Page 6 of Love Lessons for a Lady

“Miss Noble?”

Chasity glanced behind her and half-turned. “Yes?”

Mrs. Crenshaw paused, her quill in mid-air.

“Do invite Mr. Terramier to stay for luncheon. I had Cook prepare stuffed partridge and herbed potatoes and carrots. Also, a lemon tart. A particular favorite of his.” How does she know that? “I should be finished with this task by then.”

And why does Mr. Terramier garner stuffed partridge when cold meats, cheese, fruit, and bread sufficed for luncheon for the girls and staff most days? If Chasity had any lingering doubts that Mrs. Crenshaw meant to impress the dance instructor, they promptly dissolved.

“I’m certain you and the other teachers can entertain Mr. Terramier on my behalf,” Mrs. Crenshaw said, returning her focus to the paper before her and obviously not expecting a response.

On her behalf, was it?

His wasn’t a social call, for pity’s sake.

A prickle of unease marched along Chasity’s spine as she nodded, turned, and exited. Quietly closing the door behind her, she bit her lower lip, unable to dispel the sense of disquiet that had crept over her like early morning dew on a field.

Was it due to the unknown contents of the letter or Mrs. Crenshaw’s inappropriate tendre for Mr. Terramier? Or was the disquieting undercurrent something else entirely?

Do say you can come for tea the Sunday after next. It will be a relatively small gathering, according to my new mother-in-law. Although her idea of small and mine are somewhat different. I’ve missed you so, Chasity, and we are off to Kelvingrove Park next week for an extended house party. I know you only have two half-days off each month, but I can send a carriage ’round for you. Faith will be there, and Joy and her husband are in London visiting too. Please, dearest, do say you’ll come.

~ Mercy Brockman in an invitation to tea for Miss Chasity Noble

Balderbrook’s Institution for Genteel Ladies

Outside the ballroom

Girlish laughter reigned in Chasity’s maudlin musings. Ah, yes. The dance lessons, and by the sound of the copious giggling and sotto voce whispering, Mr. Terramier had indeed arrived.

Josie, one of the maids, hurried down the corridor, a stack of neatly folded clean table linens in her arms. She grinned at Chasity and rolled her eyes toward the ballroom. “His gorgeousness is here.”

She really ought to be reprimanded for her impertinence, but Chasity found Josie’s bluntness rather refreshing.

“Please tell Mrs. Pottkotter that I’ve been instructed to ask Mr. Terramier to stay for luncheon.” Chasity wanted to ensure that no one drew the wrong conclusion and thought the invitation was her idea.

“Of course, his handsomeness has.” Josie giggled and, after scanning the corridor, edged nearer to Chasity. She waggled her eyebrows mischievously. “Mrs. Crenshaw is after him like a she-cat in heat.”

Josie was nothing if not blunt.

Chasity nearly choked on a stifled laugh. “That will be all, Josie.”

“Yes, Miss Noble.” As if she’d realized she’d crossed the mark, Josie ducked her chin to her chest and bobbed a curtsy. “I beg your pardon.”

She hurried on her way, but Chasity had the distinct impression the impudent minx didn’t harbor any genuine remorse. Josie had best be careful because neither the other instructors nor Mrs. Crenshaw would be as forgiving.

In short order, Chasity gained the ballroom and swiftly took in the situation. Pomposa Wetherwax sat before the rosewood pianoforte on a tufted red velvet bench. An unbecoming shade of red blotched her rounded cheeks as Mr. Terramier arranged whatever music he had selected for today’s lessons before her.

His words floated to Chasity as she approached.

“Are you familiar with the music, Mrs. Wetherwax?”

Only Chasity went by Miss even though none of the instructors had ever been married. Mrs. was deemed more respectable, but perhaps because of her youth, or possibly to make a point Chasity had yet to decipher, she alone was permitted to be addressed as Miss rather than Mrs.

“Indeed, Mr. Terramier,” Mrs. Wetherwax simpered, coyly batting her stubby eyelashes.

She looked utterly ridiculous, and pity for the smitten woman pricked Chasity.

“I am most familiar and only too happy to accommodate you,” Mrs. Weatherwax gushed.