The Social Tutor

by Sally Britton

  Thomas blinked, his mind processing what she said, and then he felt his ire begin to build. “A list of appropriate mates?” His jaw clenched over the word.

  “Yes. The approved families which I am permitted to entertain thoughts of marrying into. I am not to deviate from that list.”

  “You knew he wished you to marry well. I thought it was your intention to please him,” he said darkly, crossing his arms before him. “Why would it be shocking he has a particular idea of who would be best for his daughter?” But a list? It sounded unbelievable and insulting.

  A humorless laugh escaped her. “I suppose it isn’t too shocking, when you say it that way. But the list is not of those who are best for me. They are the list of those who are best for him. Business and society connections he wishes to strengthen or begin—to receive a return on his investment.” At his narrowed eyes, she clarified. “I am an investment. That is all a daughter is. Or did you not know?” A trace of bitter humor underscored her words.

  “He said something along those lines to me once,” Thomas conceded. “I thought little of it. It is true that a woman’s marriage can benefit her family, after all.”

  “That is all my marriage is meant to do.” Her tone sounded as though she was weary of the thought. “He also made sure I knew, quite clearly, that I would have no place in the family at the end of the season unless I married. He doesn’t want another failure, like Julia, to care for into spinsterhood.”

  Thomas raised his eyebrows. “You must have misunderstood. One season to make such a spectacular connection? It has been done, but to expect it is completely unreasonable.”

  “My father expects results in his business dealings.”

  “You are his daughter. Not a business associate.”

  “More like an employee,” she said softly, “meant to do my master’s bidding and dismissed if I am unable to fulfill my contracted requirements.”

  Thomas sat next to her, turned sideways on the log, and reached out to take up one of her hands. “Christine, you must have misunderstood. No one could be so callous.”

  “He said my mother was useless to him, and to their marriage,” she whispered, eyes glimmering with tears again. “Useless.”

  Now Thomas understood the heartbroken sobs. While Devon’s words about his daughter’s worth were cruel, they did not seem to be the true surprise as she prepared for her grand entrance into society. His expectations put pressure and anxiety upon her, but his words about her mother shattered her heart. He took up her hands and held them in his, his eyes meeting hers.

  “Your mother,” he said softly, “was one of the kindest women I ever knew. She was happy. She loved her life. She loved her children. She enjoyed her horses. She liked helping others. My mother adored her. Spoke of her the other day, in fact, as a light that went out far too soon. If your father did not know what a precious gift he had in marrying such a lady, that is his loss. Not yours.”

  She sniffled and smiled, the most honest smile he had seen that day. “I miss her. I miss her so much it hurts. I wish she were here. I wish she could help me.” She bit her lip as the tears started to spill again.

  Thomas reached into his coat for a handkerchief and dried beneath her eyes. “None of that. Your nose is turning red. If you keep crying, and stay out in this weather, you will catch a terrible cold. I must warn you, as your tutor, it is nearly impossible to flirt with a stuffy head.”

  A startled laugh burst from her and she quickly covered her mouth with one hand.

  “See now? The world isn’t such a bad place. You have had a rough time of it, but your faithful tutor will see you through.” He gave her hand a squeeze and then pressed the handkerchief into it. “Keep that. In case you need it again.”

  Though he very much wished to tell her exactly what sort of person he thought her father to be, he thought it better to change the subject and help her move forward. He could hardly do anything about her father’s decisions regarding her future. But he could give her whatever tools she needed to find her own happiness.

  “Now. What is it you wish to learn today?”

  ∞∞∞

  Christine worried the handkerchief in her hands for a few moments, eyes lowered to her lap. “I am tired of learning. It seems my list of appropriate and eligible husbands has grown quite short. I am not sure general flirting would be advisable. I feel I need more specific help. If I want to be the sort of lady who captures interest and retains it, I need to immediately be seen as the sort that would make a good wife.”

  Christine darted a glance at him from under her lashes. He retained his smile, though she thought his eyes darkened at her words. “Would that not be advisable? Up until this point, we have talked of how I might gain a man’s interest or at least avoid making a complete fool of myself. But what of appearing to be a fine wife?”

  “I believe different men have different opinions on what that would entail,” he told her, turning away to face the brook again. “For instance, I believe that your father and I have vastly different ideas of what makes a good wife.”

  “Truly?” The idea intrigued her when she thought on what she knew of her father, and she found she could believe it. “Father says a woman is to represent him well in society. Do you agree with that?”

  “Yes,” he answered slowly, drawing out the word. “But I also believe a man ought to do his wife the same honor.”

