Page 1 of A Duke to Steal Her
Chapter One
“Miss Lancaster! Your shoulders resemble a common field hand’s, not a lady’s! Straighten them immediately!” Miss Tindale’s sharp reprimand echoed across the length of the grand hall at Wicklow’s Academy as she descended upon a trembling dark-haired girl.
Then, her attention suddenly pivoted. She approached with brisk steps, wooden pointer in hand. Without warning, she pressed the cold tip against Emily’s lower back, forcing her spine to arch.
“Straighten your spine, Lady Emily! A book cannot balance on a slope.” Her voice cut through the stuffy air like a whip. Not a single gray hair dared escape the pins that held a severe bun snugly in place at the base of her skull. Miss Tindale’s perpetual frown and hawk-like gaze fixed firmly upon Emily.
“A lady’s posture must be impeccable at all times,” she intoned, circling Emily like a bird of prey. She narrowed her eyes, whichwere magnified by a pair of large wire-rimmed spectacles. “The spine should be straight, shoulders are relaxed yet poised, and the chin must be parallel to the floor.”
Emily continued her careful steps, keeping her eyes forward, maintaining her practiced composure while her mind wandered to the translation of Italian verbs she’d been working on before etiquette class commenced.
“How much longer until I can be free of this…Che tortura!” she said under her breath.
“A lady does not murmur. If you mean to speak, say it out loud and be clear!” Miss Tindale tapped her wooden pointer against her palm with metronomic precision.
“Nothing of consequence, Miss Tindale,” Emily replied coolly, adjusting her posture as the etiquette book wobbled precariously on her head.
Miss Tindale’s nostrils flared. “Your lack of enthusiasm for these essential lessons is precisely why you require more of them, Lady Emily. A proper lady embraces refinement; she doesn’t merely endure it.”
Giggles erupted from the corner where Miss Catherine Sheffield and her companions huddled.
Catherine’s voice rose deliberately above the others. “Some of us would actually enjoy marrying a reputable earl. Howdisappointed Lord Peirce will be when he discovers his bride lacks the grace and elegance expected of her future station.”
“That will be quite enough chatter,” Miss Tindale barked to the classroom of ladies.
Emily kept her gaze fixed forward, refusing to acknowledge the whispers that followed her like persistent flies.
Miss Tindale turned her attention to a gangly girl attempting to balance both a book and her quivering chin. “Miss Harrington! You slouch as though you were raised in a barn rather than a baronet’s household.”
Suddenly, Catherine’s blue silk slipper extended with deliberate casualness into Emily’s path, perfectly timed as Emily took her next step.
The impact was immediate. Emily pitched forward with unstoppable momentum. The etiquette book launched from her head, clattering across the polished oak floor with a series of sharp reports that punctuated her fall. Her palms struck the floor hard, skirts billowing around her in an undignified sprawl.
The class erupted in poorly concealed laughter, handkerchiefs and fans doing little to muffle their delight at her humiliation.
“Good heavens, Lady Emily!” Miss Tindale exclaimed, horror contorting her features.
Emily took a steadying breath as she collected herself. She rose with as much grace as she could muster, brushing invisible dust from her skirts as she straightened her spine, unwilling to give her tormentors the satisfaction of seeing her distress.
“Miss Tindale, I apologize for the disruption. I was not paying sufficient attention to my surroundings,” Emily began, choosing dignity over accusation, despite the injustice.
“Apologize, Lady Emily? There is no apology sufficient enough for such a display of gracelessness!” Miss Tindale’s fingers clamped around Emily’s forearm with surprising strength for such a skeletal hand. “Ladies do not falter, my lady. They glide with perfect composure, something you would do well to master before your wedding!”
The grip tightened, each finger pressing deeper. Emily felt tomorrow’s bruises forming, another constellation to join the fading marks from last week’s “posture correction.” She maintained her expression, careful not to wince despite the pain.
“Perhaps Lord Peirce might reconsider if he knew how clumsy his bride is,” whispered Lady Eleanor Boughton from behind her fan. “The Earl of Peirce deserves a wife who can at least remain upright in company.”
A curious sensation washed over Emily at these words. She had a flash of unexpected lightness, almost relief, at the thought of Lord Peirce reconsidering their arrangement.
She pushed the treacherous thought aside, focusing instead on maintaining her composure while Miss Tindale’s fingers left their impression on both her arm and her pride.
“Ladies, now all of you to your feet. We shall practice the proper curtsy.” Miss Tindale paced the perimeter of the room, her shoes clicking against the polished floor like a military drummer keeping time.
A soft knock at the classroom door interrupted her instruction.
A young maid entered, practically trembling as she dipped into a hasty curtsy. “Begging your pardon, Miss Tindale. Headmistress Harper requires Lady Emily’s immediate presence in her office.”
Before the maid had finished speaking, Emily had executed a flawless curtsy and gathered her skirts to leave.
