Gabriel’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Eager to negotiate terms already, Miss Balfour? I admire your practicality. We can discuss the details at length tomorrow, should you accept.”
“Tomorrow?” Evelina echoed, startled.
“Indeed.” Gabriel nodded. “I see no reason to delay. Unless, of course, you have other pressing engagements?”
Evelina opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. She could hardly tell him that her only plans for the morrow involved mending Margaret’s old gowns.
The music was drawing to a close, and Evelina knew she only had moments to make her decision. Every fiber of her being wanted to refuse, to tell this arrogant man exactly what he could do with his offer. Even though she knew she couldn’t do it.
But then, as they made their final turn, Evelina’s gaze fell on Margaret. Her sister was radiant, but Evelina’s trained eye caught the telltale signs of wear on her gown.
The tiny stitches at the hem where she’d repaired a tear, the slightly faded color of the fabric that had been carefully cleaned and pressed too many times.
At that moment, Evelina knew she had no choice.
As the final notes of the music faded, she met the Duke’s gaze. “Very well, Your Grace. I accept your offer.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows rose slightly as if he’d expected more resistance. “Excellent. Be at Dunmore House tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp. We’ll discuss your tasks in more detail then.” With a curt nod, he released her hand and stepped back. “Good evening, Miss Balfour.”
Evelina watched as he strode away, her emotions a tumultuous mix of anticipation and dread. What had she just agreed to?
As she made her way back to Margaret’s side, Clara appeared before her, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“My dear,” the Countess said, her voice low and excited, “what on earth did you and my nephew discuss that had him looking so… intrigued?”
Evelina opened her mouth to reply but found she had no words to explain the strange turn her evening had taken. How could she possibly convey the magnitude of what had just transpired?
Around them, the ballroom buzzed with excitement. Lady Worthington was practically vibrating with enthusiasm as she spoke to a group of matrons.
“Did you see?” she exclaimed. “The Duke of Dunmore, dancing with Miss Balfour! And not just a perfunctory turn aboutthe room, mind you. They were engaged in quite an intense conversation. I haven’t seen His Grace so animated in years!”
“Indeed, it was most unusual,” another voice declared. “And did you notice how he sought her out specifically? Perhaps our reclusive Duke is finally ready to rejoin Society.”
As more speculation swirled around her, Evelina felt a mix of embarrassment and amusement. If only they knew the true nature of her interaction with the Duke. How would they react if they learned she was to be employed as a tutor, rather than courted?
The night wore on, and as Evelina guided Margaret through the intricacies of her debut ball, her mind kept returning to the Duke’s proposition. She had accepted it out of necessity, yes, but there was a part of her—a part she scarcely dared acknowledge—that was thrilled at the challenge.
Gabriel Jones might think he could intimidate her with his stern demeanor and piercing gaze, but Evelina Balfour was made of sterner stuff. If the Duke of Dunmore thought he could simply order her about like a servant, he was in for quite a surprise.
Tomorrow, she would enter the lion’s den. Tomorrow, she would begin her new life as a tutor to the daughter of one of England’s most powerful men.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Miss Balfour, His Grace is expecting you. Please, follow me.”
Evelina nodded at the smartly dressed footman before her, her nerves settling as she stepped into the now-familiar opulence of Dunmore House.
Today marked the beginning of her new responsibility—tutoring Eliza, the Duke of Dunmore’s daughter.
As she followed the footman, Evelina couldn’t help but recall her previous encounters with the Duke. His commanding presence had left quite an impression, though she was loath to admit it.
The footman led her through the grand foyer and up the sweeping staircase. They came to a halt before an ornate door, which the footman opened with a flourish.
“Miss Balfour, Your Grace,” he announced.
The Duke stood by the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the morning light. He turned, fixing Evelina with his intense gaze. “Miss Balfour, you’re punctual. I approve.”
