Page 8 of His Scandalous Lessons
“Kendal has given you instructions on how to please him. He has for years now.”
Anne held back a flinch at his words. Yes, she had been betrothed since she was twelve. Yes, he had sought to carve her into his ideal woman, controlling her lessons, her demeanor, her weight, her very existence. The duke had been a constant presence in her life since that fateful day when Stanton announced Kendal was to be her husband.
A man thirty-one years her senior.
For a girl of twelve, it had been frightening. For a woman of nineteen, it was the way of the nobility. A young woman simply did not turn down the chance to be a duchess over a silly thing like age.
This woman will, Anne thought.
“Yes, papa. His Grace has instructed me in the ways of a man seeking a wife. I’d like instruction from a duchess on how I might succeed in the role she has accomplished very well.”
Stanton tapped his finger against his desk the way he did when he was thinking. Anne’s father seemed to consider her statement, but then shook his head firmly. “I can’t escort you, and I’ll be leaving to the country for a few days before Parliament is back in session. I have business to attend up north.”
Anne’s hope deflated. Though she treasured the small moments of time he spent away from London, his servants would report any suspicious activity while he was gone. If she didn’t leave for the duchess’s estate, she would have to come up with another plan.
You don’t have time for another plan. Think!
She pressed her lips together, as if embarrassed. “It’s only that other women have mothers and aunts to counsel them before marriage...”
Stanton’s gaze swung back to hers. “Ah. I see.” He let out a breath, considering her words. “All right. You may seek Her Grace’s counsel. I think Kendal will be pleased at you receiving advice from a woman so above reproach. Were it anyone else, I would not be so lenient with you.”
Anne had to stop herself from showing relief. He was going to let her go. He was going to let her stay.
“Thank you, papa,” she whispered.
She would not fail.
Chapter 5
Though Anne argued against the necessity of a bodyguard, her father forced her to take a maid.
As she settled in the private rail coach with the other woman, Anne tried to hide her nervousness. The other passengers were boarding the train now. Any moment they would be leaving, and she couldn’t very well strand her maid in the middle of the country upon arrival. No, she had to think of something.
Don’t panic. Think. Calmly.
Mary was an unobjectionable lady’s maid who always had a polite smile in the mornings as she helped Anne dress. Her pleasant demeanor, of course, served a purpose. It was easy to drop one’s guard around the only person who offered a smile — and part of Mary’s duties included reporting to Stanton about Anne's activities. Where they went during the day, how long they spent there, whom she spoke with, what she said. Every word meticulously controlled so that none of Stanton’s secrets would ever spill forth from his daughter’s lips.
Here on this train, she served as a reminder: even in Anne’s father’s absence, he was still watching her. Still listening. Still present by proxy.
Come now. A plan, any plan.
Anne considered her options. How long would a letter take to find her father? Could she strike up a deal with her lady’s maid in return for a future post?
As her thoughts whirled, the door of the coach opened and in stepped Mr. Grey. Anne was caught momentarily speechless at the sight of him. He was dressed handsomely, wearing dark grey trousers and matching overcoat that were tailored to show off his leanness. No, his body was obviously not prone to leisure. Indeed, even his dark blond hair was slightly mussed, as if he had been running.
Or passionately kissing a woman,Anne thought with a glare.
As if Mr. Grey could read her mind, he grinned.
Anne gulped and looked away. She could no more meet that gaze than an oncoming army in battle, there to plunder her castle. “Mr. Grey,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Mary was watching both of them with a calculating expression. She’d know who Mr. Grey was; her father ranted about him often enough.
Oh, dear god.
“I’m pleased to report that I’m full of surprises, Miss Sheffield.” His attention shifted to her father-by-proxy, and Anne noticed the almost imperceptible narrowing of his gaze. “And who is this?”
Her lady’s maid rose to her feet and curtsied. “Mary, sir.”
