Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Mrs. White continued her unrelenting efforts to tutor me in the ways of English gentility. The invitation to dine with Lord Puffington and his family spurred her onward even more fervently than before. She grilled, quizzed, and cross-examined me on the nature of the peerage as well as British titles. The difference between a viscount and an earl was now crystal clear. In America, we called people Mr. or Mrs. or Miss. It was hardly so complicated, but to the British, particularly my dour tutor, these things were all very important. The shrew made dire threats should I forget or fail to show appropriate deference based upon title.

She even had the temerity to attempt to correct my accent.

More accurately, she hired someone to accomplish the task.

Summoned to the drawing room one morning after breakfast, presumably for callers, I entered with a smile, only to be faced with Mrs. White standing next to a horrid little man whom she introduced as Professor Keating. He dipped his bald head to me. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hancock."

His pronunciation and precise tone surpassed the elocution of even the most high born British lords and ladies of my acquaintance.

Mrs. White, using her most genteel diction as well, explained. "Professor Keating is here to teach you how to speak."

I glowered from the pockmarked face of Professor Keating to the beady eyes of Mrs. White and took a step backward.

"Your father has ordered these lessons." She tipped her chin up in challenge, anticipating my objection.

"At your suggestion, of course."

"We only want what is best for you."

I rushed from the room to find my only parent. He had his nose buried in a book in the library when I burst in.

"Father," I gasped, expecting the shrew to be fast on my heels, or as fast as her jam-and-pudding fueled frame could carry her. "What is wrong with my accent? Am I not an American?"

He tore his attention away from reading long enough to glance up at me. "Mrs. White thinks correcting your accent is a good idea."

I clenched my fists at my sides. "What about what you think?"

"Sarah." He set the book aside to focus on me. "We are here to find you a husband. Assuming we succeed, England will be your new home. If you are going to be British, you should sound like it."

Taken aback by his plan to convert me into someone else, I squared my shoulders and replied with every bit of Yankee pride within me. "I will never be British, regardless of who I might marry. What is wrong with you? Have you forgotten your own country?"

"No, Sarah. But I will not be living here for the rest of my life. If all goes according to plan, you will."

A cold feeling washed over me. Though I knew this was the purpose of the trip to London, it only now occurred to me that my father, my closest living relative, would leave me here and travel back home. To his home. But I would not. Once I was legally wed, he would wash his hands of me and resume his life an ocean away.

It did not help matters that he seemed to be in a bit of a rush to accomplish the task and be on his way.

Rather than waiting for Father to force me to return while the smug Mrs. White watched, I turned and left the room, running right into the winded lady herself.

"Sarah! Why can you not be more careful?" she scolded. "Honestly, you are the most difficult young lady I have ever encountered."

Ignoring her, I stomped my way back to the drawing room and sat down opposite Professor Keating. "One lesson. That is all I will consent to."

"To which I will consent," the clammy little man corrected.

"I thought this was about my accent, not my grammar." I conveyed my annoyance with a fierce glare, though he likely wished to correct that as well.

"Fine." He pulled himself up to his full elfin height. "Let us begin with a few simple exercises." He cleared his throat in preparation for his torture.

"Americans," he pronounced the word as though it was vinegar upon his tongue, "place too much emphasis on the hard sound of the letter R. The British articulate it much more gently." He demonstrated. "Pahk, rather than park, you see?"

I shrugged.

"Now you try it."

"Pahk, ahthah than park," I mimicked.

"Miss Hancock!" Mrs. White, of course, chose that moment to enter the room. No doubt she had lingered in the library to slaughter my character to my father before returning to belittle me in front of Professor Sweaty Brow.

"Professor Keating—" She caught herself before she went into a full-blown tirade. She gave him her best smile, which simply meant she did not scowl. "Would you please excuse Miss Hancock and me, um, myself? Um. The two of us. I should like to speak with Miss Hancock privately for a moment."

Professor Keating scuttled out the door without further comment, no doubt relieved at an opportunity to escape the tension in the room.

"I am ashamed of you. Behaving so rudely to Professor Keating. After your father paid him a handsome sum, indeed, to make you sound like a proper lady."

"Ashamed? How dare you. You are nothing to me, and to imply my actions reflect on you in any manner is ludicrous. Believe me, I am as ashamed to be in your presence as you are to be in mine."

Father entered the room. He glanced from Mrs. White to me and back again. "I have sent the professor on his way. Perhaps hiring a pugilist master would be a better activity for the two of you."

Mrs. White and I kept our distance from each other for the rest of the day, but she started up again that evening. As if my nerves were not sufficiently frazzled over the party at the home of the Puffington family, my unrelenting tutor felt compelled to lecture me during the entire trip to their townhouse. Would that I could open the door to the carriage and push her out to be trampled by the hooves of the horses pulling the carriages which followed ours, but such an act would be most unladylike, indeed.

