Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

" M iss Balfour, His Grace is expecting you. Please, follow me."

Evelina nodded at the smartly dressed footman before her, her nerves settling as she stepped into the now-familiar opulence of Dunmore House.

Today marked the beginning of her new responsibility—tutoring Eliza, the Duke of Dunmore's daughter.

As she followed the footman, Evelina couldn't help but recall her previous encounters with the Duke. His commanding presence had left quite an impression, though she was loath to admit it.

The footman led her through the grand foyer and up the sweeping staircase. They came to a halt before an ornate door, which the footman opened with a flourish.

"Miss Balfour, Your Grace," he announced.

The Duke stood by the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the morning light. He turned, fixing Evelina with his intense gaze. "Miss Balfour, you're punctual. I approve."

Evelina curtsied. "Good morning, Your Grace. I believe punctuality to be a virtue in both tutor and student."

The ghost of a smile played on the Duke's lips. "Indeed. Well then, let us not delay further. Eliza?"

From a corner of the room, a small figure emerged. Eliza, the Duke's daughter, approached with hesitant steps. She was a delicate creature, with her father's dark hair and wide, wary eyes.

"Eliza," the Duke said, his voice softening almost imperceptibly, "this is Miss Balfour. She will be your new tutor."

The girl curtsied, her movements precise but timid. "How do you do, Miss Balfour?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Evelina smiled warmly. "I am very well, thank you, Eliza. I look forward to our lessons together."

The Duke cleared his throat. "I shall leave you to it. Miss Balfour, I expect a full report in my study afterward."

"Of course, Your Grace," Evelina replied with a nod.

Before he left, the Duke turned to his daughter. "Eliza, I trust you will apply yourself diligently to your studies with Miss Balfour."

"Yes, Father," Eliza murmured, her eyes downcast.

With a curt nod, he strode out of the room, leaving Evelina alone with her young charge.

Eliza remained standing, her eyes trained on the carpet. Evelina's heart went out to the shy girl, recognizing in her the same reticence she often saw in her younger sisters.

"Eliza," Evelina asked gently, "might I inquire as to what subjects you enjoy most?"

The girl's eyes flicked up briefly. "I… I am fond of music, Miss Balfour."

Evelina's smile widened. "How wonderful! I, too, have a great love for music. Do you play an instrument?"

Eliza gave a slight nod. "The pianoforte, Miss."

"Splendid! Perhaps we might include some musical instruction in our future lessons. But for today, I thought we might begin with some basic etiquette. Would that be agreeable to you?"

Another nod, accompanied by a whispered "Yes, Miss Balfour."

"Excellent," Evelina said, her tone warm and encouraging. "Now, let us start with the art of conversation. In polite society, it is essential to be able to engage in pleasant discourse on a variety of topics. Can you tell me, Eliza, what subjects you find most interesting?"

Eliza hesitated, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress. "I… I enjoy reading, Miss Balfour."

"Reading is a most admirable pursuit," Evelina declared, her eyes lighting up. "What sort of books do you prefer?"

"I like tales of adventures," Eliza admitted, a hint of enthusiasm lacing her voice. "And… and sometimes poetry."

Evelina nodded approvingly. "Both excellent choices. You know, Eliza, the ability to discuss literature is a valuable skill in Society. It allows one to demonstrate both intelligence and refinement. Perhaps we could practice by discussing a book you've recently read?"

For the next quarter-hour, Evelina gently coaxed Eliza into a conversation about her favorite novel, a tale of seafaring adventures. As they talked, she noticed the girl's posture gradually relaxing, her responses becoming more animated.

"Very good, Eliza," Evelina praised. "You see how easily conversation can flow when one speaks of something they truly enjoy? Now, let us move on to the art of proper introductions."

Over the next hour, Evelina guided Eliza through various aspects of etiquette—how to greet guests of different ranks, the intricacies of dinner conversation, and the art of graceful movement.

"Now, Eliza," Evelina continued, demonstrating a particularly elegant curtsy, "when greeting a member of the Royal Family, one must curtsy quite low, like this. Would you care to try?"

Eliza mimicked the movement, her brow furrowed in concentration. As she rose, she wobbled slightly, a look of dismay crossing her features.

