The Social Tutor

by Sally Britton

  When he learned that the evening’s festivities would not include dancing, due to the small size of the gathering and other entertainments, he could not tell whether the idea pleased or perturbed him. The conflicting emotions made him take steady stock of himself.

  Thomas insisted to himself he regretted the lack of dancing because it would be an excellent opportunity to see how well Christine used her lessons about the ballroom. On the other hand, he felt a great deal of relief because he would not be expected to stand up with her or anyone else. The thought of dancing again with Christine, even if it was a simple country tune where they bowed and promenaded down a line of other dancers, left him very unsettled.

  It would not be a good idea, he thought, to dance with her again.

  For both their sakes.

  He put that idea firmly from him in time to realize their carriage drew near the walk at the Whitsons’ home for the evening party.

  Thomas left the vehicle first, then his father, and they both assisted each of the ladies down to the path. When Christine came to step out, the light from the house bathing her face in a warm yellow glow, their eyes met. Before Thomas could offer so much as a reassuring smile, she ducked her head and reached for his father’s helping hand instead of his own.

  Once past him and his outstretched hand, she shivered and pulled her cloak tighter about her. “Oh, let’s hurry! It is freezing!” She grabbed her sister’s arm and darted up the steps with great speed and impressive agility for one encumbered by a winter cloak and skirts.

  Thomas stood, gaping after her, knowing at that moment her pretended oversight was a purposeful move.

  “Coming, Tom?” his father asked, already halfway up the walk with Thomas’s mother on his arm.

  Thomas closed his mouth and hurried to follow, his mind churning over the reasons Christine would have to avoid him in such a manner. Had he offended her? While their last parting felt strained, he did not think it ended entirely unpleasantly. She did, after all, send over her head groom to discuss moving her fine stallions into his stables the week of Christmas.

  His puzzlement continued as they greeted their host, adjourned to places to lay their coats and hats, and found warm cider and refreshments waiting in a parlor.

  Christine and Julia rejoined the room after freshening up, but Christine stayed on the opposite side of the parlor from him. He noticed and decided to test how much she wished to keep out of his way. He slowly walked around the room, greeting others, keeping an eye on his pupil.

  She moved counter to each of his movements until they were once again on opposite sides of the room.

  Thomas determined to give her the space she apparently deemed necessary. Observing her actions would likely be his best course, then if the opportunity presented itself he must find out why she acted as skittish as an unbroken filly.

  ∞∞∞

  How is it possible, Christine wondered, to feel Thomas watching me?

  It did not matter whether she stood with her back to him or where she could see him out of the corner of her eye, she simply knew his eyes were upon her. The sensation left her unnerved. Her decision to ignore him, to completely push him out of her circle this night, felt reasonable and wise at the time she made it.

  If Julia was right, if Christine truly was falling in love with Thomas Gilbert, she must do all in her power to stop. At once. And she must keep him from doing the same. Their waltz at the stream, beautiful as it was, gave her every indication that Julia knew what she was talking about.

  To love Thomas Gilbert put her in a situation both dangerous and hopeless. She could never marry him. Her father would withdraw all support from her, she would never obtain his favor, and he would denounce her as a disappointment. Thomas came from a well-respected family, but their means and their connections were modest at best. He could not even afford stud fees to begin his horse farm; how could he ever afford to take a wife?

  Christine continuously pushed this question from her mind. It was not her place to wonder about his matrimonial hopes or ambitions. She must focus on her own goals.

  Her goals had narrowed to fifteen family names on a piece of paper shoved to the bottom of the trunk awaiting her London trip.

  She did not like thinking on that list. She liked it less than thinking on Thomas’s marriage prospects.

  Not that he had any, that she knew of, because he never mentioned having a particular lady’s attention. Indeed, if their conversation about his ideal woman was any indication, he had yet to meet a woman who would fulfill his dreams of a love match.

  To marry for love, she told herself, is beyond my reach and a silly thing for anyone to hope for. It is more important to marry for comfort and security.

  Isn’t it?

  Decidedly muddled, Christine lost several hands of cards before realizing she must give her spot at the table to someone more focused on the game at hand. She made her way to the refreshment table, looking for another cup of spiced cider.

  Yet her mind remained distracted enough that she did not realize Thomas already stood next to the table until he refilled her cup. She blinked up at him, lost in her musings, and tried to clear her thoughts.

  “Enjoying your evening, Miss Christine?” he asked, his deep voice low and quiet, his dark green eyes searching hers.

  “Immensely,” she squeaked, then cleared her throat. “Very much, Mr. Gilbert. Thank you for asking. How are you enjoying the games?”

  “I haven’t played any of them yet,” he said, crossing his arms and looking down at her with a raised brow. “You do not seem to be doing well, however.”

  She swallowed. “I find I am not suited for cards tonight.”

  He leaned slightly closer, though the distance between them remained completely respectable. “That is not the game I meant.”

  She felt her cheeks heat and she brought a hand up to grasp her pearl necklace, for something to do. “Oh? I have not tried any other game this evening.”

