The Wayward Debutante

And he knew it, too. He looked altogether too smug.

“You grow tedious, Mr. Bentley,” she said finally. “Have you no one else to bother?”

“Not when you’ve so unexpectedly improved my morning. Who were those women?”

Surprised by the sudden change of topic, she blinked in confusion. “Which women?”

“The ones speaking to you. The stern gray one and the blond one who stayed behind with you for a minute. Do you work for the younger one?”

A sudden wave of dizziness forced her back down on the bench. This was very bad news indeed. He’d seen her family, and finding out her identity and theirs was just a short step away. Work for Beatrice? What exactly had she told him? Oh, yes. Eleanor Smith: governess.

“I look after her two-year-old son.” She didn’t feel at all confident as she told this falsehood, but hoped he would believe it since she resembled neither her sister nor her aunt.

He let his eyes wander down her body and then back up. “Dresses you rather well, doesn’t she?”

She stiffened under his disconcerting gaze. “I simply benefit from her castoffs. She is very generous. I…I just have her clothes altered to fit me. This dress is two seasons old.”

He nodded slowly. “And as she appears to be enceinte, presumably in a few months you will have another charge.”

“Yes. I can hardly wait.”

“And how long have you worked for her?”

She felt as if she was being quizzed under oath, only she didn’t have any answers to give since every word she uttered was spur-of-the-moment perjury. “Not very long.”

“Two days ago you said you were looking for work.”

“Yes, well, I lied.” She had no trouble coming up with that answer—it was the first bit of truth she’d spoken since they began this ludicrous conversation, and the words came out easily. But, oh God, now she’d have to explain why she’d lied…

He sat down on the other side of the bench. He was looking at her skeptically. “It’s not nice to tell falsehoods, Miss Smith.”

“I don’t care,” she said defiantly. “Why should I have told you the truth?” She didn’t exactly know how she’d explain herself out of this mess, but desperation helped the words to flow, as did the fact that he was too close to her and she really needed to leave. “I believe it was you, sir, who pointed out how improper it was for a governess to be at the theater alone. I simply didn’t want you to know who my employer was, so I told you I had none. But now you’ve found me out. You may tell her if you like.” She sincerely hoped he wouldn’t take her up on this challenge, and she was relieved by his answer. He even looked a tiny bit contrite.

“I have no desire for you to lose your position.”

She rose again, this time determined to leave. “Now, you will forgive me, but I really must go. She will wonder what has kept me.”

He rose, too. “I’ll walk with you.”

His words caused a swirl of unfamiliar sensation deep down in her stomach, but she tried to ignore it. “That won’t be necessary.” She started walking briskly, but he paid no heed to her refusal and began walking with her.

She stopped and turned on him. “What do you want, sir?”

It was a reasonable question, and he wasn’t even sure of the answer himself. He could hardly confess that he wanted to kiss her, that he wanted to take her home with him and keep her there until he grew bored. She was completely adorable, especially when her cheeks filled with color and she looked as though she was ready to stomp her foot in irritation. He certainly wasn’t ready to see the last of her.

“I have a confession to make, Miss Smith. Thought you’d want to hear it before you left.”

She was extremely curious to hear it, but it didn’t matter. As much as he infuriated her, his was the most thrilling company she’d ever experienced and her self-possession was vanishing fast. “I don’t care.”

But before she could turn away, he reached into his pocket and removed her reticule. He held it out to her. “My confession is that I didn’t just stumble upon you. I found this after you left the theater…there was an invitation inside, addressed to your mistress. I was on my way to return it, but you were leaving the house just as I arrived.”

She took the reticule from his hand, but just looked at it dumbly. Slowly, she started walking again, trying to digest this new set of facts. He knew where she lived. How disastrous. What if he should seek her out there? Or change his mind and decide to tell Beatrice after all?

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. She didn’t actually think he’d do either. In the first place, he had no reason to go to the trouble of seeking her out, not when he was handsome enough to have his pick of beautiful women. And second, she didn’t really think he’d tell Beatrice. Doing so would be deliberately cruel. But then again, he’d already proved he was capable of a certain amount of underhandedness in order to get what he wanted.

