Lessons In Loving (10 page)

‘Not bad for a first time.' He grinned. ‘Think of all the hours I saved, not having to ride to town.' He stood, flicked his collar up, ran his fingers through his now trim head of hair. ‘Thank you, Miss Governess. Whatever task you undertake, you do perfectly. I'm most impressed. Now I very much look forward to a couple of hours of irregular plurals.'

Irregular plurals? A subliminal part of her, a part she barely acknowledged existed, had hoped Tom might have other priorities after their skin-to-skin closeness of the last half hour. She slammed that wicked thought back into the steel box tucked deep inside her brain. Later, when she curled up in bed in her lonely cottage, she might let the genie out of its box for a moment or two. But only in her imagination. Of course.

***

At last the morning of the ball dawned for the almost-sleepless Kate. Tom told her to skip the day's lessons. He'd collect her from her cottage around five for the three-hour journey to Croydon Creek. This would give her ample time to dress. That afternoon, she set to work. In the weeks she'd lived at Kenilworth, her hair had grown. She put it up, slipped into her gown. Now it was time to set to work on her rouge, her face powder. She must become an artist putting the finishing touches to a masterpiece.

Something, she didn't know what, seemed lacking. She found the fashionable spectacles she saved for special occasions, and slipped them on. She could see almost as well as when she wore the everyday dark-rimmed pair that Tom called her schoolma'am glasses. She wouldn't be called upon to undertake any detailed reading at the ball. Yes, the change of glasses made her face look—prettier. She slipped into her shoes, and dared a glance at the full-length looking glass.

‘Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of us all?' The fairytale words whispered away in her mind as she stared. Yes, magic was at work. After a last dab of perfume, she took a book to her sitting room and waited, too excited to read. At five she heard Tom's knock on the cottage's front door. Heart skipping, she glided down the hall and opened the door.

‘My goodness!' Tom stood at the door, mouth hanging open. ‘You're a fairy princess!' For an embarrassingly long time, he stared at her, silent.

She felt the blush stir to life somewhere near her heart. It burned at her neck, then flooded into her cheeks. They'd be glowing like the red sun at sunset. Tom couldn't help but notice. She took a slow breath, telling herself he was merely being polite, making her feel comfortable in her sensational outfit.

‘I must tell you, Kate.' His grin widened. He licked his lips. ‘You look simply beautiful.'

Fighting a surge of emotions that seemed to tip her off balance like a giant wave crashing onto a beach, she stared back at the tall smiling stranger in the immaculate dinner suit, the new white silk shirt, the perfectly knotted bow tie. As she stood paralysed, he collected himself.

‘Let us haste away to the ball, my princess. Your carriage awaits.' He held out a gentlemanly arm and she took it. ‘Did I say that properly, Princess?' he said as she clutched his arm and teetered along in her heels to the landau he reserved for special occasions.

‘Yes. Word perfect, sir. Keep it up while we're at the ball.'

Her towering heels might look fabulous, but they made her feel a tad unsafe as she walked. It was a long walk. He must keep the elegant landau in a distant part of the stables.

‘That carriage!' She pointed. ‘Fit for a princess. Where did you get it?'

‘Oh, we've always had it. We keep it for special celebrations. Like taking fairy princesses to balls.'

‘Indeed?'

Kate teetered towards the magic carriage. She felt glad, along with a few other feelings besides, to have the perfect excuse to cling tightly to his arm.

‘You look so different,' Tom said as he flicked the reins and the carriage rolled down the drive. ‘What magic spell has your fairy godmother cast on you?'

‘Probably the magic of exchanging my schoolma'am glasses for these special ones.' She smiled. ‘Not much else.' For a second she thought of asking him if he liked the jewelled clips in her hair—clips she'd borrowed from his mother's wardrobe. She decided against it. Enough was enough.

‘Well then,' he said, beaming. ‘You're going to be the belle of the ball, and no mistake. Should I introduce you as Cinderella when we make our entrance?'

‘Mmm. If you do that, Prince Charming, it might give a poor governess ideas above her station.'

‘Very well, Miss Cinders. I'll try to remember that.' He drove on, laughing to himself.