  “I have noticed.” His tone was amused, his voice low. “I would think this would be an excellent opportunity for you to practice that other game you and I have spoken of so often.”

  That got her attention and she focused on him in great surprise. “The other game-?” She blinked, unable to believe he would bring up their tutoring in public even in such a disguised way. “I see.”

  Captain Markham appeared at the table, shaking his head ruefully. “It is a lucky thing we gamble with pennies tonight, or I would have lost a fortune! I must try my hand at something else. What of you, Miss Christine? Have you any winnings to speak of?”

  Her eyes still on Thomas, Christine answered plainly, “No. None at all.”

  If he wished her to begin a flirtation, to practice the games between men and women, she would. Immediately.

  “Captain,” she said brightly, turning to him with the perfectly polite smile of society, one which barely turned up her lips. “Would you care to try your hand at something besides cards?”

  “I’m game,” he answered amiably. “There is a draughts board. Do you play draughts?”

  “Indeed. It is a favorite of my younger brother.” She moved to slip her hand through his arm, though he had yet to offer it. “I would be most delighted to play against you, Captain.”

  The young officer turned absolutely pink, but beamed down at her in a most gratifying manner. “Of course. Wonderful. Yes.” He led the way to the table and Christine resisted the urge to look over her shoulder to send a triumphant smile to her erstwhile tutor.

  Yet she knew, without a doubt, that he would continue watching her.

  Very well. Back straight and shoulders square enough to please any general, Christine knew what she must do. High time for her to prove both that she could maneuver about in society and that she could push her growing affection for Thomas Gilbert to the back of her mind and heart. Christine must focus on her goals.

  “Captain,” she said, tone light, “tell me how you have enjoyed your stay in our sleepy lit
tle part of England. How does it compare to the life of a soldier?”

  The young man looked incredibly pleased with himself as he set up the draught board at a table for two. He launched right in to describing his great enjoyment of the country and the society of his uncle and cousins. The food, apparently, tasted much better, and the company he found fine and diverting.

  “I particularly enjoy the time we have spent visiting all the neighbors, and tonight’s entertainment. The best thing about small neighborhoods,” he said, “is how friendly and inviting everyone can be.”

  “We do try,” she said, reminding herself not to smile too broadly. “Ah, I am white. I will move first.” She played the game, keeping her chin lowered enough to make it possible to glance up at him through her eyelashes. She kept that little half smile on her face, though it felt rather absurd, like playing a part in a theatrical. “Tell me more about being an officer. You must see and do the most interesting things. Where will you go after Christmas?”

  He needed very little encouragement to talk of himself and his men, though there was no arrogance in his words. But talking and strategizing were obviously difficult for him as he continually blundered his draughts to set up jumps for her. She pretended not to see them, for the most part, and kept the game going longer than necessary. She smiled at the right moments, allowed a soft laugh at one point, and managed to lose the game to him.

  All in all, a splendid effort, she thought.

  Except after their game finished, he gave every indication of wishing to speak to someone on the other side of the room.

  Determined not to be left behind, she spoke hastily. “I do wish I had been available to spend more time with you and your brother. You are both delightful company. I hope we will see much of each other in London.”

  Captain Markham’s eyes met hers and he hesitated the barest instant before offering his arm. “Would you like to enjoy our company a little more? Archie would be delighted, I am certain.”

  She slipped her arm through his, pleased with her quick thinking. “Thank you.” He smiled and lead her across the room where they struck up a conversation with his elder brother, their cousin Hannah, and the vicar’s eldest daughter.

  Christine dutifully let the men guide the conversation and noted with some admiration that Hannah knew exactly how to encourage the gentlemen to converse while remaining complimentary herself.

  But at this rate, with both of them acting as accessories, Christine would hardly stand out in a crowd. Frustrated, she bit her lip and automatically looked in Thomas’s direction.

  Thomas stood, tall and handsome, against a wall across the room. Arms crossed, eyes on her, when he saw her watching he smirked. Smirked. As though amused by her attempts to engage the interests in either of the young men to whom she spoke.

  Her cheeks burned.

  Julia was wrong. She must be wrong. Thomas was not in love with her. He fulfilled their arrangement to get what he really wanted—her horses—and now he stood laughing at her ineptitude.

  Her heart hammered against her chest as she attempted to bring her focus back to the young men on either side of her. Very well. She put on a gentle smile, threaded her arm through that of the elder brother, and asked in a soft voice, “Do you still intend to come to the Christmas ball?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” he said, sounding friendly though appearing suddenly puzzled.

  Had she spoken dreadfully out of turn? But there was nothing for it. She pressed onward, aware that all standing in their little group now watched her. “Delightful. It seems we are forever short on gentlemen when it comes time to dance. I do hope you enjoy dancing.”

  “We have been known to attempt it,” Mr. Markham said with a smile. “What of you, Miss Christine? Do you enjoy dancing?”

  “When my partners are handsome and agreeable, I do,” she said lightly, casting an admiring glance up at him before looking down and away. The trick apparently worked in company as well as on the dance floor, as the gentleman drew himself up taller.