She needed a strategy, and provoking him further would obviously get her nowhere.

She stopped walking and turned to face him. He stopped, too, and waited.

She swallowed nervously, and then spoke. “I’m sorry if I’ve been rude to you this morning. I mean, you deserve it, but nevertheless it is remiss of me not to thank you. For rescuing me from that horrid man the other night. And for returning this. The invitation inside is very important.”

James smiled, and her heart fluttered. “Don’t thank me too soon.”

She furrowed her brow. “What do you mean, ‘too soon’?”

He began to walk forward again and, unaware of what she was doing, she followed his cue and began walking with him. “Well,” he said slowly, “I have another proposition to make.”

“What kind of proposition?” Eleanor asked. She quickly amended her words, however, realizing that she probably didn’t want to know the answer. “Actually, you don’t need to tell me.”

“I assure you it’s nothing sinister, Miss Smith. Do you always think such base thoughts?”

“Base thoughts!”

He stopped once more, leaning this time against a tall oak tree. “Yes. It’s a perfectly innocent proposition and you won’t even let me begin. It’s precisely what happened when I tried to make the same proposition at the theater—you misunderstood me badly, you know, and maligned my character in the process. Instead of waiting to hear what I had to offer, you dashed off like a scared deer.”

She bristled at the comparison. “Do you refer to your gallant offer of employment? As you now know, I’ve no need of work.”

“Shall I tell you what my offer was? Or would you prefer to go on thinking the worst of me?”

She glanced over her shoulder suspiciously. They’d entered one of the more secluded parts of the park, and she hadn’t realized it until then. “I’m not remotely interested,” she said, but she made no move to leave. She leaned in slightly.

James smiled. “Yes, I can see you’re not at all interested. You enjoy the theater very much, don’t you?”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“It’s obvious you’ll go to great lengths to attend.”

“That’s not true,” she lied stubbornly. “I like it no more than most.”

He sighed. “Then explain your ridiculous disguise and your multiple deceptions. You know you’d lose your situation if your employer ever learned of your outings, but you’re willing to take the risk anyway.”

“Yes, well, I have decided I won’t be doing so any longer. Too risky, as you’ve just pointed out.”

He moved a step closer. “You could go, if you wanted to. You could go if you were with me.”

She countered by taking a step back, unable to think clearly when he stood so close. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“But it is. I hold a very large share of that theater, you see. I’m one of its owners, and if you were with me I could provide you with better protection than you have now, sitting alone in the audience. As your last experience showed, you need protection.”

Eleanor just stared at him for a good five seconds as she attempted to make sense of his words. She felt rather sick. How could this be possible? She’d wondered how she’d been unlucky enough to encounter him there twice, and he owned the theater. She was a fool.

“I don’t think that would be wise,” she said, her voice weak.

“Look, Miss Smith, you needn’t act so maidenly about this. It’s a simple business proposition. We both have something to gain.”

“I fail to see what either of us would gain.”

“We both require the other’s company.”

“I do not require your company, sir, and you can go alone.”

“Of course I can go alone. I don’t have to go at all—I helped finance the theater, but I have little to do with its day-to-day running. But I’ve been thinking of late that I ought to take a more active role, and I would do so more readily if I had someone pleasant to sit next to on a regular basis. Make it feel less like work, don’t you think?”

It was outrageous. Jeopardize her reputation so he wouldn’t be bored? “Get someone else to sit next to you—you didn’t seem to have any difficulty finding companionship before.”

He smiled. “Perhaps. But it is a problem finding someone intelligent enough…I must admit to being a bit of a philistine, Miss Smith, and I need someone to help me understand the plays properly. Someone who’ll have something improving to say at the end. Someone like a…governess.”

Her heart was pounding so loudly that he must have heard it, but somehow she managed to sound calm. “You’re a bit old for a governess, sir, but I wish you luck in your search. I must go.”

She turned away, but he caught her hand. He was beginning to look impatient. “What I’m really trying to do is help you. Will you accept my help?”

“How on earth would this help me? Please don’t tell me you’re concerned about my welfare.”

