too far from your chaperone.” He smiled and offered her a slight bow. “Well done today, Miss Christine.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gilbert.” She curtsied, her brighter, less socially acceptable grin appearing once more. He found he preferred that beaming expression to those they contrived together.

  Christine looked at the glass roof. “The rain is slowing.”

  Thomas looked up as well, noting the gray skies above. The patter did seem to be softer than before. “Indeed. Is there anything more you would like to discuss today?”

  “Not in the matters of flirtation,” she answered with good humor, obviously as relieved as he was that the lessons were over for the day. He chose not to comment as he neared where she stood. “Though I do wish to know more about your Italian stock horses. My father’s head groom has been to your stables and he is most impressed with your ladies.”

  “They are quite noble, I suppose ladies is an apt enough word for them. They come from famous Italian lines. I have my Lipizzan from the Pluto dynasty. She was difficult to procure. I had to save the life of her master’s groom. My Carmen, a Calabrese, is a beautiful girl. Lively, strong, but with a pleasant temperament. What did you think of her?”

  “She is the one you rode today? Oh, I think she is positively marvelous! There is a lightness in her step that makes me believe what you say about temperament. She seems a cheerful mare.”

  Christine’s astute observations pleased him. “Very.”

  “And your third Italian beauty?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “She is my youngest. My Sarcidano. I have high hopes for her. Very wild. Flighty. With the right breeding, I could get a racer from her.”

  “They sound magnificent. I shall have to come up with an excuse to be a legitimate visitor in your home, if I am ever to be allowed to see them.” The comment struck him as wistful and he very nearly asked her to come and see them that very moment. But it would not be at all appropriate. For either of them. She would need to enter his home as a guest of his mother.

  “Perhaps I can arrange something,” he said at last, watching her expression change into one of appreciation.

  “Thank you.” She tipped her head to one side. “We could arrange at that time to ‘negotiate’ the breeding rights of our stables. Then it will not be such a surprise when my grooms bring the stallions over after Christmas.”

  “That is a clever notion.” He regarded her seriously
before speaking. “What becomes of your horses when you marry?”

  “I intend to do all in my power to keep my rights to them. They are my property, not my father’s,” Christine stated firmly. “There are ways to ensure a wife’s property remains apart from her husband’s, but I have not broached the subject with my father. I know he does not view the idea favorably.”

  “I could look into that for you,” he offered. “It would make me feel as though we were on more even footing in this bargain of ours.” It would be a shame for her to lose the rights to the animals her mother left in her care, especially when she bore such apparent love for them.

  “If you would, I would be most grateful.” She looked again into the rain-splattered glass and he followed her gaze to enjoy the quiet sound of the ending storm.

  They said little else, except to bid each other good day. After Thomas saw Christine safely mounted and on her way, he turned toward the stables but came to a stop when movement on one of the paths caught his eye. His mother stood at the corner of the greenhouse, watching him with raised eyebrows.

  Thomas’s blood froze.

  He realized his and Christine’s clandestine tutoring sessions had been found out.

  Chapter Twelve

  After seeing to his horse in great haste, Thomas nearly ran into the house and went straight to his mother’s sitting room. He knew she would be waiting for him. He felt like a boy, summoned to her domain for a correction on his behavior. This time, he certainly deserved it.

  He found her there, in her favorite chair, looking as though she had barely situated herself before the fire, adjusting her shawl around her shoulders.

  “Mother,” he greeted as he came closer and bent to kiss her cheek.

  She allowed the kiss, then slowly shook her head at him. “Thomas, sit down here this instant and tell me what is going on.”

  “Going on?” he asked, making a last effort at innocence, hoping she had not truly seen Christine leave their property with him staring after her.

  “Yes. In my greenhouse, of all places!” Her eyes narrowed and she gestured impatiently at the chair behind him. “And I warn you, should I not like what you have to say you will find yourself in very dire circumstances.” Her shoulders straightened and her chin came down. “I raised you better than this, Thomas. Philandering with an innocent girl!”

  “Now, Mother.” He sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead, still standing. “It is not at all what you are imagining. I am not taking advantage of Miss Christine in any way. She is a friend, nothing more, and I have been assisting her as a friend.”

  “Nothing more,” she added with a skeptical raise of her eyebrow. “Assisting her. In what way? Had she a sudden, terrible need to understand the workings of a greenhouse? Hm?”

  “Not at all.” Thomas finally sunk into the chair across from her, slowly, exhaustion settling in his bones. “Miss Christine approached me with a business arrangement. It seems she heard of my desire to start a horse farm; and, in return for being of service to her, I will be given the rights to use both her prized stallions as stud horses.”

  “Well!” His mother looked both disbelieving and perplexed. “I cannot say I have ever heard of a young woman granting breeding rights of her horses as a way to catch a husband, but I suppose I do not mingle enough in society to have learned of such tales.”

  Thomas gaped at her, surprised by her tone. “Mother!”

  “What on earth do you mean, a business arrangement? Service to her? It makes no sense, Thomas. No young lady of gentle breeding goes about doing business of any kind with bachelors, unless it is the sort that ends in a wedding or disgrace.” Her eyes went to the door behind him, assuring herself it remained shut, and then back to Thomas. “And suppose I was not the only one to see the two of you leaving the greenhouse together? What on earth are you about, meeting secretly, on our property? What is this terribly clandestine business?”