  Captain Markham chuckled. “Then you had better forgo dancing with my brother. He is far too unhandsome and disagreeable. I would be pleased to stand up with you, Miss Christine.”

  Archibald Markham bristled. “But my younger brother is far more used to marching in time than dancing with young ladies. You ought to avoid standing up with him. With the captain as your partner, it will end up looking more like a military parade than the graceful movement to which you are doubtless accustomed. Would you allow me the honor of your first dance of the evening?”

  In that moment, Christine discovered the delightful possibilities of stirring up a competitive match between gentlemen. Why had that tactic never occurred to her before? Feeling clever, and wicked, she shot a quick look towards Thomas, where he was watching with less amusement now.

  “Certainly, Mr. Markham. I would be most delighted.”

  “I would ask of you the next dance,” Captain Markham added quickly, half-bowing. “Then I might help you recover from the company of my brother.” Although he grinned as he spoke, she did detect a level of challenge in his tone.

  “Now, gentlemen,” she said, pulling her arm from them in order to fold her hands before her. “You are both so kind. I am certain you each dance beautifully. But tell me, how do you ride? I so love to go riding and I was thinking that tomorrow, if the weather is fine, I will ride into the village. I am in need of ribbon, you see, for the ball. I should like some company.”

  They both volunteered at the same moment, and Christine looked to Hannah, who had grown rather quiet and wide eyed as she watched her cousins behave nonsensically. “Miss Hannah, will you join us? I would very much like your opinion. The exercise will be lovely, and you sit a horse so well, I think you would enjoy it.”

  Hannah looked gratified to be invited and nodded. “I would happily come. Shall we make a regular party out of the afternoon?”

  “Indeed.” Christine smiled up at Mr. Markham, coyly tipping her head to one side. “Do you have any particular friends we should invite, Mr. Markham?”

  Obviously delighted with the attention he was receiving, he answered gallantly. “I do not, so long as you are present with my cousin.”

  “How very kind of you. But we have the four of us. It would hardly be wise to make that sojourn in such a small company. Suppose we were set upon by brigands?”

  “I think we could defend you admirably from the sort of scoundrels this part of the country would produce,” the Captain countered with raised chin. “Rest assured, dear lady, I would defend you.”

  “As would I,” Mr. Markham added, chest puffing out.

  Christine touched each of them on the arm, simultaneously. “What wonderful protectors we have, Miss Hannah. Truly, it is a great shame that you gentlemen have not been about more often. We would have grand adventures, I am certain.”

  The handsome young captain nodded, his eyes resting on hers in a familiar manner she did not find comfortable. “Undoubtedly. I really must visit my uncle more often. Knowing there is such splendid company in his neighborhood gives greater encouragement, you see.”

  Not to be outdone or ignored, Mr. Markham launched into planning their ride for the next day. By alternating her attention between the two, stroking the ego of each with smiles and well-placed compliments, Christine surprised herself at how quickly she had them both eating out of her hands. When she moved to the refreshment table, they followed. Hannah excused herself to try another hand of cards, but Christine managed to keep the brothers with her through a cup of cider, a sandwich each, and then manipulated them into playing a game of backgammon to determine who the cleverer brother could be. They agreed, most amiably, and she sat to watch with seemingly rapt attention.

  Brothers appeared to be a naturally competitive sort as the two traded a good many jabs, insulting each other’s intelligence, strategy, luck, and general appearance, and all this done with a smile. Christine played the flirt, asking them a question here or there, a
nd generally keeping their good-natured feud going for the duration of the evening.

  She tried very hard not to look at Thomas Gilbert.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Thomas, his thoughts on the evening before, waited quietly by their brook. He could not forget the many society-perfect, simpering smiles Christine shared with the Markham brothers throughout the course of the party, or even the sound of the soft, polite laugh she emitted when one or the other brother said something they thought witty.

  She maneuvered perfectly, all evening long, engaging multiple people in conversation, not putting a word or foot out of place, and the few single men present had cast their eyes at her for longer than a passing glance. Without exception, everyone at that party knew of her father’s snobbish expectations, so while no one could possibly harbor a serious interest in her, they certainly puffed out their chests when she gave them her attention.

  But he did not think she enjoyed herself. As he watched, he saw the facade slip a time or two. Thomas noted a brief sag of her shoulders, or a slight turndown of her mouth, and once, he thought for certain she rolled her eyes when the young captain’s back was turned.

  He saw these things, he well knew, because he looked for them. Thomas watched her closely, attentively, nearly holding his breath for her all night.

  His mother took the time to let him know, before she went on to bed, that she believed Christine behaved very well. “Though I must say, Tom,” she said in parting, “she seems to have lost all of that vivacious personality I liked so much.”

  He could not help agreeing.

  The most difficult part of the evening was that Christine did not speak to him after their brief conversation by the refreshments. She barely looked his way again, completely ignoring him.

  Thomas told himself such a thing did not matter; she practiced her lessons on others, which she must do to be successful. She had no reason to acknowledge him in public and he must count it a good thing for people not to see them together too often. Or at all.