The extent of the operation piqued her curiosity. Obviously a new tenant was moving in, but to what purpose in this neighborhood of small businesses and shopkeepers? Walking up to a man stationed at the front door with a notebook and pencil who was busy ticking off each piece of furniture or parcel as it passed by, Claire politely inquired, “Pray tell, what is going on, sir?”

“You ken ask, ma’am, but I know naught. Me orders is to see that everything delivered is carried upstairs. To the third floor, ma’am, if’n that’s any help. A new tenant, I surmise, but no one tol’ me and that’s a fact.”

Thanking him, Claire moved up the stairs with the laborers, going her separate way on the second floor to unlock her schoolroom. She set about preparing her lessons for the coming day and when her students arrived at eleven, all was in readiness.

But the girls were not prepared to learn anything with the exciting display of objects being trundled into the building and up the stairs. Despite her remonstrances, her students kept running to the windows to monitor the activity, delivering pronouncements on each and every item as if they were participants at a Christies auction.

“This is no concern of ours. Come back to your seats, ladies,” Claire would decree to what turned out to be an increasingly unresponsive group. Very soon, she felt as if she were trying to herd cats.

Claire attempted to discuss their reading assignment with her students, but they would have no part of Julius Caesar. While it was never easy teaching young ladies of wealth and privilege who rightly assumed they could do as they pleased, it turned out to be impossible on this particular day.

Finally, Claire gave up, dismissed class and allowed the girls to ogle and stare without restraint. Speculative gossip was rife, the vast amount of furniture and the equally large number of workmen on site suggesting countless possibilities for fertile young minds. In this case, young minds much too familiar with gossip as the sine qua non of life.

The scraping of furniture being put into place was audible overhead, as was the sound of someone playing the pianoforte that had been hoisted in through a window. Perhaps a music conservatory was about to open for business or an opera star was moving in the girls surmised. But when a host of female servants began carrying up a large amount of women’s clothing, the girl’s began to giggle and speculate along entirely unsuitable lines.

“That will be quite enough,” Claire sternly declared, nipping such inappropriate comments in the bud. “I’m sure there’s some perfectly reasonable explanation.” She wished to point out that the furniture passing by was too splendid for a brothel, but she didn’t care to explain why she would possess such knowledge. Nor did she have personal experience in that area. But she strongly suspected that however elegant a brothel might be, it would hardly be furnished with pieces of such superior quality.

When at last the girls’ carriages began arriving, she felt profound relief.

Or was it giddy anticipation?

It was relief, she silently insisted as the last silly school-girl exited her schoolroom.

At times like this, she found the need to earn her own living more onerous than usual. An entire day of foolish chatter had been wearing on her nerves, while her students’ indifference to learning was exhausting both in terms of her patience and goodwill.

Or was it the sight of all the luxurious items passing by for hours that had brought her spirits low? She rarely allowed herself to dwell on the straitened circumstances of her life, but occasionally-as today-she was vividly reminded of the vast discrepancy between her past and present life.

Between her current poverty and her previous comfort.

Between what might have been and what had transpired.

At least Harriet would have a comfortable life, she thought, pleased her sister would not be obliged to earn her way in the world. It was only a matter of Harriet choosing which of her suitors best suited her. Tonight, perhaps, Harriet would tell her who that person might be.

Feeling slightly mollified by her sister’s prospects, Claire began tidying up the schoolroom-stacking the books on the shelves, putting the chairs back in order, picking up the papers scattered about.

Waiting.

Above all-waiting.

She glanced at the clock once, twice, three times before she stopped herself and cautioned prudence. There was a very good possibility that Ormond had forgotten their appointment.

In all likelihood he had already dismissed her from his mind.

She would wait until half past four and not a minute longer.

Seated at her desk, trying to concentrate on tomorrow’s assigned reading, she found herself stalled on a single sentence. Julius Caesar’s history of his campaigns in Gaul had always been one of her favorite books and she’d hoped to instill that same love in her students. But, today, like her students who rarely read their assignments, she found herself equally distracted.