Perhaps that was a bit harsh, but I had been under the thumb and scrutiny of that humorless, cold woman nonstop since my arrival in London and would have done almost anything to be rid of her.

If only I could find out more about her past. Perhaps that would reveal some nugget of information which I could use to persuade Father to terminate her from his employ. But so far, no information had been forthcoming. I believed Cassie had become distracted by suitors. I could not blame her, however, I was desperate to be free of Mrs. White.

I had attempted to talk with Father about her dogged determination to turn me into a simpering fool, but he had no ear for my concerns. What little charm she possessed she heaped upon my father, not me.

I wondered if a husband for me was not Mrs. White's only objective.

Thankfully, once we arrived at the party, Lady Puffington distracted my chaperone sufficiently for me to slip away to converse with Lord Puffington and his sister, who were both quite amiable.

The evening started off exceedingly well. Optimism flickered in my breast at the possibility of soon becoming part of the Puffington family, freeing myself of Mrs. White along with her constant carping, criticism, and control.

From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Cassie as she arrived with both Lord and Lady Winchester. I was happy to see my friend, though the fact that she was accompanied by the Winchesters gave me a pang of sadness since my own father could not be bothered to attend this event, fobbing me off to Mrs. White instead.

Lord Puffington excused himself to speak with other guests and I turned toward Cassie, eager to speak with her.

"Well, hello Yankee girl," came a familiar voice from behind me, clipping the wings of happiness fluttering about in my chest. "Have you spat upon anyone yet?"

I turned, determined not to rise to the bait, but one look at the Duke of Amherst's smug expression changed my mind. "Not yet, but that could change at any moment."

"I would expectorate no less from you, little spitfire," he replied.

I opened my mouth to respond then closed it. Had this man actually bested me in a war of words? Perhaps I misheard him and he simply said expect not expectorate, because who could really be that clever?

"Have I stunned you with my wordplay, Miss Hancock?" A satisfied smile turned up the corners of his lips, which were quite luscious and surrounded even white teeth— I imagined them nipping at various parts of my body.

What? First, it was a most improper notion. Had Mrs. White been able to monitor my thoughts—which she certainly wished to do—she would have been shocked all the way from the top of her bonnet-covered head to the tips of her sensibly shod toes.

Stunned did not begin to describe the confusing sensations assaulting me, and I rarely surprised myself.

Second, how could I possibly have randy thoughts about him, the most despicable man I had encountered in all of my one and twenty years?

Yet, I continued to stand before him, dumbfounded.

Thankfully, Lord Puffington joined us. "Ah, Jeffrey, I see you have met Miss Hancock. Is she not delightful?"

The notion of these two gentlemen discussing me as though I were not standing in front of them annoyed me. When the possibility arose that the duke would respond with his thoughts on my ‘delightfulness,' the urge to flee the room immediately became my priority. I searched about for an exit, but Mrs. White stepped into my line of sight, signaling me to smile and appear amused.

Would she pat me on the head once I performed as directed?

"Yes, she is delightful indeed," the duke replied to Lord Puffington, though he kept his eyes on me while he spoke. "You never know what might come out of her mouth."

My face flushed with embarrassment, and my dearest desire was to get away from both of them. I would have liked the opportunity to spend more time with Lord Puffington, but not if it meant one more instant in the company of the exasperating Duke of Amherst.

I excused myself but, as I began to step away, the loathsome woman accosted me. What had begun as a promising evening suddenly turned into my own private Dante's Inferno: cold, calculating Mrs. White on one side and the too-disturbing Duke of Amherst on the other. I looked at Lord Puffington, telepathically pleading with him to rescue me from this hell, but he had somehow disappeared as soon as Mrs. White came near.

"Ah, Miss Hancock, the music is starting. It is time for the dance you promised me." The Duke of Amherst whisked me away before she could utter a syllable. We stood up together with the dancers.

"I did not promise you a dance," I whispered through a forced smile.

"Based upon the expression in your eyes when your governess?—"

"She is not my governess." Honestly, could he be more infuriating?

"Given the childish way you sometimes behave, you can understand my confusion."

"You are not confused. You simply hope to rankle me, something you have an uncanny ability to do."

"And do you know why that is?" he asked before the dance parted us briefly.

"Because you are despicable," I responded the next time he came within earshot.

"No." He grinned. "It is because you fancy me."

I stopped in my tracks to glare up at him. The dance was forgotten while raw emotion coursed through my veins. "You! I fancy you ?" I threw my head back and laughed. "Do you honestly believe I could ever fancy a man such as you, after you turned me over your knee and spanked me?"

Jeffrey, the Duke of Amherst stared. An eerie silence fell over the dancers and even the musicians quieted. From the corner of my eye, I saw Cassie with her mouth hanging slack.

Horrified, my focus darted from shocked face to shocked face until my gaze met the stony glare of Mrs. White.