“And neglect my duties here?” Frances said, sinking into the nearest chair and taking a cup of tea from Susanna’s hand. “I think not. Tonight was wonderful, but I am very happy being a schoolteacher. I was a little worried about my choice of song, but it was well received. I believe everyone was pleased. Mrs. Reynolds did not appear to be disappointed in me.”

“Disappointed?” Anne laughed. “I should hope not. I expect she is congratulating herself upon having discovered you before anyone else did. I should love to have heard you, Frances. We should all have loved it. We have been thinking about you all evening.”

“And Mr. Blake was the perfect escort, I hope?” Miss Martin asked.

“Absolutely,” Frances said. “He did not leave my side all evening and was very obliging. He waited outside his carriage just now until Mr. Keeble had let me in at the door.”

“He looked very dashing this evening, I must say,” Susanna said, her eyes twinkling. “Anne and I peeped out from her window as you were leaving—just like a couple of schoolgirls.”

“And how was the rest of the soiree?” Anne asked. “Do tell us about it, Frances.”

“Betsy Reynolds played well,” Frances told them. “She was first on the program and was very nervous, poor girl, but she did not play any wrong notes or slow down noticeably as she went along as she usually does. It was a good concert, and there was supper afterward. Everyone was most amiable.”

“Were there many guests?” Susanna asked. She stole a mischievous look at Claudia Martin and winked at the others. “Were there any dukes there? I shall expire of envy if there were.”

“No dukes.” Frances hesitated. “Only an earl. He was very kind. He has invited me to take tea with him tomorrow.”

“Has he?” Claudia Martin said sharply. “In a public place, I hope, Frances?”

“An earl.” Susanna laughed. “I hope he is ravishingly handsome.”

“How splendid for you,” Anne said. “But you do deserve the attention, Frances.”

“On

Brock Street

,” Frances said to Claudia, “with his grandson and granddaughter in attendance, Susanna.”

“I am delighted to hear it,” Claudia said, “provided the grandchildren are not infants.”

“Well.” Susanna pulled a face. “There goes my notion of high romance, though even grandfathers can be handsome—and amorous, I suppose.”

“They are not infants,” Frances said. “Miss Marshall is a pretty young lady, not much older than some of our senior girls—or perhaps not any older at all. The viscount is to bring a carriage to take me to

Brock Street

.”

The very thought was enough to set her hand to trembling, and some of her tea sloshed over into the saucer.

“I suppose with a title like that Viscount Sinclair must be his grandfather’s heir,” Susanna said. “Perhaps my dream may be resurrected after all. Is he ravishingly handsome, Frances?”

“Gracious,” Frances said, forcing the corners of her mouth up into a smile, “I did not notice.”

“Did not notice?” Susanna rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Where did you leave your eyes when you went out tonight? But I daresay he is. And I daresay he will conceive a grand passion for you, Frances, unless he has already done so, and will sweep you off your feet, and you will end up one day as the countess of . . . where?”

“I have no idea.” Frances surged to her feet and set her cup and wet saucer down on the table beside her. “I cannot remember. I am sorry. It has been a busy evening, and now I am so tired I cannot think straight. And I cannot afford the time to go out to tea tomorrow. I have a whole set of essays coming in during the morning, and I am on homework supervision duty tomorrow evening. I have a French examination to set for the senior class. And there is choir practice. Perhaps I will send a refusal, excusing myself.”

“But you agreed to go?” Anne asked.

Frances looked helplessly at her.

“I did,” she said. “But it would not be too rude to send an excuse if it is genuine, would it? I do not know which house on

Brock Street

to send it to, though.”

That realization sent panic waves galloping and somersaulting through her, and she sat down abruptly again and spread her hands over her face. She fought hysteria.

“Frances,” Susanna said, aghast, “I did not mean to offend. I was merely teasing. Do forgive me.”

“I am sorry,” Frances said, lowering her hands. “I am not annoyed with you, Susanna. I am just tired.”

“You can mark essays and set the exam while you are on homework supervision,” Anne said. “Better yet, I will take the homework duty for you, since Mr. Upton has promised to come in tomorrow just to give David an art lesson. Then you will have time to go for tea and keep up with your work. I am sure Claudia will not object to your missing one choir practice.”

