The Duke's Night of Sin (13 page)

Blast.
She felt the backs of her eyes begin to burn and knew she had to separate herself from Lord Wentworth before she made a soggy cake of herself. She squeezed by him and charged down the passage.

“Ah, I thought so,” he called out, mockingly.

She whirled back around and glared at him. “I know the value of what I teach. I know, too, every girl in Great Britain requires this knowledge, these skills, if she is to elevate herself beyond the scullery.” Her voice sounded thin, reedy.

“Is that so, Miss Bonnet?” His eyes were blazing, but there was no obvious reason for his expression.

“Aye, it is. It is essential knowledge for
every
female!”

He laughed at her comment. “If that is so, then mayhap you should write a manual so that all females should have the benefit of your knowledge!”

He was mocking her. But he did not know how disadvantaged and ill prepared a girl would be if thrust into the world without this knowledge.

But she knew. She knew exactly what was required for a wayward hoyden to become a lady true. All too well. “Forgive me, Lord Wentworth. I fear you do not understand what I seek to impart to my charges, and I am quite sure you never will. Good day, my lord.”

Siusan dropped him a curtsy, though he did not deserve the honor, and hurried down the passage to her bedchamber.

***

Tears of frustration filled her eyes by the time she returned to her nun’s cell of a bedchamber after her morning instruction hours. She was so angry and hurt that she could hardly catch her breath. But it wasn’t Lord Wentworth she was angry with—it was herself. She had given him the power to wound her to her core. This was what happened when she shed her sin of sloth, lifted her mask, and showed the world her true self. She became vulnerable. And her heart ached.

When she sat down on her pallet, her gaze was drawn to a letter sitting on her bedside table. She tore open the red wax wafer and carefully released the letter from its folds.

Instantly, she recognized the dainty, overslanted hand as Priscilla’s and laughed in blessed relief. She needed this letter so very much. She needed her family.

“I miss you too, Priscilla.” Siusan rested her face in her hands, and the tears she’d tried to hold back puddled in her palms.

She rose from the bed and deposited Priscilla’s letter in the table drawer. Inside, she caught notice of the small Bible her mother had given to her when she was a very small child. She lifted it from the drawer and pressed it to her chest, patting it, the way her mother used to pat her back when she was very young to soothe her when she was upset.

A sob welled up inside her and burst into the air. “Please, God, forgive me my wicked indiscretion and send me home soon. Allow me to return to my family.” Lowering the Bible to the table, she scrubbed the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I need them. Until now, I didn’t know how very much.”

S
ebastian watched Miss Bonnet hurry down the passageway and out of sight.
Damn me!
He hadn’t meant to taunt her and certainly not to aggravate her to the verge of tears … and yet he had. While it was true that her notions of education and his differed, he did not need to insult her person.

The more he studied the proud woman, he saw the image that she presented the world was naught but a cleverly crafted blind. While her elegant clothing was fashioned of silks and satins,
their styles
à la mode,
they appeared somewhat worn. He would not doubt it if he learned she owned but three frocks, all of which he’d seen her wear multiple times over the five days he’d visited the school. Save one.

The only gown he hadn’t seen again was the peacock blue confection she’d worn at the Upper Rooms when they had first met. Even then, he could have sworn she was wearing blue satin walking shoes rather than tissue-thin flat slippers, which were more appropriate for dancing. Even he knew that.

Now, as the pieces of her identity began to come together in his mind, he felt quite the lout. Her clothing, as well as her training in the ways of Society ladies had all probably been passed along to her from a generous former employer. Perhaps a daughterless mistress from some grand family, who, as a diversion from the tedium of her days, trained her maid in the ways of the
ton,
but then passed away unexpectedly.

It was possible. Hell, it even likely. Why else would someone so skilled in the leisure arts take a position as a teacher? No, the reason was becoming increasingly transparent. She had no other choice.

But he did. His course was all too clear. He had
to shove his damnable pride down his gullet and find some way to apologize for insulting her.

Sebastian slammed the school’s heavy front door behind him and stalked out to the pavers, more confused by then than ever. Bloody hell, he wished he was certain about what he should do about Gemma. His grandmother had been so startled by the change in the girl, and her descriptions of Miss Bonnet’s teaching methods, that she had nearly demanded that Sebastian remove her from the school and immediately engage a governess for her.

Admittedly, that was his first inclination as well. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

He’d observed Gemma withdrawing into herself when in the presence of Mrs. Huddleston or even the other students. Not so when she was in the presence of Miss Bonnet. There, she blossomed. But more, each day she seemed to display a little more of the confidence she’d gleaned from Miss Bonnet’s lecture tours in the other hours of her day. Even with him. She was maturing.

No, he would set aside the decision about removing Gemma from the school for the moment. He’d bring his thoughts back with him on the morrow, when he returned to London for the
Lord Mayor’s committee meetings. Discuss his resolution, whatever it might be, with his grandmother, then return to Bath come Michaelmas to fetch Gemma for the holiday.

The moon was still high in the sky when Siusan awoke with a pain in her belly. She rolled from her pallet and sat on its edge, her hands pressed to her stomach, as she rocked, hoping to ease the cramping.

In her sleepy state, it took several moments for her to notice the slight wetness between her legs, but when she did, she pulled away her coverlet and stood in the moonlight cascading through her window. There, stark against the snowy white of her night dress, was a dark, wet bloom. At once she recognized the aching in her belly, the familiar cramping, for what it was.