As the carriage bumped its way down the narrow road, Kate reflected on the last time she'd travelled that way. She'd been nervous, confused, uncertain about meeting the man who might become her employer. But ever since their first night in the old mansion, he'd acted the perfect gentleman. She stole a look at him as he guided the horses between potholes and overhanging branches. He was downright handsome. Not that she hadn't noticed that the first moment they met. Now, as he sat erect in his dinner jacket, reins in hands, she fought the urge to land a naughty kiss on his cheek. Could she control herself for the rest of the three-hour journey?

CHAPTER 7

Kate spent the rest of the ride imagining dancing with Tom—slow, warm, close, floating in his arms to dreamy music. How would the locals react when they spied the two of them together? Perhaps they'd think she was his latest sweetheart, met the last time he'd travelled to Sydney. Perhaps one or two of his former lady friends would spot her, wondering if Kate was a city woman scheming to marry into the wealthy Fortescue clan. No matter what, she must behave herself for every second of their time together. Too, too soon, the day would come when Tom walked into Croydon Creek with the beautiful Laetitia on his arm. By then, Kate would have left Kenilworth, forgotten it, moved on to another life. For now, she would give herself permission to enjoy the night, then waft back to reality next morning.

The Croydon Creek Town Hall had done itself proud. As Tom helped her down from the landau, Kate saw that the old sandstone building had been festooned with coloured lanterns. As they stepped inside, she reeled. An orchestra took up the whole stage—the men in dinner suits, the women in black evening gowns. Violin bows swayed to the rhythm of a slow waltz from the Naughty Nineties. No-one had taken to the floor yet. Formally elegant in his dinner suit, Tom escorted the wide-eyed Kate to a table of smiling couples. He seated her with old-fashioned formality, then introduced her.

‘May I ask you to welcome the famous Miss Kate Courtney, qualified teacher of English, no less?' He bowed towards the couple on his left. ‘First, Kate, this is Harry Chambers, and his lovely wife, Jean. Harry's the local doctor.' Kate watched eyebrows twitch at Tom's assured, elegant new way of speaking. Now his voice, his language, matched his gentlemanly looks. He moved round the table.

‘Gideon and Fiona Stewart. They own Glasgow Station, a little to the north of Kenilworth. Stewarts have owned the place since the year dot.' He moved a step further.

‘Now Bob and Mary, Kate. Bob's the man who keeps me out of jail. My lawyer. And last but by no means least, Robert and Sally Carter. They keep me on the right side of the bank manager. That's him over there.' As he pointed, he mouthed an aside into Kate's ear. ‘Rob and Sally manage my office in Croydon Creek. You should make yourself known to them. For future reference.'

They took their seats at places marked with name cards written in stylish calligraphy. Kate imagined a little old lady, a pillar of local society, spending hours writing the cards for each table with a fine quill pen. A moment later, someone magically produced two crystal champagne flutes and filled them to the brim with pink champagne. As the bottle found its way back into an ice bucket, Kate spotted French text on the label. French champagne! And pink! This would be a singularly special evening. As she took her glass, the friendly doctor cleared his throat.

‘A very special welcome to Miss Kate!' Everyone raised their glasses. ‘It's delightful to welcome some new blood to our table,' the doctor continued. ‘Oops! I do beg your pardon. I should have left my doctor language in my surgery. The very best of luck with your undertaking, Miss Courtney.' He pointed his glass towards Tom. ‘And congratulations to our Tom, too. For recruiting such a smart young lady to oversee his transformation.' He smiled, drew a theatrical breath.

‘We must give you credit, Miss Kate. Clearly, your teaching is working. Tom sounds very different already. The very model of a cultured English gentleman.' Smiles and nods rolled round the table. ‘We wish you the very best for your visit to Sydney, Tom.'

‘Thank you, Harry. I must confess to rather looking forward to it.'

‘We trust you to keep up the good work, Kate,' Harry said. ‘And we all trust you will enjoy your evening with us. You deserve it.'

So the whole table knew why Kate had come to Kenilworth. Was nothing ever private in these country villages? But then everyone round the table had likely grown up together. They conducted themselves as if they were one big family. Tom's people had arrived three generations before, and so, very likely, had the ancestors of all the others. Kate must make an effort to blend with the familial warmth that flowed round her, holding out its welcoming arms.

