The Tutor (House of Lords) by Meg Brooke Page B

who didn’t want to be considered accomplished, but Miss Endersby seemed to care not only for accomplishment but also for academic achievement. If she had been a man, she would have published a dozen scholarly papers on the political climate of the day or the history of the British Empire. In fact, Charles thought now as his carriage turned into St. James’s Square, Miss Endersby seemed to have been raised with very little consideration for her gender. Oh, she had not put a toe out of line socially, of course. Imogen had scolded Charles the day before for neglecting to provide Miss Endersby with refreshments, but his guest had not said a word about his blunder. She had been taught what to do in a drawing room. Beyond that, however, it was as if the mind of a man lay behind that pretty face. She must have had a singular upbringing. Having experienced what it was like to be in a tutorial with Roger Endersby, Charles had an easy time imagining the man spouting off his opinions and ideas over the dinner table, as well. Maybe it had been pure survival instinct that had prompted her to learn all she had.
    But it was not his scruples over her personality that gave him pause. Oh, she had political ideas, certainly. Her sudden outburst during their last session about duty and justice had shown him as much. He was not worried for Imogen and Gillian on that score, either. He sensed that Miss Endersby would be circumspect enough not to attempt to influence his sisters. No, it was the fact that the more he saw her socially, the more he would be tempted to think of her as a woman and not as an employee. And thinking of Miss Endersby as a woman could prove dangerous. Even if she was not aware of her beauty, he certainly was. He had told himself he could withstand her charms, but there was something about the way her face had lit up yesterday when she had spoken of the Magna Carta and the beheading of Charles I that had been both alluring and terrifying.
    Of one thing, however, he had no doubt: if there was anyone who could teach him what he needed to know, it was Miss Cynthia Endersby. She could probably teach him a good deal more as well. He had spent the hours between her departure and supper reading the book she had so casually assigned him, trying to make sense of it.
    Trying , he thought, but not succeeding . Charles did not consider himself a stupid man, by any means. He knew that he had neglected his education, but he had never expected to regret it as he did now. As he had stared at those pages, trying to comprehend what they meant, he had wondered if he was really up to the task he had set himself. And now, as he settled himself in the library again, a thought occurred to him. Had she done it on purpose?
    Had Miss Endersby wanted to make him feel stupid? Was that why she had suggested he read only the first four chapters, which she knew were the easiest in the book, knowing that he would be tempted to look beyond, knowing that he would feel his own ignorance keenly when he did?
    He wouldn’t put it past her. If only to spite her, Charles decided that he would succeed at this. He would show her that he could participate at her level.
    First, though, he had to finish muddling his way through the book.
     
    “Lady Imogen Bainbridge and Lady Gillian Bainbridge,” Mallory announced. Cynthia rose to greet the young women as they swept into the parlor. She had been sitting at the window with a book on Parliamentary procedure open on her lap, though she hadn’t really been reading it.
    “Good afternoon,” Lady Imogen said, and she crossed the room to take Cynthia’s hands. She looked so young when she smiled like that, Cynthia thought. It was hard to believe that she was little more than a year Lady Imogen’s senior. She felt ancient today.
    “Good afternoon,” she replied. “Lady Gillian, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
    “What have you been reading?” the younger Bainbridge sister asked. Cynthia picked up the book and