“Well, I am. You need a chaperone.”

“And you think you’re qualified?”

He frowned at her sarcastic tone. He was making everything up as he went along, but it all sounded like good sense to his ears. He’d almost convinced himself that his motives were benign, so why wouldn’t she believe him? “Maybe not in the conventional sense, but it’s not safe for you to go alone. People make certain assumptions about women who do such things. You are aware of that, aren’t you? If you step foot in a theater alone, everyone there will assume you are a woman of easy virtue.”

She turned pink. She’d known respectable women never attended the theater alone, but she hadn’t actually taken the time to consider why that was so. She’d thought it was just another of society’s conventions.

“I already told you, I won’t be going again.”

“But you’ll want to.” He still held her hand, and the light, warm pressure was beginning to make her feel dizzy. He stepped closer again, and his voice dropped an octave. “Give me an answer, Eleanor. I know I haven’t behaved like a perfect gentleman to you, and this is my only way of making up for it. Let me help you. A new play starts next week. Come with me. I promise you’ll enjoy it. I even promise I’ll behave. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

She knew she should refuse; that was the only sane thing to do. But his voice was gentle and cajoling, and his leafy eyes had grown dark. She wanted nothing more than to acquiesce. She was thinking about kissing again, thinking about how close his face was to hers. He was right: she would want to go again, and he was offering her the chance.

She knew she should refuse. That’s what any sensible, gently raised young lady would do. But the tedium of being a sensible young lady had been doing her in for many weeks now. There really was much more to life.

“I can’t come. It’s too difficult to get out of the house without being detected.”

He sensed her resolve was fading. “You must have a night off.”

She shook her head.

He rolled his eyes. “This habit you have of lying…everyone has a night off. Tell me when yours is.”

This couldn’t be happening to her. He was asking her to sneak away and meet him secretly. She wasn’t supposed to do that sort of thing, but here she was, actually contemplating it. She knew she shouldn’t…but why shouldn’t she? There were so many rules she had to follow, and she hadn’t invented a single one herself. Besides, what if he should reveal her secret? Thanks to that invitation, he knew where she lived and he knew who her relatives were. Her voice was small and uncertain. “Wednesday?”

He seemed surprised that she’d actually provided him with an answer. “Wednesday? Shall we meet then, next week?”

She was already shaking her head vigorously, wanting to take everything back. She hadn’t agreed to anything. “I…I don’t know my answer yet. I will think about it, but I can’t make any promises.”

“I’ll send my carriage. There will be no risk at all.”

“I will not be alone in a carriage with you!”

“Oh, for…I won’t be in it. I’ll meet you at the theater, so you’ll be perfectly alone. I’m just trying to be helpful.”

“It will never work. You cannot send your carriage to my house. I could never explain such a thing to my mistress.”

He frowned. Of course his carriage couldn’t simply arrive at the doorstep to whisk the governess away for an evening of dubious entertainments. But he also knew that if he left transportation up to her she’d never come. “I don’t think you’ll have to explain yourself, but if anyone asks, say you’re visiting an elderly relative. My maid goes somewhere every Tuesday night and I haven’t the faintest idea where, nor do I care. She can do what she likes during her own time. No one will miss you.”

Except she wasn’t a servant, and she would be missed. “I don’t know…”

“Six o’clock,” he said, his voice quiet and brooking no argument. Eleanor looked into his eyes and knew he’d won. How had it happened? Everything had moved too quickly, and she just couldn’t keep up. And now he was standing so close to her, his head bent toward hers and his changeable eyes meeting her gaze. He still held her hand, and the gentle, almost imperceptible caress of his thumb made her shiver.

He really was going to kiss her this time; she was sure of it. But he didn’t, not on the lips or cheek, anyway. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it softly, never taking his gaze from hers.

“I believe you have somewhere to go, Miss Smith, so I will bid you good day. Don’t make my driver wait, or he’ll come find you.”

As he walked away, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. What had she allowed herself to be talked into?

