Her Proper Scoundrel (12 page)

“Nine o’clock in the dining room?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, nine o’clock. Now may I be excused?” Without waiting for his nod, she turned and walked away.

Anticipation beat a quick tattoo in Christopher’s breast as he watched her leave. Tonight he would treat her as the beautiful young woman she was.

Tonight he would woo her as the beautiful young woman he could love.

* * *

Josceline fretted over what to wear to dinner. Not that she had much to fret over, for besides her brown walking dress, she only had two other choices: The jade green woolen frock she had worn to Bristol yesterday. Or, the watered blue silk she had borrowed from Elizabeth, who had insisted she keep it “Because one never knows when one shall be called upon for an evening out.” At least it had long fitted sleeves and a lace fichu which gave her a modicum of modesty.

She cast a regretful eye towards the bolt of copper satin draped over the wardrobe door. How lovely it would have been to have a new dress to wear.

Nerves fluttered in her stomach as she readied herself, an entirely different set of nerves than those besetting her this afternoon.

These were nerves of eagerness, the nerves of a young woman about to dine alone with a man.

Not just any man - the man she was beginning to adore.

She spent an inordinate amount of time with her hair, brushing it until it shone, then looping it back simply with a matching blue ribbon. She pulled out several tendrils to frame her face, running them through a damp comb before twisting them about her fingers so they would curl just so above her ears. Finally, she pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to give them color.

The little gold plated clock on her mantel chimed nine times. A quick pirouette in front of the mirror and she was done. Not as finely turned out as Lady Oakland, she conceded, but presentable nonetheless. A last glance to pat her hair and she left her room, determined to enjoy the evening.

Savoring the delicious aromas wafting up the stairs from the kitchen, she made her way to the main floor. Her mouth watered and she was glad she had succumbed to Christopher’s pleas to join him for dinner after all. Another cold tray in her room would have been dull after today’s events.

 
At the arched entrance to the dining room, she paused, eyes drawn to the table.

Covered with a crisp white damask tablecloth, a multitude of silver candlesticks marched down the centre of it like so many tin soldiers. Even though every candle burned, the rest of the room hung in shadows.

In the dim light, she could see the room’s immense size, the walls lined with oil paintings, its floor graced with a luxurious fringed silk carpet. The room was meant for dinner parties and for an instant she imagined herself, gracious and welcoming, sitting as hostess across from Christopher. An enticing thought.

It wasn’t until Christopher pulled himself away from where he leaned against the sideboard that she saw him.

His eyes were dark, admiring and he, too, had dressed for the occasion in a navy brocade high-waisted cut away coat, black satin waistcoat and black breeches.

“How lovely you are,” he breathed as he bent over her hand to drop a light kiss on the back of it. Her gaze caught on the unfamiliar sight of his dark head over her hand. She blushed, a rising tide of heat starting at her décolletage and ending up in the very roots of her hair. He lifted his head, gave her an inscrutable glance then stepped away to ring for dinner.

Disconcerted at his enigmatic air, she inspected the table more closely. At the far end closest to the fire, two places had been set such that they would be sitting across from each other. Candlelight reflected in the well polished silver flanking each gold rimmed, ivory plate.

Next to one plate sat a cut crystal decanter filled with red wine. Across the other plate lay a posy of violets. Sweet violets, the first of the season. An intimate gesture and she shivered at the promise it held.

“Allow me.” He pulled out her chair. Did she imagine it, or did his hand brush her shoulder as she seated herself? She picked up the posy and inhaled its fragrance before placing it on the table beside her.

Christopher sat down and nodded to Tedham, waiting by the door discreetly. At Tedham’s signal, a silent footman served the first course, a clear beef broth with dumplings. She watched Christopher pour the wine, a rich burgundy ribbon glowing in the candlelight that pooled in each goblet.

“To a lovely evening.” He lifted his glass to her.

“A lovely evening,” she murmured and picked up her glass to return the toast. She took a sip. His contemplation of her flustered her and she took another sip to hide her unease, glancing at the painting of a naval battle above the fireplace before returning her gaze to his.

If she did not know better, she would think Christopher was intent on courting her.

She could pretend he courted her, could she not? She sipped again, regarding him over the rim of her glass.

No, she couldn’t. She was his governess for only a few months and couldn’t hope for anything more. She put down her glass.

“Mr. Sharrington -.” She stopped at his upraised hand.

“Please, enough of the formality. Christopher, if you will.”

The wine made her bold. “Only if you reciprocate and call me Josceline.”

He inclined his head.

“If I may be so forward as to make a suggestion?” At his nod, she continued. “You’ve hired me as governess and are paying my wage. I can tutor the boys. Surely they will be of more benefit to you if they can read and write and know their ciphers?”

“Let us not talk of the boys.” His bowl empty, he put down his spoon. “Let us talk about you.”

The conversation was taking an entirely too familiar turn and she marshaled her thoughts while the bowls were cleared before answering.

“There is nothing to talk about. Besides, the whole pretext of this evening was to discuss Lady Oakland and the boys, was it not?”

He lifted an eyebrow, a corner of his mouth lifted. “And a pretext it was, Josceline. As you yourself pointed out, we must wait for Lady Oakland’s pronouncement before we can plan our course of action.”

She puzzled over this last comment. Surely he hadn’t wanted her to join him for dinner just for the sake of having her company.

The silent footman returned, this time carrying smoked trout on a carved tray which he placed with a flourish on the table before them.

“Tell me again how the daughter of a duke came to be a governess.” Christopher leaned over and replenished her wine then pushed the tray closer to her. “I find it a fascinating story.”
 

“Because the Duchy of Cranston is in ruins,” she replied honestly, serving them both a slice of the trout. “My mother passed away ten years ago and my father’s form of grieving was to drink and gamble away what funds we had.”

