Evelyn Richardson (4 page)

“But you are not the Marquess of Charlmont!”

The twinkle in his eyes deepened. “And I might say the same thing of you, Catherine. You are apparently no longer Lady Catherine Montague, but times change. Unfortunately, I am now indeed the Marquess of Charlmont, my brother having been so uncooperative as to suffer an untimely and fatal attack of apoplexy last year.”

The voice, deep with a hint of laughter, was having the same effect on her that it always had. Her knees, already weak at the sight of him after all these years, buckled under her and she sank back into her chair with what little grace she could muster. Drawing a deep, shaky breath, she gestured to the chair opposite. “Your letter said that you wanted to look at the academy for your niece.”

She was unprepared for the wave of relief that washed over her as she realized the full implication of her words. It was the Marquess of Charlmont’s niece, not Lucian’s daughter after all.

He watched as the color rose in her cheeks. So the real Catherine was there after all, hiding somewhere within this sober stranger. Yes, there were still traces of Lady Catherine Montague to be found if one looked carefully enough. The large hazel eyes, though shadowed, were as knowing and intelligent as ever. The determined chin was a shade more determined now, and the slender nose and delicately arched brows lent it the character that had once distinguished her from all the other young misses in their first Season. Only the mouth was different. The lips that had once seemed always on the verge of curling into a smile were straight and serious, as though they had been compressed in silent protest too many times, and the liveliness about her had vanished. To be sure, the air of vitality remained. Lady Catherine, whether she was Lady Catherine Montague or Lady Catherine Granville, would never lose that vitality, but now her energy seemed to come from determination rather than a zest for living. What had become of the Catherine he once knew?

The slender dark brows rose questioningly and it was his turn to look discomfited. She was still waiting for an answer. “Oh, er, yes, my niece. Well, she is sadly in need of an education. Her mother, an amiable woman who is no match for her daughter, has let her run roughshod over a series of governesses, drawing masters, music masters, and tutors, with the end result that she has, at best, acquired only a smattering of the knowledge she should have. You, no doubt, would consider her a perfect little heathen.”

Ignoring the glancing reference to a past acquaintance that she was desperately trying to forget, Catherine clasped her hands in front of her and assumed what she hoped was a suitably impressive expression. “Here at the academy we are dedicated to providing a full range of instruction that will equip young women to fulfill their roles as mistresses of their estates, wives, and mothers in the most responsible fashion. We are not a finishing school that puts a few artistic touches on a decorative object in order to raise its value on the Marriage Mart.”

His lips twitched. “I did not for a moment think you were. My niece is decorative enough already. She needs the solid foundation of a more classical education. In short, she needs to be taught to think.”

“I would not have thought that you would want a woman…”—Catherine bit her lip—“Er, I mean, that is a most laudable goal, my lord. I trust that it will be realized.”

“However, considering the ramshackle character of her uncle, you have your doubts.”

“I did not say that.”

“You did not need to. Your face was always most expressive and you were never good at dissembling. I always found that transparency to be one of your most charming traits.” He watched with a good deal of satisfaction as her cheeks grew pink once again and she struggled to keep her countenance. There, he had almost made her smile.

In spite of the years that had passed, she looked absurdly youthful in her widow’s garb and definitely out of place. She should be indulging in all the country pursuits she had so missed when she was in London—galloping rides across the fields, long walks in the country, working in the garden—not sitting behind a desk on such a glorious day, faced with the cares and responsibilities of running an educational institution.

“Confess it, you were thinking it impossible that someone like me should be head of a family now.”

This time she did smile in spite of herself. “And brutal frankness was always one of your traits, my lord. Yes, it is rather difficult to picture you in that role.”

“Well, it was not by choice, I’ll admit, but when a role is thrust upon one, there is no alternative but to do one’s best.”

The hint of a smile tugging at Catherine’s lips broadened into a real one. Lucian, no matter what else he might be, had always been a realist, and it was this willingness to look life in the face instead of consulting the fashion of the moment or prevailing opinion that had originally drawn her to him and made him such an easy person to talk to and to share things with. No, Catherine admonished herself, she would not think those things this time. She had done that once before and had nearly broken her heart in the process.

Drawing a deep breath, she squared her shoulders resolutely. “Then you will forgive me for sounding boastful, but I will say that in selecting this academy for your niece you are doing the very best for her. I have gathered some of the most accomplished teachers it has ever been my pleasure to encounter, and we give our students a very thorough preparation in history, rhetoric, geography, French, and mathematics, as well as music, painting, and drawing. And for those who are so inclined, we also offer Latin.”

“A most impressive program indeed. A young lady who has paid even the slightest attention during her stay here ought to emerge from your establishment a very thoughtful young lady indeed. And since it was you who taught me that there is nothing so enchanting or, unfortunately, so rare as a woman who can think and speak for herself, I am sure you do an excellent job of it.”

Again, he was pleased to see the tinge of pink creep along her cheekbones. Good. It meant that in spite of the responsible position she had chosen for herself and the severely businesslike exterior she tried to maintain, the vital, passionate girl he had once known had not entirely vanished or been replaced by this somber stranger.

“What? Er, yes, if I dare say so myself, we do strive to accomplish all that here. But you must see for yourself.” In her haste to rescue the conversation from straying into the dangerous channels where it seemed to be heading, Catherine rose too quickly, nearly upsetting the inkwell in the process. Biting her lip, she caught it just in time, restored it to its proper place, and struggling to cover her confusion, tidied the papers on her desk. Then drawing herself up as straight and tall as she could and adopting her most gracious lady-of-the-manor air, she sailed to the door. “If you will but follow me, my lord.”