She heard the sounds from the street outside as though magnified; the tick of the clock was thunderous in her ears. Even birdsong insinuated itself into her schoolroom despite the windows being closed. Until suddenly, she realized the entire building was silent. Walking to the windows, she looked down on a street empty of dray wagons and workmen. Returning to her desk, she sat down and attempted to read.

But her senses were on high alert.

High, quivering alert.

She jumped at the approaching sound of boot heels in the corridor outside.

As the measured footsteps halted at her door, she went rigid.

When the door opened and Ormond walked in, it seemed as if her heart had stopped.

“I’m early,” he said, his smile inexpressibly beautiful as he moved toward her. “I hope you don’t mind. I confess to a novel impatience.”

She thought he’d said four, but perhaps he hadn’t. “No, I don’t mind at all,” she said, smiling back, pleased by his confession.

He stopped before her desk, darkly handsome and superbly dressed in black trousers, a soft white linen shirt and silk waistcoat, dark cravat and bottle green frock coat. “So then, do we have a few hours in which to amuse ourselves?”

A blush rose on her cheeks.

“You decide on the amusement, of course,” he graciously said. “We could have tea and talk if you like.”

“I must be home by six. I left a note,” she explained, nervously, not at all sure she was dégagé enough to decide on anything having to do with Ormond.

“Excellent.” Time enough to explain that he too had sent a note to Mrs. Bellingham’s. In his experience, a lady was rather more amenable to a change in her schedule once she’d climaxed a few times. “Shall we?” Moving around her desk, he held out his hand.

He was so splendidly attired, she felt like a church mouse even though she’d worn her pretty tartan skirt. But as she rose from her chair and took his hand, his smile mitigated her unease, lush pleasure warmed her senses, and their mismatched lives suddenly were inconsequential.

As they exited the schoolroom, the viscount casually inquired, “Did you have a pleasant day?”

She glanced up, misgiving in her eyes. Was she no more than another in a long line of women who entertained him?

“Forgive me. I was trying to put you at your ease and obviously failed.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“I understand.” He smiled ruefully. “One falls into certain patterns. My apologies again. In truth, I have never done precisely this before either.”

“My life is not like yours. I cannot afford a mistake.”

His life had been a continuous series of mistakes-most commonly waking up where he didn’t wish to be. “Then we shall see that no mistakes befall you,” he said with a gravity she’d not heard before. Ormond was not a somber man.

“I am somewhat relieved,” she said, mollified by his understanding.

“And I in turn will endeavor to see that you are further relieved of your concerns.” He lifted his chin as they reached the stairway to the third floor. “I believe tea is awaiting us upstairs.”

Her gaze narrowed. “You were behind all this activity today? The wagons and workmen and throngs of domestics?”

“I thought this locale would be more convenient for you.”

“Or you.”

He shrugged. “Very well. For us both. Come, don’t scowl at me before you see what I have wrought.”

A certain apprehension filled her mind as they ascended the stairs and walked down the hall. As Ormond stopped before a door directly above that of her schoolroom, he offered her a boyish smile. “I hope you like it.” Opening the door, he ushered her in.

“I am awestruck,” she whispered, standing just inside the threshold, gazing at a drawing room of impeccable style and beauty. The furniture was scaled to a woman’s size, many of the pieces spectacular in their ornament-although of a sumptuous rather than a grandiose nature. She had an uneasy feeling several of the items might have once resided at Versailles.

“Catherine’s decorator will be pleased you like it. Come, sit down.” He waved her forward. “Our tea is ready.”

If she had momentarily overlooked the discrepancies in their lives downstairs, those distinctions returned with a vengeance. She wore a hand-me-down skirt and shabby slippers while Ormond casually assembled a luxurious apartment on a whim. “I don’t know…this is all rather overwhelming.”

“The tea is quite ordinary, I assure you.” Taking her hand, he drew her toward a small table set for tea. “Sit, relax, tell me of your day.” He pulled out a chair for her. “I watched all your twittering students depart. How do you deal with their babbling silliness and stay sane?”

It was as if he not only understood how unmanageable her students were but fully sympathized with her plight. “I could use a few moments to relax,” she murmured, experiencing a sudden wave of self-pity that effectively forestalled issues of unequal status. “Trying to impart anything remotely educational to my young ladies is indeed an exercise in futility.”