Page 42 of Love Lessons for a Lady

“Not just a servant and an instructor, but also the assistant headmistress and myself.” Aston jabbed his thumb at his chest. “I could have you arrested for forging my name on that resignation and contract.”

“I do believe you have a great deal of explaining to do, Mrs. Crenshaw,” Mr. Bramblefink said. “Just where are the accounting ledgers? I should like to examine them at this time.”

“No! That is…wait.” Mrs. Crenshaw summoned a sickly smile. “Are you forgetting Lady Finch-Hatten felt compelled to write and tell me she witnessed Mr. Terramier and Miss Noble in the gardens at the Marquess of Trenholm’s yesterday?”

That must’ve been the woman glaring at Chasity and who’d eavesdropped when Aston explained to his hostess why he’d been called away. And she’d taken it upon herself to blacken Chasity’s character to Mrs. Crenshaw, giving the vile woman more fodder to use against Chasity.

“I presume Lady Finch-Hatten also told you I’d been summoned to my grandfather’s because my uncle was dying?”

Was her ladyship worried Aston was courting Chasity and that the marriage she and her husband had arranged between Saphira and Aston with Grandfather wouldn’t be honored? Because it assuredly wouldn’t be. The woman would be a horror of a mother-in-law.

He grimaced and swept his hand down his front. “That is why I am disheveled and why I must beg your pardon for my appearance and tardiness. My uncle died early this morning.”

Everyone in the office looked appropriately sympathetic and murmured polite condolences except the headmistress. She clamped her lips tighter than a beggar’s purse.

“And you presumed I wouldn’t come today and gambled that no one would know that you forged my resignation.” Aston tapped his chin. “I believe that’s fraud. It seems to me you’ve committed multiple crimes, Mrs. Crenshaw.”

He angled toward Josie. “Would you send a groom to request the magistrate make haste here?”

Casting Mrs. Crenshaw a triumphant glance, Josie nodded and grinned. “At once, sir.”

She all but ran from the chamber.

Lady Balderbrook sailed to the middle of the office. She said nothing for several tick-tocks of the clock. “Mrs. Ramsbottom, is it?”

Mrs. Ramsbottom turned chalk-white, but she nodded. “Yes, your ladyship.”

“You are appointed the temporary director of this branch of Balderbrook’s Institution for Genteel Ladies. Mrs. Crenshaw is relieved of her duties.”

The headmistress gasped and then, with a withering glare, made to storm from the room.

Oh, no, you don’t. You shan’t escape that easily.

She’d be in the coach and headed into obscurity in ten minutes with the stash of money she’d pilfered from the school tucked in her valise, he’d be bound.

Arms folded, Aston stepped into her path. “You’ll not leave my sight until the magistrate has taken you into custody.”

Mr. Bramblefink took Mrs. Crenshaw by the elbow. “I believe you should wait for the magistrate over here.”

She didn’t protest as he led her away. Perhaps she’d finally realized there was no escape for her crimes. He led her to a chair positioned in a corner the farthest from the door and then took up a sentinel’s post beside her. Mr. Potterburger joined him, and the men exchanged knowing glances.

They didn’t trust the headmistress anymore than Aston did. Which was no farther than he could hurl a coach and four. In other words, not at all.

Several minutes passed as Mrs. Ramsbottom and Lady Balderbrook discussed the sudden change in the school’s administration.

Aston was bone tired. All he wanted to do was to crawl into bed and sleep until tomorrow. No, what he really yearned to do was to find his lovely Chasity, take her into his arms, apologize for being late, and assure her things would work out. Somehow, he’d ensure they did.

In Italy?

That trip might have to be postponed. There’d been no firm date of departure in any event. The truth of it was, Aston had used the business trip to Italy as an escape. He couldn’t stay on at Balderbrook’s and cost Chasity her position, and he couldn’t do what he desired most either.

Make her his wife.

And have her treated as horridly as his mother had been? To be called a whore? To be treated worse than the lowest slattern?

Aston had stormed from the viscount’s that day after he’d called his mother a slut for the last time. He’d not continue to live where such a vile man disparaged Aston’s mother simply because she’d didn’t possess the requisite blue blood.

Lady Balderbrook’s crisp tones ended his reverie, and he smothered a yawn behind his hand.