“That explains it,” he said with a satisfied nod.

“Explains what?”

He pointed to her dress. “The dress is well worn, as are all your clothes. I don’t think the daughter of a duke would dress shabbily by choice.”

She blinked at his powers of observation. Embarrassed, she raked his face, searching for condemnation but could find none, only gentle interest.

“My father sought to recoup his financial stability by offering me as inducement,” she continued. “However, the only offers came from merchants and the like seeking entrance into the ton. None from our social sphere were interested in making a match for my father’s reputation is not the best. I am blamed by association.” She took another sip of wine. “The latest suitor was a man old enough to be my grandfather. That was when I decided to become mistress of my own life.” She shrugged. “Governess seemed an obvious preference.” She picked up her knife and fork and began to eat.

“Agreed.” Christopher nodded slowly. “Unlike a man, a woman without means doesn’t have many choices.” He took a bite of trout, scarce tasting it for the admiration that filled him at her resolve. He understood her desire to make her own way. “And the letter was from your father,” he guessed. At her nod, he continued, “Am I correct in assuming he does not share your enthusiasm to earn a living?”

“Indeed, you are correct. According to my father, Mr. Burrows, the gentleman in question, still wishes my hand in marriage.”

“You do not wish matrimony at all?” he asked, astonished.

“If I marry, it shall be for love of a man,” Josceline declared firmly, the wine having made her reckless. “And I say if, for who shall marry me as I am?”

What was he thinking at her brash declaration? His head tilted slightly to one side and he had that inscrutable expression on his face again.

“If it is all the same to you, I don’t wish to discuss this further.” Josceline made her voice spirited. “My plans for myself differ from my father’s plans for me. It is nothing more than that. What of you? What brings a man to leave a respected position in His Majesty’s navy and what must have been an exciting life?”

How neatly she had turned the tables on him. Christopher’s admiration for her swelled.

“Hardly exciting,” he answered. “For the most part, a sailor’s life is dull. Long days at sea mending sails, scrubbing decks, that sort of thing.”

“But you must have engaged in battle.”

“Aye.” Christopher inclined his head. “And therein lies the real reason for my resignation from the navy. I didn’t have the stomach anymore for the bloodshed and horror of battle. Bloodshed and horror which is far from over as long as Napoleon Bonaparte rules the Continent.” Lud, the conversation wasn’t going at all as he wished. He signaled to the ever discreet Tedham to have the table cleared for their next course.

“Roast squab,” said Christopher, as the cook herself appeared with the main course laid out with asparagus and peas on an oval platter. “Your favorite. May I ask you to serve again?”

He loved watching her stylish mannerisms, loved how her elegance graced his dining table and, by extension, him. Not giving her the chance to refuse, he handed her his plate.

“What will you do now?” She placed a squab in the centre of each plate before arranging the vegetables in neat piles. “Enough?”

At his nod, Josceline pushed the plate over to him. He shifted as he adjusted his plate and his foot brushed hers, sending a jolt up her leg. She jerked away as if prodded by a hot poker then glanced down at her own plate to avoid his gaze. She wasn’t sure her face wouldn’t reveal her unseemly awareness of him.

She picked up her utensils and tried to slice off a piece of meat. The bird flipped over and a few peas squirted off her plate to roll across the tablecloth. Heat rose in her cheeks - the man had the knack of unsettling her and she had no idea how to counter it. She peeped at him from beneath her lashes, expecting to see amusement on his face but his visage was earnest as he answered her question.

“What will I do now? I mean to earn my living as a merchant captain. That is why I’ve chosen Bristol. The harbor here provides the closest route for trade to the Colonies.”Working for one’s living was not the fashionable thing but Christopher had no choice if he didn’t want to starve. He scoured her face, searching for revulsion at his declaration but her features were composed. A brief surge of hope rose within him until he realized a duke’s daughter would be polite enough to hide her true feelings.

“An admirable goal,” she replied graciously. She patted her mouth with her napkin and leaned back against the chair. “The cook has quite outdone herself. I swear, I am fair to bursting. Although a lady should never admit that.” She giggled. Oh la, the wine had really gone to her head.
 

“Share the joke,” demanded Christopher. “If you do not, I shall fear you’re laughing at me.” He pretended to glare at her before joining in with her laughter.

“Laughing at you, good sir?” She giggled again. “That I would never, never do. No, I am laughing for the sheer pleasure of having eaten a good meal. There is nothing finer, is there not, than fine food, fine wine. And fine company,” she added. She hoped he would not find her forward for having said it but the audacious statement conveyed her sentiment for indeed, his company made the meal memorable.

And happily, there was more to come, for the footman laid out dessert: baked custard and berry compote, meringues, a chocolate crème, fresh fruit, cheese and walnuts. Clean wine glasses were brought for the bottle of champagne that now replaced the empty wine decanter.

“Oh.” She eyed the laden table dubiously. “It was no jest when I said I was fair to burst with all I have eaten.”

He chuckled. “One does not need to be hungry to eat dessert. Besides, we have an entire evening to while away. I request, nay, I demand the pleasure of your company until at least midnight.” And he proceeded to fill the fresh glasses with champagne.

Josceline looked at him, then her glass with its spiraling bubbles, then back to him. Naked admiration shone in his eyes, a gentle smile curved his lips. A potent combination and one she couldn’t refuse.

“I accept,” she said gaily, lifting her glass to him. Just for tonight she would pretend she was not his governess.

Just for tonight.

* * *

It wasn’t until the massive grandfather clock in the front hall struck two that Josceline pushed back her chair. She stood, teetering a moment before finding her balance. How had it become so late? It seemed only short minutes ago they had their desserts. In fact, it was nigh on four hours.