Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons #4)(24)

“Prudence is a horrid dancer.”

Prudence ground her heel into Poppy’s slipper. Tears filled Poppy’s eyes. “Well, you are. She is,” she said back to Juliet.

“I don’t expect there is much Miss Marsh can teach us in the way of dance with her lame leg,” Prudence muttered.

If Juliet hadn’t grown accustomed to her brother’s cruel barbs through the years, she expected those words would have hurt. Alas, young Prudence would have to dig a bit deeper to wound her. “I’ll also teach you of watercolors and art.”

Penelope snorted. “We detest art.”

Juliet’s lips twitched. “You can’t possibly detest all art.”

Poppy nodded with a seriousness more befitting a woman two and thirty years and not her mere two and ten years. “Oh, yes. We detest all art.”

“We shall see,” Juliet murmured.

“What else do you intend to teach us?” Poppy asked with a guarded look in her eyes.

“We’ll sing—”

Prudence planted her hands upon her hips. “Then you have nothing we care to learn, Miss Marsh.”

Suddenly, Juliet wished she’d paid a good deal more attention to her own governess through the years. What had the woman done when Juliet had been a less than eager student? “Perhaps you’re right, Lady Prudence, but until we truly begin together, then you can’t say that for certain.”

Fire flashed in the girl’s eyes.

“What do you intend to begin with, Miss Marsh?” Poppy asked with more of the girl like curiosity than the jaded fa?ade she presented as the youngest of the Tidemore sisters.

Juliet took in her smallest charge and recognized the first potential ally. She must woo the girl to her side with meticulous care, or she’d ever lose her to her older sisters’ misguided influence. She glanced around the immaculate space. There were no books. No canvases. No watercolors. In fact, she couldn’t imagine a greater dearth of materials for a gaggle of young girls being instructed by a governess.

“Miss Marsh?” Poppy prodded.

Prudence’s eyes went wide. “Why, you aren’t a governess,” Prudence sounded like she’d discovered the secret to creation.

Juliet could see how five governesses had come before her. A lesser woman would far prefer the uncertainty of finding a different post than deal with the young termagant’s vitriol. “I—”

“You are one of Sin’s fancy pieces.”

“I knew it,” Penelope said under her breath. She yawned behind her hand and plopped down on a nearby sofa.

Juliet’s eyebrows shot up. Fancy piece? Her skin warmed and she raised her hands to fan her cheeks, then remembered herself.

Prudence stared at her with an expression both victorious and deliberately jeering.

Juliet sighed and motioned to the remaining girls standing to sit. “I see I’d best begin with a lesson on proper deportment.”

Poppy flung her hand across her eyes on a dramatic sigh, and settled into the seat beside Penelope.

Prudence continued standing, a belligerent set to her young shoulders.

Juliet said nothing. The long-clock in the far corner of the room ticked the passage of time. Like observers at a game of tennis, Penelope and Poppy’s gazes moved between Juliet and Prudence with each beat of the clock. Nearly two full minutes later, Prudence sat. Juliet took the seat nearest the girl. And added a second battle to the war she’d just begun. “Shall we begin?” she murmured.





Jonathan tapped his pen distractedly back and forth upon the open ledger in front of him. He’d stared at the same page for some time now. He looked at the column of numbers on the far left, and then picked his gaze up, studying his office door.

He’d deposited, nay abandoned, Juliet to her affairs several hours ago. He’d sat with bated breath, awaiting the moment his office door opened and she stormed inside and quit her bothersome charges. The oddest disappointment filled him at the prospect of her leaving, yet the poor young woman didn’t have a prayer of success.

One hour after he’d left her above stairs, he acknowledged Juliet had already succeeded an hour longer than he’d imagined. As the clock marked her second hour as governess to the Tidemore sisters, he realized the futility in his efforts to accomplish anything this day. He’d stared at his ledgers, unable to concentrate on anything else beyond his thoughts of his captivating governess.

Jonathan slowed the steady beat of his pen, and tossed it down. Perhaps it would do to go above stairs and just make sure she hadn’t come to any harm. The more he considered it, the more sense it made to pay a gentlemanly call to the young lady. If for no other reason than to see if she was getting on well. Or ascertain whether there was anything she needed of him.

For his charges, that was.

He shoved back his seat and climbed to his feet. With energized steps, he strode from his office, up the stairs, and down the corridor to the Ivory Parlor. He drew to a slow halt, grinning. His mother stood in profile, ear pressed to the wood panel of the door. Jonathan folded his arms across his chest. “Good afternoon.”

His mother jumped then spun on her heel. She slapped a finger to her lips. “Hush,” she mouthed silently. She beckoned him forward, and he strolled down the hall. He stopped in front of her.

“Wh—?”