  “It is nothing so sinister as you imagine,” he insisted, a headache beginning to pulse at his temple. “Indeed, it is absolutely ridiculous.”

  “Pray, enlighten me.” Her tone remained firm and her gaze hardened. “Because what you might call ridiculous, others could call scandalous. I do not want you ruining the reputation of that poor girl.”

  “So it is Christine you are worried for?” he asked, looking up at her through his fingers as he massaged his forehead. “Not your well-behaved son?”

  She waved that comment away impatiently. “Tell me what you were up to, Thomas, or I will go report to the girl’s father myself of your skulking about.”

  “You will not believe it,” he cautioned, letting his hand fall to the arm of the chair. Her unrelenting glare did nothing but demand he continue, and with greater speed.

  With nothing for it, Thomas tried to explain.

  “Miss Christine Devon has found, in planning for her first season in London, that she is woefully ill-prepared to move about in society in a way that would attract potential suitors.” His mother’s imperious eyebrows hastened him on.

  “Knowing that I was raised a gentleman, yet I find myself now in less than favorable circumstances, she offered me the rights to her horses if I would do her the kindness of tutoring her in social graces.” He shut his mouth over the final word and dared his mother, with raised eyebrows and his most serious expression, to doubt him.

  For a long moment she stared at Thomas, then opened her mouth as if to ask a question. She closed it again without a sound, and her eyebrows drew down in a tight V. At last she managed to say, “That is unbelievable. Tutoring a girl in social graces? What does that even mean?”

  “It means,” he said, slowly and with tone carefully measured, “that her education in terms of what is and is not appropriate behavior in mixed company has been found by her to be inadequate. I happened to witness, firsthand, her strained attempts at conversation with Mr. Ames and a group of young people. It seems no one ever taught Miss Christine to politely curb her tongue.”

  “Is that all?” his mother asked, her tone faint. “You met with her today in the greenhouse to teach her how to carry on a conversation?”

  He reached up to rub the bridge of his nose, pinching his eyes shut. “Because of the rain. And today, we were actually working on appropriate ways to gain a gentleman’s attention when one has not been introduced.” He offered her a tentative smile when she gaped at him. “Normally, we meet by the brook. Away from where anyone might see. For precisely this reason. People jump to the most absurd conclusions.”

  “And well they might, when a handsome young bachelor and a beautiful miss exit a secluded greenhouse,” she said, barely keeping her voice down. “Thomas, this is terrible. You have been meeting in secret to teach her how to catch a husband.”

  “You could put it like that,” he conceded. “But I much prefer to say that I have been tutoring her in social customs.” He risked the smile that saved him from many a reprimand in his youth. “It is not too terrible, Mother.”

  “It is positively ghastly,” she countered, pulling her shawl tighter about her. “And were you any younger I might take you straight to your father.”

  “Really?” He raised his eyebrows. “It is that bad, is it?” If he kept making light of the situation she would not be as disturbed as she was at present, he hoped.

  One hand whipped out, index finger pointed directly at him the way a soldier might brandish a saber to intimidate underlings. “Do not toy with me, young man. I am still your mother and I can still ring a peel over you for getting into a terrible scrape. This must stop. At once. You will give the young lady your regrets, forget about her horses or breeding rights or whatever the arrangement was, and start behaving like a gentleman again.”

  “That will not do, Mother,” he said softly. “A gentleman does not go back on his agreements. Especially with young ladies. And I have no wish to do so. I need her horses, Mother, or I must give up my own and all my dreams with them.”

  A mother’s heart, he well
knew, would not be entirely immune to such an argument as that. Indeed, she did pause and regard him solemnly for several long moments.

  “If anyone should catch you, Tom,” she said softly, “then both of you might have to forgo your dreams. You could be forced to marry. Your reputation and hers would be ruined.”

  “We are careful. Today is the single time we have been near enough anyone to be caught.” He sighed and looked toward the fire. “It was a touch of bad luck. Or carelessness, on my part.”

  “Tom,” she whispered and he looked to see her eyes pleading with him, her expression worried. “Swear to me you are conducting yourself as a complete gentleman. Please.”

  “I swear, Mother. Miss Christine is safe in my company and always will be,” he stated, eyes level, tone sincere. “I hold her in great respect and I would never do a thing to harm her person or her reputation. But in this way, as I give her the guidance she has requested, I will also have the means to save our family from the shame of selling lands or harming our tenants.”

  “I do not like it, Tom,” she said softly, shaking her head. “But I trust you to behave yourself. Oh, dear.” She sighed deeply. “I have so often worried over those girls, and now it seems those worries were well founded.”

  This sounded like an interesting revelation. He relaxed more fully into his chair and regarded his mother with raised eyebrows. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Their mother, dying so young, leaving them at such a critical age. They have had positively no feminine guidance except what their father provided through governesses. I doubt he ever took the time to ensure those dreary women were doing a fair job. The man is never at home and he keeps his daughters terribly cloistered. It is rare the young ladies attend any community function. I see them at private events, from time to time, but the young people always keep to themselves. Oh, if I would have paid more attention to them.”

  “Mother,” he said, amused at the way she wrung her hands. “It was hardly your place to intervene in their upbringing.”

  “I could have been a better neighbor,” she argued softly. “Dear me. I wonder if this is why poor Julia never married? I have never been one for gossip, but no one really talked of why she had the one season and did not marry. She entered into society and society pushed her out again.”