"Do not fret, my dear," Evelina said quickly. "It takes much practice to perfect. Why, when I was your age, I once attempted such a deep curtsy at a garden party and fell right into a rosebush!"

A tiny giggle escaped Eliza's lips, her eyes widening in surprise at her own mirth.

Evelina's heart soared at the sound. "There now, you see? Even the most proper ladies have their moments of impropriety. The key is to handle such situations with grace and good humor."

"Did you truly fall into a rosebush, Miss Balfour?" Eliza asked, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"Indeed, I did." Evelina chuckled. "I emerged with twigs in my hair and scratches on my arms, but I managed to laugh it off. My mother always said that a lady who can laugh at herself will never want for friends."

Eliza's smile grew a fraction wider. "I should like to hear more of your stories, Miss Balfour."

"And I shall be delighted to share them," Evelina replied warmly. "But for now, let us return to our lesson. Shall we practice our curtsies once more?"

As their lesson continued, Evelina noticed Eliza's shoulders relaxing, her responses becoming slightly less hesitant. They moved on to discussing the proper way to hold a fan, the intricate language of flowers, and the importance of good posture.

"Remember, Eliza," Evelina said, demonstrating a regal stance, "a lady's bearing can speak volumes before she utters a single word. Straighten your spine, lift your chin—but not too high, we mustn't appear haughty—and let your arms rest naturally at your sides."

Eliza attempted to mimic Evelina's posture, her face a mask of concentration.

"Very good," Evelina encouraged. "Now, try walking across the room as if you were entering a ballroom."

Eliza took a deep breath and began to glide across the floor, her steps measured and graceful. As she neared the far wall, however, she stumbled slightly.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"No need to panic," Evelina reassured her quickly, moving to her side. "Even the most graceful of swans may stumble on land from time to time. The key is to recover with dignity. Now, let us try again."

By the time the clock on the mantel chimed the hour, Eliza had mastered the walk and even ventured a small, genuine smile.

"You've done marvelously well today, Eliza," Evelina praised. "I look forward to our next lesson."

"Thank you, Miss Balfour," Eliza replied, her voice a touch stronger than before. "Will you… will you be returning soon?"

The hopeful note in the girl's voice tugged at Evelina's heart. "Indeed, I shall. With your father's approval, of course."

As if summoned by her words, a knock sounded at the door. The Duke's valet appeared, bowing slightly. "His Grace requests Miss Balfour's presence in his study."

Evelina turned to Eliza. "Until next time, Eliza. Remember to practice your curtsies and your regal walk!"

She followed the valet through the winding corridors of the sprawling mansion, her mind racing. The Duke's study was located in a quieter wing of the house, its double doors as imposing as the man himself.

The valet announced her presence and ushered her inside before quietly withdrawing. The Duke sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his quill scratching across a piece of parchment. He did not look up immediately, leaving Evelina standing awkwardly in the center of the room.

After what felt like an eternity, he set down his quill and fixed her with a soul-searching stare. "Well, Miss Balfour? I trust you have a full account of today's lesson?"

Evelina straightened her spine, refusing to be cowed. "Indeed, Your Grace. Eliza proved to be an attentive and capable student. We focused primarily on the finer points of etiquette, particularly in regard to proper greetings, deportment, and the art of conversation."

The Duke leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "And did you find my daughter's manners lacking in any way?"

"Not at all, Your Grace," Evelina replied quickly. "Eliza possesses a natural grace. With some gentle guidance and practice, I have no doubt that she will become the very model of propriety."

A flicker of something—pride, perhaps?—flashed across the Duke's face before his stern mask fell back into place. "I see. And what of her… shyness? Did you find it a hindrance to her learning?"

Evelina chose her words carefully. "The young miss is indeed reserved, Your Grace, but I do not believe it will impede her progress. In fact, I found that as our lesson progressed, she became more at ease and even smiled once or twice."

The Duke's eyebrows rose slightly at this. "Indeed? That is… unexpected. And how did you manage such a feat, Miss Balfour?"

"I simply encouraged her to speak on subjects that interest her, Your Grace. Eliza has a fondness for literature, particularly adventure stories. We had quite an engaging discussion about a novel she recently read."