  She tipped her head to one side, taking in the firm set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head while he studied the water. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “A man should act honorably in his business dealings and social activities, bringing no shame to his wife or family. He should be faithful to the woman he marries, and I believe that means more than convention would say.” He looked down into her eyes, his eyebrows drawing together, perhaps uncertain as to how much detail he should share on the subject. “Being faithful means never giving her a moment’s doubt as to his regard for her, his desire to see her happy, and supporting her efforts in their family.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Christine said. “A true partnership.” She looked toward the brook and their horses, standing side by side to share their body heat. She felt grateful the weather was mild today, allowing for this conversation to take place. She sniffled softly and took a deep breath, wondering if she ought to ask the most impertinent question of all. “What would a woman be like to attract a gentleman such as you?”

  His expression turned curious, his eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”

  Christine swallowed and hoped any blush that escaped could be excused by her recent bout of crying, or the cold breeze. She could not tell him the truth, ever, about her curiosity over him. She could not tell him she wished to know if he could see himself ever marrying someone like her.

  During their lessons together, Christine had come to admire Thomas’s kindness, his resolve, and intelligence. The more time they spent in one another’s company, the more she came to know him and his expressions. When she teased him and he half-smiled, then rolled his eyes and tried to return them to more serious conversation, she always wished to bring the smile back. Thomas’s smile elevated him from merely pleasant looking to handsome.

  “I suppose what I really mean is what sort of woman do you hope to find when you take a wife?”

  There. She said it, and in general enough terms he could not possibly know what she truly meant. She kept her shoulders back and her eyes forward, trying not to notice his scrutiny in the long moment of silence which followed her question. Christine lost her nerve and quickly retracted the inquiry.

  “That is entirely too personal a question. Forgive me.” At least she did not sound too disappointed. She looked down at her lap and pretended to adjust her gloves, tugging them up at the wrists.

  “Not at all. I suppose with your limited experience,” he said with a hint of amusement in his voice, “you would wish to understand how different I must be from your father.”

  Christine’s eyes
came back up to his and she relaxed, smiling. “Yes. Please.” They sat close, though they did not touch, and he looked down into her eyes for a long moment before turning away, clearing his throat.

  Thomas stood abruptly and brushed off the back of his breeches. He started pacing before her, his expression thoughtful. “I hope there are many such men, different from your father.” He stopped and turned to face her. “Very well. I will tell you about my ideal woman. Would that suit you?”

  “Yes,” Christine answered quickly, more than a touch eager. She leaned forward, trying to encourage him with a bright smile. “Please. I would like very much to know.”

  “To start,” he said, half-smiling at her, likely amused by the turn in conversation. “I would hope she would be a woman of understanding. It would be difficult to spend the rest of my life listening to a woman who spoke only of local gossip, or the weather, as if that were all of value in the world. I would much prefer conversations about our life, our common concerns. To speak of business and politics on occasion, to talk of books. My parents speak of all things together, sharing each other’s worries and amusements, enjoying one another’s company as friends. I would like that.”

  “A friendly relationship,” she said, “as well as a partnership.” She allowed herself to reflect on this new thought. To be more than an asset, but actually be valued as a person with thoughts of her own would be incredible. The people who treated her as though she was of value now were her sisters and Thomas. They often spoke of things with true substance. Thomas never censured her for sharing her opinion or speaking her mind. Being with him always made her more hopeful for the future and what it held.

  “What else?” she asked, bringing her attention back to him. He stared down at her, lost in his thoughts as she had been in hers, but quickly brought himself back to the present.

  “I should like it if we shared similar interests,” he added, resuming his pacing. “I cannot hope to necessarily find someone as mad about horses as I am, but it would be a credit to her if she understood why I feel as I do about them and why I would like to begin a horse farm.”

  “That is reasonable. A woman who thought you daft could hardly be supportive of your work.” Her smile returned as she tried to picture the sort of lady of which he spoke. Kind, caring, interested in every word he had to say about horses. “What if she is not as fond of them?”

  Christine knew she and he felt a similar passion for the animals, but she could not think of a single lady of her acquaintance with half as much interest.

  “I think so long as she is mad about me, she would be interested in what I like, at least enough to make intelligent conversation. Offer encouragement.” He shrugged, eyes meeting hers before darting away again.

  “That would be of benefit to the relationship.” Christine’s heart picked up at the idea of finding a man who would not resent her attention to her prized horses or merely indulge her in her interest of them. Most gentlemen did not think it entirely proper for women to spend such a great deal of time in the saddle. She could not imagine Thomas would ever mind.

  His next words confirmed her thoughts.

  “I hope she will like the countryside. I am not overly fond of London and would prefer to remain near my horses and my home. Take bruising rides every day instead of sedate walks through the parks of the city.” Thomas shrugged, one side of his mouth inching upwards. “I prefer the open air to the crowded streets of London.”

  “I certainly understand that,” she said with sympathy. “I am not overly excited about that aspect of town. How am I or my horses to get any exercise when we must walk slowly everywhere?” She sighed and adjusted her seat on the log, not minding the cold. She usually forgot all about the weather when she and Thomas met. “What else?”

