The Tutor (House of Lords) Read Free Page A

had stopped listening when, trying to impress her, he had misquoted Wordsworth what felt like ages ago. She glanced discreetly at the mantel clock behind him. It had been ten minutes.
    She stifled a groan.
    Then she heard the words “your father”. She snapped to attention.
    “...never knew there were so many mathematicians who were also philosophers,” Mr. Altington was saying. Oh, dear. Another Oxford man. “Truly, it was an eye-opening experience. It’s a shame he’s no longer teaching.”
    “Yes,” Cynthia said mildly.
    “But it means we are all able to enjoy the pleasure of your company here in London,” he added, smiling.
    Cynthia smiled back. Really, she knew Mr. Altington meant well, the bumbling buffoon, but she wished he would leave her alone and allow her to pursue her real quarry.
    Across Mariah’s sitting room sat Lady Anna Lucas, the new bride of Lord Frederick Lucas. She was simpering up at the Marchioness of Rowen, looking every inch the silly society wife. She was pretty and poised and seemed not to care a bit that the only things she could contribute to the conversation were her opinions of the latest fashions and reflections on last night’s ball. But Cynthia saw past that. Lady Lucas knew she was ignorant, and she hated it. Cynthia had not failed to notice the way the poor girl blushed every time she was asked a serious question, even if everyone else had.
    But she had also seen that Lady Lucas was not stupid. Here was a girl she could mold and shape, a girl who could become a leading political wife, just as Mariah Maxwell and Lydia Baxter were poised to do. Well, perhaps not Lydia Baxter, but at least she no longer confused Baron Brougham and Earl Grey. Cynthia had made both of those women what they were, and she could do it again. She would do it again. If only she could corner Lady Lucas long enough to plant the seed.
    As if thinking of her hostess had summoned her, Mariah Maxwell, Lady Farrington appeared at Cynthia’s shoulder. “Mr. Altington, how splendid to see you again,” she said, and the tone of her voice made it sound as though she actually meant it. Mariah smiled prettily. “Would you mind if I stole Miss Endersby away for a moment? I promised to show her the new watercolor my husband purchased last week.”
    “I suppose I will just have to do without her,” Mr. Altington said, looking rather put out. Cynthia flashed him her most alluring yet noncommittal smile as she rose and allowed Mariah to take her arm and lead her out of the room and into the well-appointed hall of the fashionable Mayfair townhouse.
    When they had reached the study, Mariah closed the doors quietly.
    “What is it?” Cynthia asked, for she knew perfectly well that Lord Farrington detested watercolors and preferred oils of hunting scenes. He had told her so himself at that exhibition last year. Had she done something wrong? Had someone mentioned that she had been helping Mariah? She prided herself on her discretion, on appearing to be nothing more than a close friend to the women she had tutored. If someone had given away Mariah’s secret, it certainly had not been Cynthia.
    “Nothing to worry about,” Mariah said, and as she moved towards the desk Cynthia saw her cast an interested glance at the newspaper that lay there. Cynthia couldn’t help but smile. She had done her work well. “I have a prospective client for you.”
    Cynthia stared at her. She could not imagine Mariah recruiting clients for her—she could not imagine Mariah telling anyone about the tutoring she had received at all. “You have?” she managed.
    Mariah smiled. “I have told a few people about what you did for me, Cynthia. Only a few close friends, you know, people who would never reveal my secret. And one of them is the sister of the new Duke of Danforth.”
    “And she wishes to engage my services?” Cynthia asked. She knew there was a new Duke of Danforth, of course. She had closely followed the previous Duke’s