She led him into the hall past marble statues from Greek and Roman mythology and etchings of classical Roman antiquities to the drawing room at the front of the house. The light pouring in through the numerous large windows made the spacious, airy room seem large despite the row of tables lined in the center and the harp and pianoforte that dominated the wall opposite the door.

Every available space along the walls was covered with either maps or book shelves, and several globes stood ready to reveal their geographical complexities to eager young minds.

At the moment, there were four eager young minds all focused on a large map of ancient Greece at the right hand of an impressive looking woman of indeterminate age who seemed to hold the undivided attention of her well-groomed pupils. “So you see, girls, what an extremely perilous voyage Odysseus was forced to undertake. One can only imagine the adventures that could befall one on such a journey. Now, as we read together, I want you to ask yourselves what you would have done in similar situations. Would you have been as clever as the wily Odysseus should you have been faced with the trials that he was?”

Lucian ruthlessly stifled the grin that threatened to rise to his lips. It seemed that Catherine was not the only redoubtable female in the establishment.

From the drawing room they proceeded down the staircase to the dining room, now doing duty as another classroom. Here another group of slightly older girls was listening to one of their members reciting verses in Latin with a fervor that Lucian could not ever recall having felt during his own Latin lessons.

He listened intently for a moment. “Horace?” Then he turned to Catherine, one quizzical dark brow raised in mock dismay. “Love poetry? You are using love poetry to teach them their Latin?”

She chuckled. “What better way? Every young girl has romantic notions of some sort or another. Better to admit that fact and try to use such notions to teach something instead of having them spend their time haunting the circulating libraries.”

“I always said you were the cleverest person I knew. I can see that at least that has not changed.”

For her part, Catherine could not decide whether she was gratified to be remembered as clever or dismayed to think he found her changed and, from the tone of his voice, apparently not for the better. But what he had thought of her then or what he thought of her now was utterly immaterial, just so long as he approved of her establishment.

Nodding blindly at Miss Compton, who was conducting the class, she led him quickly from the room.

Across the hall in a smaller study room, the oldest girls were clustered around a large table busily working at what appeared to be a mathematical problem.

As Lucian and Catherine entered the room, the instructress was admonishing the youngest girl in the group. “No, no, Lucinda, you must stop and consider the problem carefully. Here, perhaps if I were to put it to you in a more practical way you will find it easier to figure out. Suppose you were placing a bench on the lawn near a copse of trees. Naturally, you would wish it always to be in the sun. Now, if you have the height of the tallest tree in that copse, then you can calculate the farthest distance it could possibly cast a shadow and you could then place the bench beyond that point. So you see, the study of mathematics can be extremely useful to anyone.”

Hearing their footsteps, the woman straightened and glanced around in their direction.

“Do not let us interrupt you, Miss Denholme; I am just showing the Marquess of Charlmont around our establishment.”

The instructress quickly returned her attention to her student, but not before directing a glance in Lucian’s direction, a glance that made him feel as though she harbored something more than a normal curiosity about him. It was as though she saw him as something more than a possible patron of the establishment. Had Catherine mentioned to her that she had once been acquainted with the Marquess of Charlmont’s brother—well acquainted, in fact? Lucian was surprised to discover how much he hoped that this was the case.

Continuing the tour, Catherine led him to two more rooms, in one of which the girls were poring silently and intently over books in front of them and in another where they listened spellbound as a rather frail older woman, clad in the fashion of some twenty years ago, declaimed the immortal lines of Corneille’s Phèdre.

Everywhere he looked, from the simple but elegant furnishings to the well-stocked school rooms, revealed the careful thought and attention that had been lavished on the establishment. Though he would have expected no less from Catherine Montague—no, he corrected himself hastily, Catherine Granville—he was impressed in spite of himself. There was, however, one detail that was notably lacking in Lady Catherine Granville’s Select Academy. “Do you employ no male preceptors in your academy, then?” Lucian wondered.

She turned and looked him full in the face, a hint of a smile hovering at the corners of her mouth. “Now, how can a young woman be expected to think for herself or rely on her own intelligence if everything she learns is taught to her by a man? No, my lord, the young ladies of this establishment are not just learning their sums or their geography, they are learning that females can excel at things to the same degree that males can, and that is no small lesson.”

“If your fiercely competent mathematics instructress is any sort of an indication to go by, I would say that your pupils will not only learn to rely on their own intelligence, they will dispense with the need for masculine companionship altogether.”

The hint of the smile broadened into a full-fledged grin and the hazel eyes began to twinkle. “Oh no, we are not such Amazons as all that. I would never go so far as to encourage my girls to eschew male company completely. We do have a Monsieur D’Antoine as our dancing master, a most accomplished one too, I might add.”

“So we men do have our uses after all, I see. Not many, but enough to justify our continued existence, for the time being, at least.”

She chuckled at that. “For the time being, most assuredly.”

Chapter Five

The Marquess of Charlmont left the establishment at the Royal Crescent well satisfied with both the quality of the instruction and the accommodations to be had at Lady Catherine Granville’s Select Academy for Genteel Young Ladies. He was not, however, satisfied with the state of its proprietress.

Lucian had always possessed a sixth sense where women were concerned. It was what made him so hugely popular, not to mention devastatingly effective, with the female sex. And this sixth sense was telling him that despite her air of cool authority, all was not well with Lady Catherine Granville.

It was not simply that the spirited and independent Lady Catherine Montague had grown into the calmly competent Lady Catherine Granville, for that sort of thing was to be expected after ten years. But this was not a question of inexperienced youth ripening into sedate maturity. It was more fundamental than that. Something vital had been lost along the way, and Lucian, in spite of all the warning bells going off in his head, in spite of the promptings of his own good sense—a good sense gained at considerable cost during the turbulent years of a somewhat checkered career—was determined to find out what it was that had been lost and why.