Page 90 of A Governess Should Never… Deny a Duke (The Governess Chronicles 2)

Chapter Twenty-One

“Far be it from my wish, to damp the early efforts of a sensible and feeling mind.”

Private Education: A Practical Plan for the Studies of Young Ladies.

Elizabeth Appleton. 1815.

Mari thinned her lips, pulled back her shoulders and held her head high.

“I will endeavour to conquer this, Miss Beaujeu. This terror. This fear that nips at my heels and whispers my failure each night. I can avoid it no longer. I am ready.”

Isabelle passed her the charcoal pencil. “’Tis only an art lesson, ma petite.”

Mari shook her head in melancholic anguish. “One governess said my charcoal shading invoked the bowels of hell and that my sketches of feet were the evidence of a distorted and foul mind.”

Lady Gwen, who had agreed to be the subject for this art lesson, grinned. “Never fear, I’ll keep my slippers on.”

“Be brave,” said Isabelle, attempting to suppress her mirth. “It’s simply facial features, and we have Miss Appleton’s instructions to guide us.”

The young girl took the pencil with trembling fingers. “Well don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Isabelle took her position at the school desk, Mari before the easel and Lady Gwen beside the window for the best light.

“Now…” Isabelle opened the page at her mark. “‘Every human head takes an almost oval form.’”

Mari’s hand wafted over the paper for a good while.

“Next, ‘draw three lines: first across the centre from the crown for the eyes; in the third quarter for the nostrils; the remaining part to the lowest point is to be divided for the mouth and chin.’”

“Er…” Mari muttered under her breath. “Can you repeat that, please?”

Isabelle complied and her charge scribbled away, pained pants of exertion coming from behind the easel.

“The guests,” began Lady Gwen, “are to be given a guided tour of the Llanedwyn estate mausoleum today. Lady Elen wished for the young ladies to be aware of the great honour that Rhys’ august lineage would bestow should one be chosen as his duchess but I’m not sure being surrounded by ten generations of dead ancestors is ideal for courting.”

Isabelle managed a smile although the thought of the duke surrounded by all those eager young ladies caused a slight queasiness today. “Has a gentleman ever caught your attention, Lady Gwen?” She plopped a palm to her mouth. “I am sorry, that was most forward.”

The lady fluttered her fingers in the air. “No, not at all.” But a huff arose from behind the easel, so she stilled them. “And, well, one gentleman did. But…it was not to be. And before that, I think it was rather the reverse, in that I was not the sort to catch a gentleman’s attention.”

“Sir Owen asked you to marry him,” mumbled Mari. “And Lord Kemble.”

A flush lit the lady’s cheeks. “Oh, well, yes. There were a few fellows.”

“Six,” said Mari before a snap carried and half her pencil was borne aloft. “I’m afraid I’ve broken it, Miss?”

With another procured, Isabelle referenced her text. “‘The sketching,’ Mari, ‘should be as light as a hair stroke.’”

More exuberant hand wafting. “And next?”

“‘The height of the ear falls between the eyebrow and nostril.’”

Mari peered around the easel and held her pencil up, one eye closed. “Hmm.”

“How come you know of my suitors, Mari?” asked Lady Gwen.

“Papa told me. Since you came back from London, he made sure to take an interest in your welfare. He didn’t like any of them either.”

Lady Gwen’s eyelashes fluttered closed. “Ah.”

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