“I will not,” Claudia said. “But there is more to this than weariness and a potentially busy day ahead. You find the invitation overwhelming, Frances? Is there any particular reason?” She leaned across the space between their chairs and laid a sympathetic hand on Frances’s arm.

It was that touch that did it. A whole flood of emotion spilled forth from Frances, translating itself into words as it came.

“I have met Viscount Sinclair before,” she said in a rush, “and would far rather not have met him again.” The rawness of the distress she had been forced to hold deep within herself for the past hour and a half lodged itself in her throat and chest.

“Oh, poor Frances,” Anne said. “He is someone from your past? How unfortunate that he should come to Bath. I suppose he did not know you were here.”

“It was not very long ago,” Frances said. “Do you remember the snowfall after Christmas that delayed my return to school? I did not remain with my great-aunts as I let you all believe at the time. I had already started back here when the snow began. My carriage ended up buried in a snowbank when Viscount Sinclair overtook it and then stopped suddenly because there was a snowdrift ahead of him. He took me on to the closest inn, and we spent the following day in company with each other. He brought me back here as soon as the road was clear. He knew that I lived in Bath, you see.”

But he had come back here anyway. He had not called on her here, though—of course he had not. This evening’s meeting had been quite by chance. His manner, both when she first saw him standing in the drawing room doorway—ghastly moment!—and when he had approached her with the earl, had been stiff and unsmiling. He had been quite displeased, in fact.

He had no business being displeased. He knew she lived in Bath.

“I am sorry,” she said again. “Both for not telling you all then and for telling you now. It was a slight incident at the time, so slight that it did not seem worthy of mention. I was just a little shaken to see him again tonight so unexpectedly, that is all. I am sorry. Did you all have a pleasant evening?”

But they were all looking at her quite solemnly, and she knew that she had not deceived them for a moment. What a foolish thing to say, after all, that about the incident’s having been so slight that she had not even thought it worth mentioning.

“It would have been very quiet,” Anne said, “except that Miriam Fitch and Annabelle Hancock got into a fight again just before bedtime and Matron was obliged to send for Claudia.”

“But no blood was shed,” Miss Martin added, patting Frances briskly on the arm and removing her hand. “So we must not complain. Now, Frances, do you need me to find some task for you that simply must be performed after school tomorrow? Do you wish me to absolutely refuse to reprieve you in order that you might take tea with the earl and his grandchildren? I can be a marvelous tyrant when I wish to be, as you very well know.”

“No.” Frances sighed. “I said I would go, and it would be unfair of me now to expect you to get me out of it, Claudia. I will go. It is really no big thing at all.”

She got to her feet again and bade them all good night. She really did feel mortally tired, though she doubted she would be able to sleep. And now she felt bad at having unburdened herself—or half unburdened herself anyway—to her friends, who must think her a complete ninnyhammer.

An added irritant to her already troubled mind was the fact that Mr. Blake had misinterpreted her insistence upon sitting with him at supper—as well he might. He had caught hold of her hand in the carriage on the way back to the school and raised it to his lips. He had told her that he was proud and gratified to have been her chosen escort for the evening. Fortunately he had not said—or done!—anything more ardent than that, but even that much had seriously discomposed her.

She had never been a tease, but this evening she had come close to being just that, albeit unwittingly.

Anne caught up to her on the stairs and took her arm and squeezed it.

“Poor Frances,” she said. “I can see that you have had a nasty shock this evening. And of course the very fact that you suppressed the truth after Christmas suggests that Viscount Sinclair meant more to you than you care to admit. You do not have to admit it now either. We are your friends to share your secrets when you need to divulge them, and to leave you in peace with those you would prefer to guard. We all have and need secrets. But perhaps tomorrow will help you put some ghosts to rest.”

“Perhaps,” Frances agreed. “Thank you, Anne. One would think I would have learned my lesson more than three years ago—I have not even told you the full story of what happened before I came here, have I? But it seems I did not learn. Why do women tumble so foolishly into love?”