Page 15 of Love Lessons for a Lady

Mr. Terramier comes thrice weekly, and I must tell you, it is problematic. He is Lord Woolbury’s grandson, and he has brought disfavor upon the school. I sincerely believe Mr. Terramier may have only taken to teaching to spite his overbearing grandfather. The viscount has threatened to have the school closed.

I shall tell you all about it when I come for tea on Sunday next.

~ Miss Chasity Noble in a letter to Mrs. Mercy Brockman

Balderbrook’s Institution for Genteel Ladies’ courtyard

That same day - late afternoon

More grateful than he ought to have been after finishing today’s lessons, as it was his means of living, Aston made for the school’s heavy front door.

A maid tidying a flower arrangement on a hall half-table hurried forward and collected his hat from a hall tree. She extended it to him. “Here you are, Mr. Terramier.”

“Thank you…” Aston had seen the perky maid a few times this last month but didn’t know her name. An older maid generally greeted the guests.

“I’m Josie.” She dipped into a sloppy curtsy. More of an energetic bounce, in truth. “I’m new.” She scrunched her button nose. “Well, not brand new. I was hired just over a month ago. I steer clear of the dragon, lest I displease her and get sacked. She’s a stickler, she is.”

“Dragon?” He couldn’t resist asking. “Mrs. Crenshaw?”

Josie glanced over her shoulder, then nodded and whispered, “Aye. She’s all sugar and spice around you, but vinegar and piss otherwise.”

“I see.” Aston stifled a chuckle. He’d already deduced that about the headmistress. “Josie, may I offer you a bit of advice?”

“Of course.” Eagerness shone in her pale blue eyes.

“I’d not share what you just shared with me with anyone else.”

“Oh, I don’t dare. Only Miss Noble.” She gave a sage nod more fitting of someone several decades her senior. “She understands me.”

Aston wasn’t surprised the maid admired Chasity. Chasity didn’t judge people and made everyone feel included. Even the frumpy instructors who were less than kind to her.

“Good day,” Aston said, heartily wishing the precocious maid good luck. She’d need it if she hoped to remain employed. Either that or a muzzle because Aston didn’t think she was capable of holding her tongue.

Stepping out of the building, he stretched and breathed in the clean air.

Gibney waved at him from outside the stables, and Aston returned the groom’s friendly gesture. More than once, the servant had watered Aston’s horse while he’d been teaching. A former soldier, the groom had been a friend to one of Mrs. Longsdon’s sons.

Most servants were underpaid and overworked, and Aston made a point to pass a few coins Gibney’s way every week. They’d share a few moments’ conversation, but always afraid he’d lose his position, the groom hurried back to his duties.

Aston had the distinct impression Mrs. Crenshaw was quite the termagant to everyone but him. He strode across the brick courtyard to his waiting buggy. Moss grew between the red rectangular bricks under the gnarled maple trees he’d parked his buggy beneath. The trees provided shade for Roi as the faithful dog dutifully waited for Aston.

Aston rather despised Thursday lessons.

Most of the students at Balderbrook’s Institution for Genteel Ladies could claim only meager musical skills. However, Adelina Fitzthistlewits was exceptionally talented and a joy to teach. Unfortunately, she’d likely never be able to use her gift beyond the occasional musical or drawing room entertainment.

Upon seeing Aston, Roi lifted his shaggy head and promptly sat up. Whining in excitement, he wagged his tail so hard, his entire hind end wiggled.

“Hello, my friend.” Aston scratched behind Roi’s ears, earning him a goofy, doggy grin. “Forgive me for making you wait in this heat. Mrs. Crenshaw wanted a word with me.”

In truth, the conversation had been peculiar.

The headmistress had sought him out at the end of his last lesson only to ask if his tenure at Balderbrook’s Institution for Genteel Ladies met his expectations. Head down, she’d paced the room, reminding him of an agitated, caged lioness he’d seen once. After he’d assured her that he had no complaints—none for her ears, at least—she’d given a stilted, distracted nod.

“Very good. Very good,” Mrs. Crenshaw said, looking everywhere but at him. “I’ve—that is, it’s been a pleasure to have you at the school.”

Not exactly a reflection on his duties, but then, Mrs. Crenshaw had been acting odd of late. For about a week, to be exact. Just about as long as Miss Noble had been avoiding him. Ever since that infamous dance instruction.

What fustian rubbish.