Chapter Five

Six o’clock had come and gone, and Eleanor still wasn’t ready. She couldn’t find her gloves, and in light of James Bentley’s disturbing habit of grabbing her hand at unexpected moments, they would be an indispensable part of her armor. She’d practically turned her bedroom inside out looking for them. Where were they? And where, for that matter, was he? If he was coming, he was late.

She walked over to her window and looked out onto the square; it was the sixth time she’d done so in as many minutes. Perhaps he might not come at all. That was a reassuring possibility. His promise may have been nothing more than an empty threat meant to scare her. Perhaps he’d met some other hapless girl in the week since she’d seen him and had forgotten all about her.

But just in case he hadn’t…where were her gloves? She was ready in every other way: gray dress, blond wig concealed in the folds of her cloak. The carriage might arrive at any second, and it wouldn’t do at all for her to keep it waiting. What if James’s driver really did come to the door looking for her? She didn’t particularly care to put that threat to the test, even if Beatrice and Charles had already gone out for the evening and wouldn’t be there to witness anything. In fact, she was supposed to be with them, and at that moment she desperately wished she’d never requested permission to visit Miss Pilkington instead.

She moved away from the window and sat on her bed, furrowing her brow as she tried to remember everything she’d done that day and hoping for some clue as to her gloves’ whereabouts: ate breakfast, wrote to her father, bought a new hat, returned home and read a book in the sitting room…

Right. Sitting room. She’d look there.

She dashed out her bedroom door and down the front staircase. She slowed as she reached the bottom, giving the hall a cursory glance. Cummings, not surprisingly, seemed to have gone on an extended break once Beatrice and Charles had left and was not to be seen. She exhaled slowly with relief as yet another obstacle disappeared and threw open the sitting room door. She immediately spotted her gloves, in a crumpled heap on a Pembroke table on the other side of the room.

But she took only one step into the room before stumbling to a halt. It was already occupied. Charles was leaning back comfortably on the sofa, a rumpled newspaper spread out in his lap.

She backed up immediately, so that only her head and shoulders poked around the door. He’d be sure to wonder why she was wearing her cloak.

As it was, he was already looking at her curiously. “Eleanor? Is something wrong?”

She didn’t answer right away. Why was he still there? She’d said goodbye to them over an hour ago, but now Charles was back, looking as though he had no immediate plans to go anywhere. Although he was still in evening dress, he’d loosened his cravat and removed his shoes.

Trying not to sound anxious, she said, “I’m fine. Why are you not at the Dalrymples’ ball?”

He smiled rather smugly. “I’ve been granted a reprieve. Your sister felt unwell, and we returned home before we’d even got out of the carriage. She’s resting upstairs. You might bring her some tea since we’re short staffed. Do it m’self, but she blames me for her queasiness.”

“I’m afraid I have to leave.”

He frowned. “Why are you hovering in the doorway?”

“I…I’m visiting Miss Pilkington tonight, remember? Her carriage has just arrived and I don’t have time to talk.” Eleanor hardly looked at him as she answered. Her eye was drawn to the large south window, the one that faced the street. It was true: a carriage had just pulled up in front of the house, only it didn’t belong to Jane. It was quite a grand one—although not ostentatious—and it definitely wasn’t the sort of carriage a humble governess would take to meet her relatives. James seemed not to have worried about such details.

However, from Charles’s perspective it seemed perfectly natural that one of Eleanor’s friends should own such a smart contraption. “Oh, yes. Has she improved?”

“She’s convalescing slowly.”

“Don’t know how you manage to avoid your social duties, Eleanor. Thought Louisa would’ve forced you to go tonight.”

She shrugged noncommittally, hoping to mask her annoyance. What a time for him to start feeling expansive. “Bea’s very sympathetic. She knows what it’s like to be in my position, and she never told Louisa that I wouldn’t be going. But, Charles, I really must leave. I don’t want to keep her driver waiting.”

“I’ll walk you to the carriage,” he offered. “Cummings seems to have vanished into the ether again.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “What ridiculous ceremony! There’s absolutely no need for you or for Cummings. The carriage is right outside and I can walk to it perfectly well on my own. Besides, you haven’t any shoes.”