Of course she must conduct herself properly. Not for one second must she behave as if she were Tom's lady friend. She was his governess, present at the ball purely through his courtesy. Everyone round the table knew that. So how should a governess behave when she attends a ball with her handsome, smiling pupil? She scrolled through her brain for a novel that might provide a clue, and gave up. She'd simply enjoy the evening.

Glasses emptied and were instantly refilled. Then Sally and Robert stood, swept inviting grins towards the table, and stepped onto the dance floor.

‘Shall we dance?' Tom grinned at Kate. ‘Oh, excuse me.' He stood, leaned towards her with a bow. ‘May I have the pleasure of Miss Courtney's company?'

‘How could Miss Courtney resist?' Kate answered, eager to become a character in the fairytale happening around her. ‘When you speak like that, a lady melts.' As Kate stood, he slid her chair back.

‘Thank you, Miss Courtney. But please don't melt yet. We have some dancing to do. And don't forget,' his voice dropped to a whisper, ‘everyone's watching.'

‘Thank you, kind sir.' She smiled at Tom as they walked to the dance floor. ‘Every minute of our ride from Kenilworth, I was dreading the thought of dancing. Especially in these shoes. But now the music has rather cast its spell over me.'

They took to the floor as the music switched to a spritely two-step. At the first pressure of Tom's hand in the small of her back, Kate felt the urge to melt against him. For a moment she resisted. Then, as she breathed in his closeness, a sweet magic dissolved her willpower—was it her primitive womanly desire for him as his broad shoulders loomed above her? She wrapped her arms round his neck, let her body flow close against his chest. If he raised an eyebrow, she'd say it was her awkward shoes.

Beautiful, soul-melting minutes flowed along with the music. Kate imagined herself as a puffy white cloud floating over the Kenilworth hills. Sometimes she dared to look up at Tom. Each time, she caught him smiling down at her. He seemed to be enjoying himself too. His strong warm hand eased into her back, guided her through the steps, firm but loving. Try as she might, she could not think of another word to describe his caring touch.

Tom was an excellent dancer. Very likely, his mother had taught him. In her courting days, dancing would have been the appropriate way for genteel society girls to meet suitable young men. As Kate took in the scene, she watched other couples move round them with polished grace, as if they'd been coached in dancing from childhood. Kate, on the other hand, had been raised in the traditions of her mother's lower class upbringing, learning no more than a little easy waltzing with her school friends.

The music stopped. A pity. Tom steered Kate back to their table, arm round her waist.

‘I loved that.' She must tell him. ‘And I absolutely must confess. This is the first time in my sheltered life that I've managed to dance on a proper dance floor, with proper music.' And with a partner I would die for, she added to herself.

‘It won't be the last time.' Tom laughed. ‘I promise. It's barely nine o'clock. The ball could carry on till daylight.' He seated her and filled her champagne flute. ‘Excuse me a moment, Kate.' He gestured to Sally. ‘Keep an eye on Miss Kate for a while, please Sally. I must circulate for a minute or two.'

He walked away to chat with old friends while the musicians took their respite. A minute later, a loud male voice, stinging with sarcasm, cut across the lively hubbub filling the room.

‘And how's Mr Wonkywords these days? Now he's got himself a clever little governess. To teach him to talk proper.' Along with half the people in the hall, Kate turned to look.

‘I'm very well, thank you, Silas. And I trust you're well too.' Kate caught the barbed tone in Tom's reply. Sally nudged her arm.

‘Silas Smith,' she whispered. ‘Owns the local blacksmith shop. Tom and Silas have always been enemies. Silas takes a positive delight in teasing Tom about his childish language. Sometimes it gets rather unpleasant. We've tried to help Tom cope with it. But old wounds take time to heal.'

Kate watched, wincing, as the two traded oral punches. As Silas's voice swelled, Tom's fell to a vicious whisper. Though she couldn't hear his words, Tom's set jaw signalled his anger. As Tom headed back to his table, Silas grabbed his arm. Tom flicked it free, then strode away. A murderous expression burned across his face. Silas waved an arm towards him and laughed—a theatrically high-pitched giggle.