  He chuckled and turned to face her. “What else? I would like a woman of feeling, of passion. Someone who is kind to others. A woman who loves children and wants to be a mother to ours.” His cheeks went pink and he stuttered to a stop. He cleared his throat. “My family is very close. We care greatly for one another. I want my future family to be the same.”

  “What about appearance?” she asked softly. “What should she look like?” Christine held her breath, waiting for an answer she knew he should not give.

  He glanced away too quickly for her to see his expression, though she gathered from the stiffening of his shoulders that this was where he might wish to stop the line of questioning. But why? Could his thoughts have turned where hers went?

  He surprised her by continuing instead of waving off the question. “I think so long as she cares for me and I for her, I have no opinion whether her hair is brown or red or yellow. Whether she is tall or short. Fair or dark.”

  Christine bit her bottom lip and rose slowly, disappointed and unable to admit why. She knew enough now and it was time to end this line of discussion.

  “It seems you know what you wish to find in a wife. I wish you luck.” It did not escape her notice that much of what he said could easily apply to her and their relationship thus far. Did he realize how much of what he said reflected her personality and desires? Could he know how she felt when they stood here, in the cold, laughing and talking of the inconsequential and the important aspects of their lives?

  “Thank you.” He looked away still, across the brook. “What sort of man is it you wish to marry?”

  She laughed, though it was without any true humor. “If I can find someone who will treat me as a friend instead of an acquired asset, I believe I will be content enough.” And there was nothing further she wished to say on the subject, knowing that her father’s expectations put her desires far out of reach. “I am afraid I should not allow myself to dream since my father will have the last say on the matter.”

  “That sounds dreary,” he said, his head turning back so that she could see the lines of his profile, including the bump on his nose where it must have been broken. She wondered how that happened. “One of the gentlemen on his list might turn out to be exactly the sort of man you wish for.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, sighing. “I should not get my hopes up. It would be very difficult to find a man who wishes to marry a woman who is horse-mad, with very little experience in society, and a father who is determined to use every resource available, including his own family, to further his aspirations.” She looked at the graying sky and found a reason to withdraw from what had become a difficult conversation. “The weather seems to be turning. I should get home.”

  “Yes. The clouds insist upon it.” He walked her to the horses, both of them remaining silent, and she wished she could reach out to him and speak her mind again, tell him something that would make him smile. But her tongue was learning its place. What she most wanted to say, and what she certainly could not say, was that she wished he was on that list of bachelors. Then at least, if he wished it, they could marry as friends.

  Except she knew, Thomas would only marry someone he loved.

  As she rode home along the familiar path, Christine could not put the thought from her mind. It made her heart ache to think of him marrying. She hoped he found great happiness, but knowing it would be with another, and she would marry as her father wished, made it difficult to feel anything except dreary and alone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Christine sat silently in the window seat of her room, staring out at the cloudless sky, reflecting on her latest meeting with Thomas. Though it began in tears, it ended on such a different, odd note. Her melancholy lingered, but her loneliness abated after speaking with him. She turned his description of his ideal woman over and over again in her mind. She fit the qualifications almost perfectly. They could be happy together if given the chance.

  Even if her father would allow such a match, which he never would, Thomas would likely think her absurd. He would never want to marry a woman whom he had taught how to flirt. The very idea was laughable.

  Yet here she sat, imagining what such a marriage might be like.

  A qu
iet knock caused her to turn to the door. “Yes?”

  The door opened and Julia slipped in, smiling softly. “I finished your shawl,” she said, coming forward with the material in her hands. “With the weather turning, I thought you might like it now instead of at Christmas, when I usually give you new pieces.”

  Christine smiled and gestured for her sister to join her on the window seat. “You always give me such lovely things.” She took the knitted material her sister handed her and examined the deep green wool, soft to the touch, with real appreciation. “It’s beautiful, Julia! Thank you. I love the color.” It was close to that of Thomas’s eyes, which was such a silly thought that Christine pushed it away fiercely, wrapping the shawl around her shoulders.

  “I thought it might suit you. Makes your eyes look darker, full of mystery,” Julia said teasingly, pulling her legs beneath her on the cushioned seat. “Have you been hiding up here all day? I haven’t seen you since breakfast and it is nearly tea time.”

  With a shrug, Christine allowed her eyes to slip back to the window. “I have been thinking.”

  “Hm. More like avoiding Father,” Julia said, lips pursed and eyebrows up.

  Christine laughed, though little humor colored the sound. “How did you know?”

  Her sister half shrugged and leaned against the windowpane, looking out into the world beyond. “I have become adept at avoiding him. I recognize all the attempts. With him home, it is rather unpredictable where he will be and when. Bedrooms are generally the safest place. Or the attics.”

  “Is it terrible?” Christine asked. “Hiding like this?”

  “It is not terrible to hide. It is terrible to cause people to hide from you.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I must say, it is strange not to hear you defending him as you usually do. By now you have usually told me if we do as he wishes, all will be peace and harmony in the home.”