He looked down at his feet, realizing she was right. But when he looked back up at her, Eleanor was afraid she saw a tiny hint of suspicion in his eyes. Was it her imagination or had they narrowed just a tiny bit?

Luckily, though, she was saved by Beatrice’s lady’s maid, Meg, who walked briskly passed her into the room. Like all good lady’s maids, she was a snob, but she gave Eleanor’s unseasonable outfit nothing more than an unconscious look of disapproval before going straight to Charles. She appeared anxious, but Eleanor was unable to hear her whispered words. Beatrice obviously needed something, and for a blessed moment, Eleanor no longer mattered.

“Charles, I’m sorry, but I really must go. Give Bea my love.”

He nodded distractedly and waved her away, his concern now entirely focused on his wife’s condition. Eleanor crept out the door.

Eleanor’s deep blush began the moment James’s driver greeted her politely and helped her into the carriage, and lasted the whole way to the theater. Now, sitting in the parked carriage and waiting for the driver to open her door, she began to feel ill. And where was James? A large crowd had formed in front of the theater, and for all his promises of chaperonage, he was nowhere in sight.

She closed her eyes and slid back into her seat, allowing her head to fall back despondently. The whole situation still didn’t seem real to her; perhaps she’d wake up in bed any minute now, having dreamed the whole thing. It wasn’t her fault that she was there, considering he’d pretty much blackmailed her. If she hadn’t complied with him, he might have told Beatrice, and that would have meant that she’d be shipped back to her father’s house in disgrace or, even worse, that she’d be forced to spend the rest of the season with Louisa. She’d had no choice but to do as he told her.

She opened her eyes and sighed, knowing perfectly well that she was making excuses. She could have refused, if she’d really wanted to. It was just that a tiny bit of her wanted to be there, despite her nervousness. She wasn’t afraid of James, strictly speaking, even if she was afraid of the way he made her feel. But she could control her feelings for one night, right? What could he do to her in a crowded theater, anyway? She should be perfectly safe, as long as no one recognized her, and as long as she didn’t do anything stupid like talking to him or looking at him unless absolutely necessary.

And if he tried to kiss her again, well…it wouldn’t kill her, would it?

She closed her eyes miserably. She could not succumb to such reasoning or she’d really be doomed.

When she opened her eyes, the door was ajar and James was looking in. In the dim light he seemed positively sinful. His white cravat made him appear even darker, and the wind had tousled his hair. She wondered dumbly if he’d walked there. And she was staring. Again.

Why, oh why…

“Is everything all right, Miss Smith?”

She realized with a renewed blush that she was practically reclining in her seat, and she pulled herself up quickly to restore her composure.

“I…I was just getting bored of waiting. You’re late, Mr. Bentley.” She didn’t mean to scold, but she was so embarrassed she couldn’t seem to help it.

He smiled rather ruefully, and her heartbeat quickened. “Have you been longing for my company?”

“Like I’ve been longing for measles.”

“I do apologize. Shall we go inside?” He held out his arm to help her from the carriage.

Her mind was now clear enough for her to be wary of his chivalry. “I can alight unassisted, thank you.”

He shrugged. “If it pleases you.”

It was actually a rather difficult feat to climb from a carriage in long skirts without help, or to do so gracefully, anyway. By the time Eleanor had reached the pavement, she could plainly see that he was biting back laughter.

“Do I amuse you, Mr. Bentley?”

“Not at all. Will you be warm enough?” He waited for her answer, but her stubborn eyes told him it wouldn’t be forthcoming. He gave up. “Right, take my arm.” It was an order.

She looked at his arm, and then she looked at the large, jostling crowd gathered by the theater’s doors. She swallowed, gingerly placed her hand on his sleeve and pretended that doing so made her feel nothing. And they started to walk, left, right, left, right. She concentrated on her feet so as not to think about his arm. They’d nearly reached the entrance.

If only she’d been concentrating on what was happening around her, rather than keeping her gaze fixed on the ground, then she would have seen the scuffle that began between two men, just behind her right shoulder. She would have stepped out of the way before they crashed into her.