Unbuttoning The Innocent Miss. Bronwyn Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ pronounce all the letters in their words, but apparently that didn’t stop him from doing it and doing it wrong. Wrong was something he wasn’t use to being.

      Beside him, Cecilia was not quite as forgiving behind her frosty smile. She leaned slightly towards him as if what she had to say was between the two of them, but it was an illusion only. She meant for the table to hear. ‘I did not realise we had a Francophile at the table, Lashley.’

      Jonathon stiffened, feeling his senses go on alert. Stares returned. This was not a friendly remark. He did not need or want Cecilia defending him, nor did he see the need to attack Miss Welton. Francophile was the most insulting name Cecilia could have decently called her and Miss Welton knew it. Everyone at the table knew it. Her hand halted just for a fraction of a second as she reached for her wine glass. Jonathon willed that hand to keep going, to give no sign of Cecilia’s comment having any effect.

      But the damage was done. The fish was nowhere near as exciting as Cecilia Northam verbally calling someone out. People near them stopped eating and cast interested glances their way. The war might have been over for seven years, but to be a lover of anything French was still not a popular pastime.

      Jonathon locked eyes with Miss Welton as if he could lend her some strength, some encouragement with his gaze. He could see how she fought the urge to retreat in the way her hand tensed around the stem of her wine glass.

      Don’t you dare apologise, Miss Welton. I was incorrect and you called me on it. You’ve done nothing wrong.

      If there was any apologising to be done, it should be Cecilia. Her comment had bordered on the pale and he had no wish to see anyone put down whether it be on his behalf or not, especially not a woman who had chosen tonight to step into the light.

      To his everlasting delight, Miss Welton straightened her shoulders and met Cecilia’s gaze. ‘French is the language of diplomacy on the Continent, Miss Northam. One need not be a Francophile to appreciate the importance of being conversant in the language.’ She managed a sophisticated smile as if to say she would not be embarrassed over her knowledge or made to feel lesser for her education. Jonathon wanted to applaud.

      ‘You are lucky to be so well schooled in the language.’ He smiled, lending her support with his words, well aware that Cecilia bristled beside him, fully understanding his support of Miss Welton was a subtle but resounding denouncement of her accusation. Cecilia would not be pleased.

      On his other side, a more pleasant May Worth picked up the lagging conversation. ‘Miss Welton is fluent in French and three other languages as well.’

      Jonathon raised a dark brow in genuine interest over Miss Welton’s accomplishments, trying hard not to stare at those cognac eyes or lower at the expanse of bosom on display. Her bodice was no lower than anyone else’s, but it had become unexplainably more alluring. ‘Is that true, Miss Welton? I had no idea you were so accomplished.’

      He envied her that accomplishment. It would come as a surprise to everyone at the table if they knew how much he wished to be her—the quiet, heretofore unobtrusive Miss Welton—in those moments. It would solve a lot of his problems. Oral fluency in French was all that kept him from finalising the Vienna appointment, a post he very much wanted for personal reasons. But it was a skill that had eluded him since he’d come home from Waterloo. Even after countless tutors and in spite of his ability to write and read the language with perfect comfort, he couldn’t speak a word of it.

      A footman set down a beautifully arranged plate of beef bourguignon in front of him. Great. A French dish. Now even the food was mocking him and there was still Cecilia to contend with as the table turned; pretty, petulant Cecilia who was supposed to make him the ideal bride—her beauty and wit a representation of English womanhood to those abroad. He was expected to offer for her by the end of the Season, one more venue for securing the Vienna post was official. He would do it if that was what it took, just as he would master oral fluency in French. They were merely the last two hurdles to be overcome, he told himself. It was the least he could do in the name of his brother’s memory. He would be part of establishing peace in his time, so that no one else would have to die.

      Jonathon shot one last look across the table at Miss Welton, catching her eye before she turned away to give her attention to the man beside her. What other languages did she speak and why? Did she ever intend to use them or need them? Cecilia tugged at his arm when he was too slow to give her his attention, but before he turned, Miss Welton mouthed a single word: ‘Merci.’ Thank you. Suffice it to say, his curiosity was piqued even if it shouldn’t be.

Chapter Three

      ‘Spill! What is your news?’ Claire’s curiosity was more than piqued by the time she and May set out for Lady Stamford’s ball in the Worth carriage, her parents having taken May’s folks up with them in their town coach. Waiting for whatever May’s news was had been a herculean task, especially since Claire was sure it involved Jonathon and May always knew the most delicious things.

      May’s eyes twinkled confidentially. ‘Lashley’s French tutor has left him. No one knows why, but it doesn’t matter. It only matters that he’s gone and there’s no one to teach him.’

      Claire grimaced, disappointed. She’d thought the news would be more significant than that. ‘Isn’t he a bit old for a tutor?’ What could Jonathon Lashley possibly be studying for? At twenty-eight, he was years out of university, years past the age of being a student, and he was perfect at everything he did. She furrowed her brow and examined the flaw in her conclusion. He hadn’t been perfect at dinner. His French had been deplorable. Whoever his tutor had been, the man hadn’t been any good even if he had been from Paris.

      May leaned back against the leather squabs, looking irritatingly smug. ‘There’s more to it. While Evie was busy altering your dress, I was busy, too. Jonathon Lashley can’t speak French to save his life and I mean that quite literally. Preston says Lashley’s been given an ultimatum: learn to speak passable French by August or he’ll lose his diplomatic post.’

      ‘What am I supposed to do about that?’ Claire said, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that Jonathon Lashley had an imperfection, a weakness in his formidable social arsenal of skills and she’d accidentally called him on it. This was getting worse by the minute. She had not meant to embarrass him. If the correction hadn’t been bad enough, she’d also managed to highlight a rather sensitive incompetency. This was more than alerting someone to a spot on their shirt. He must thoroughly despise her. And yet he hadn’t shunned her, hadn’t cut her down with a cruel remark when he had the chance and Cecilia had certainly given him one. Instead, he’d championed her with his words and with his eyes. Maybe she’d dream about that tonight. She hoped so. She wanted to remember how he’d looked across the table at her, how he’d smiled at her, each word he’d spoken to her. It had almost been a real conversation. There had been that moment when he’d turned away and she’d had the impression he’d like to have said more, asked her more. Was it possible to fake that impression? Surely not. Claire gave a wistful sigh. She’d like to believe just for a moment, she’d entranced Jonathon Lashley...

      May snapped her fingers in impatience and Claire snapped to attention. Apparently she’d let her thoughts wander too far afield. ‘Do I need to spell it out? Step into the breach, Claire! Be his hero in his hour of need. Teach him French. Secure his post.’ Her eyes danced with a naughty light. ‘Who knows, he might just be eternally grateful.’

      She could do that. At least the girl in the ethereal blue dress could do that. Claire sat up straighter, her mind alert as possibilities began to spark. She started to see the brilliance of May’s suggestion: long hours of working together, alone, the subject itself СКАЧАТЬ