Her eyes widened, and she cupped a shaking hand over her mouth to stifle her exuberant gasp. Her courses had not arrived when expected, and she had feared the worst. But it wasn’t so. Tears of relief collected in her eyes.

She was not with child.

Her mood as bright as the morning sun, Siusan herded the other two teachers into her bedchamber before classes, then quietly pressed the door closed behind her.

“I must tell you what Lord Wentworth said yesterday after class.” A flush of heat rose up in Siusan’s cheeks just thinking about it.

“Do you not recall? You already informed us yesterday afternoon, Miss Bonnet,” Miss Hopkins replied. There was a hint of annoyance in her voice.

Siusan heard a buzzing in her ears and knew the other teacher had replied. She wasn’t really listening for a response anyway. Though she did catch notice of the slanted glance Miss Hopkins cast in Mistress Grassley’s direction. Clearly they could not endure suspense any longer.

Well, she wouldn’t make them suffer a moment longer. “He said that if my lessons were so important, perhaps I should write a manual about it for the benefit of all! Can you believe it?” Siusan was huffing with relived anger.

Miss Grassley closed the novel she’d seemingly been unable to put down all day. “Perhaps you should, Miss Bonnet.”

Siusan whipped her head around at the other teacher. “What did you say? I am certain I misheard you. He was mocking me.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Miss Grassley looked Siusan straight in the eye. “I agree with him. I only wish I had been trained in the ways of being a lady when
I
was younger. It might have changed my course in life.”

Siusan looked to Miss Hopkins, waiting for her to chastise the other teacher for teasing her so cruelly. Only she didn’t.

“I confess, I agree with Lord Wentworth and Miss Grassley as well,” Miss Hopkins admitted. “When I accompanied you and the girls to the draper, I vow I learned more about dressing and fashion than I have after years of reading
La Belle Assemblé.”
She stood and nodded slowly. “The next day, I found myself standing outside of your door whenever possible, listening to your lesson, knowing that the more refined and skilled I became, the better my chances of making a good match someday.”

Siusan’s eyes went wide. She reached out behind her and caught the back of a wooden chair and guided herself into it. “Can this be true?” she demanded.

They both nodded, with nary a glimmer of
humor twitching at their lips. Gorblimey, they
were
telling the truth. “Assuming I do this, do you believe the manual might actually have enough interest to secure a publisher?” Siusan could scarcely manage the words.

Miss Hopkins grinned. “My brother is engaged as a typesetter at G. G. and J. Robinson in London. He actually set the second edition of Mrs. Radcliffe’s
The Mysteries of Udolpho.
He is very skilled. I will write to him today and ask him if he can help you with this endeavor.”

Siusan’s heart tightened in her chest. “Oh, what shall I do?” She waved her hands in the air as if shaking droplets of water from them.

The notion of writing a manual frightened her. And aye, such a huge endeavor ought to, but God above, if Miss Hopkins was correct, she had an undeniable duty to the females of Great Britain!

She leaped to her feet. “I will do it. I will!” She hurried over and grasped the other teachers’ hands and drew them a step toward the door. “But I will need your help. I cannot do it without the two of you.”

“Ours?”
Miss Grassley flashed a nerve-shot glance at Miss Hopkins. “How can we assist?”

“Can either of you slip the key from Mrs. Huddleston … unnoticed?”

Miss Hopkins gulped. “She is at the baths now. Her knees are paining her again. Probably from all her stooping to peer into keyholes.” She grinned then, though Siusan knew her words were not said in jest.

“She very likely left the chatelaine in her bedchamber … but we could never—” Miss Grassley peered warily at Siusan.

Siusan arched an eyebrow. “Aye, we can if we are quick about it. I will fetch the keys and open the storage room.” Siusan patted Miss. Hopkins’s shoulder soothingly. “Of course, I will need foolscap, and plenty of ink.” She turned her gaze on the other teacher. “Most importantly, Miss Grassley, I will require someone to watch the passageway for Mrs. Huddleston whilst I slip into her bedchamber.” She grinned at the promise of adventure. “Come along. We have much to do before the old wretch returns.”

The other teachers exchanged worried looks for a brief moment, then squealed with nervous laughter, and the three of them rushed for the door.

Miss Hopkins and Miss Grassley stood before the desk in Siusan’s bedchamber as she read
the letter she had just received. Disappointment tugged heavily at her shoulders. “All is lost.”

“What do you mean, Miss Bonnet? My brother claims his publisher is very interested in your manual.”

“The publisher may be.” Siusan sighed. “But, Miss Hopkins, while I do thank you for your assistance, I cannot wait six months, at least, for the manual to be published—assuming the publisher finds it suitable.” Siusan dropped the letter on the bed and paced her bedchamber.

This wasn’t at all what she expected. She had spent every free minute of her days and nights transcribing her lessons in the art of being a lady … and now this delay?

“Miss Bonnet, each individual letter must be placed as type, and while my brother will do anything to assist me in this endeavor, including seeing to the typesetting himself, the process does take time.” Miss Hopkins bowed her head, her face looking as though she had failed Siusan.

“I apologize, Miss Hopkins. I have written nearly twenty lessons, and I had hoped to see this manual in print much sooner.” She patted the other teacher’s shoulder.

After all, she’d be leaving Bath soon enough—
or so she hoped—and she did so want to depart knowing she had made a difference there.

“There is another option,” Miss Grassley broke in. She’d always been a clever one, and Siusan’s hope glimmered once more.