Jonathan and Amy Read Free

window to resume his seat. “Georgina says you’re a slave driver, but her French seems to be coming along.”
    â€œShe has a gift for languages. Another sandwich?”
    â€œPlease, and there’s something else you should know.” He peered at his teacup as if perplexed as to how it had found its way into those big, capable hands of his.
    â€œOut with it, Mr. Dolan. Prevarication might work with your business associates, but a governess is made of sterner stuff.”
    He muttered something. Mother of God? Sometimes his voice shaded more toward a brogue, and the words were harder to distinguish.
    â€œI’d like you to take on an additional pupil between now and when we depart for Surrey. I realize it’s short notice, but I’ll compensate you for the extra effort.”
    â€œMr. Dolan, you compensate me more than adequately, and while I appreciate your generosity, I have to wonder what this additional effort entails. Who is to be my new pupil?”
    He continued to stare at his teacup. “Your new pupil is to be none other than myself.”
    ***
    How hard could it be to pass a piece of paper into a woman’s hand?
    Jonathan asked himself this question as he marshaled his courage and surrendered his list into Amy Ingraham’s keeping. Even putting pen to paper had made him queasy.
    She scanned the document, and he knew exactly what she saw:
    What is proper conduct when serving tea to another man?
    How precisely does one offer and render escort to a lady in public?
    Where is the order of precedence listed?
    Why is thirty the usual number of guests at a dinner party?
    How does a man properly assist a lady from a conveyance?
    Under what circumstances, if any , might a gentleman raise his voice?
    On and on the reckoning went, a list of every mistake Jonathan had made since arriving to his wealth, every misstep, and not a few of his regrets. His late wife had tried, gently, for a time, to guide him into genteel behavior, but then even she had given up.
    He could only hope Miss Ingraham viewed his list of humiliations as a pile of social straw she could spin into gold behind the closed doors of Jonathan’s home.
    She wrinkled her nose, which did not bode well for his aspiration as a pupil of gentlemanly deportment. “You want me to teach you to waltz?”
    â€œMost assuredly.”
    â€œBut not the minuet, the gavotte, the polonaise, the other ballroom dances? Do you know the contredanses?”
    â€œI know the parlor dances, and enough of the ballroom dances to get by. Most of them are such lumbering affairs they can be learned at sight, but the waltz is a recent addition to the ballrooms—” He looked down at his hands. The left bore the most scars, having been half smashed in a quarry accident when he was twelve. “I cannot fathom it.”
    She started chattering about how simple the waltz was, while Jonathan watched her mouth and pondered the desperation of a man who’d stoop to such a subterfuge. The Irish engaged in several activities without limit—they worked like beasts, but when not working, they danced and sang. Some would say they also procreated, abused hard liquor, and prayed with equal fervor—some English.
    â€œMr. Dolan, are you paying attention?”
    â€œI always pay attention to you, Miss Ingraham.” The words came out sounding like a rebuke, not a compliment or the simple truth, which they were. Given the state of his nerves, a rebuke was probably safest for them both.
    â€œSee that you do pay attention. We have only a week, and this is not a short list. I will need time to organize our approach.”
    While Jonathan would need time to tie his hands behind his back lest he reach forward and touch her pretty, golden hair. In the morning sun, she wasn’t merely blond. Her hair was shot with highlights of red, wheat, bronze, and more, indefinable colors that played along each individual strand. Spread out over a