"I was not aware Eliza had developed an interest in adventure stories," the Duke mused, almost to himself. Then, his gaze sharpened. "You seem quite certain of your assessment, Miss Balfour, despite having spent but a few hours in my daughter's company. I wonder, do you always form such hasty judgments?"

Evelina felt her cheeks flush. "I assure you, Your Grace, my observations are based on years of experience with my own sisters. I merely?—"

"Ah, yes," the Duke interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your wealth of experience gained from shepherding your gaggle of siblings. Tell me, Miss Balfour, do you truly believe that qualifies you to pass judgment on the education of a duke's daughter?"

Anger flared in Evelina's chest. "With all due respect, Your Grace, I do not pass judgment. I merely offer my honest observations, as you requested. If you find them lacking, perhaps you would prefer a tutor with a more… aristocratic background?"

The Duke's eyes flashed dangerously. "Mind your tone, Miss Balfour. You forget yourself."

"And you, Your Grace, forget that you hired me for this very purpose," Evelina retorted, her frustration overriding her composure. "If you wished for sycophantic agreement, I fear you have chosen the wrong tutor."

A tense silence fell over the room. Evelina's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with the realization of her impertinence. She had all but guaranteed her dismissal with such brazen words.

"You will watch your words when you speak to me, Miss Balfour. Do not test my patience."

Evelina felt her legs turn to jelly under the man's intimidating gaze. He stared at her, ensuring her silence with his domineering presence.

Then, to her utter shock, the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "Well, well," he murmured, almost to himself. "You continue to surprise me in the most unusual ways."

Evelina blinked, unsure how to respond to this sudden change. "I… I apologize if I have offended you, Your Grace. I spoke out of turn."

The Duke waved a dismissive hand. "No need for apologies. I find I prefer honesty to flattery, even if it comes wrapped in insolence." He fixed her with a penetrating stare. "Tell me, Miss Balfour, what do you truly think of my daughter's prospects? Can she overcome her… timidity?"

Evelina took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "I believe, Your Grace, that Eliza has great potential. She is intelligent, well-mannered, and possesses a natural curiosity. Her shyness, I think, stems not from any inherent flaw, but from a lack of confidence. With patience and encouragement, I am certain she will blossom into a charming young lady."

The Duke listened intently, his expression thoughtful. "And you believe you can provide this… encouragement?"

"I will certainly do my utmost, Your Grace," Evelina replied firmly. "Every child is different, but in my experience, gentle guidance and positive reinforcement can work wonders."

"I see," the Duke hummed, stroking his chin. He was silent for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought. Then, abruptly, he rose from his chair, circling the desk to stand before her. "Very well. I shall allow these lessons to continue, on one condition."

"And what might that be, Your Grace?" Evelina asked, wary of the sudden shift in his demeanor.

His expression grew serious once more. "You are not to mention Eliza's mother, nor are you to inquire about her in any way. Is that understood?"

The abrupt change of subject caught Evelina off guard. "I… yes, Your Grace. Of course. But may I ask why?—"

"You may not," the Duke cut her off sharply. "That topic is strictly forbidden. Do I make myself clear, Miss Balfour?"

Evelina swallowed hard, nodding. "Perfectly clear, Your Grace."

"Good." He turned away, effectively dismissing her. "You may go. I expect you here at the same time next week."

Evelina curtsied, her mind racing with questions she dared not voice. "Thank you, Your Grace. Good day."

As she made her way out of Dunmore House and into the crisp afternoon air, Evelina's thoughts were a jumble of conflicting emotions.

Relief at not being dismissed warred with curiosity about the Duke's strange condition. What had happened to Eliza's mother? And why was the topic so clearly forbidden?

She was excited about the prospect of tutoring Eliza, who had proved herself to be a delightful and brilliant girl. But the Duke had effectively put her on ice, and now Evelina had no idea what else to expect in the coming weeks.

Yet, as she recalled Eliza's shy smiles and tentative steps towards confidence, she felt a surge of determination. Whatever secrets the Duke might be hiding, whatever nasty skeletons were hidden in dusty cabinets, she would do everything in her power to help Eliza flourish.

The girl deserved nothing less.