Free The Lady's Tutor by Robin Schone

lips tightened at the polite rebuff. “Of course. Please do not
let us keep you from your work. Mother. Are you ready?”
    Rebecca critically eyed Elizabeth before standing. “I have been
ready this last hour.”
    The sky outside the town house was even more gray than the light
inside; coal smoke hung over London in heavy black clouds. Elizabeth was
overcome by such an acute yearning for fresh, sun-warmed air that it was
painful.
    Parliament would break for Easter. Perhaps she and Edward could
take a holiday.
    It suddenly dawned on her that she had never holidayed with her
husband. Always it had been her and the two boys driving down to Brighton or
Bath or wherever the latest fashionable resort happened to be.
    “You really should hire better trained footmen, Elizabeth. I swear
your latest has no notion of the responsibilities his position entails.”
    For once Elizabeth was impervious to her mother’s criticism.
Staring at the soot-stained horses and carriages crowding the street, she tried
to imagine her mother and father locked in a passionate embrace . . . and
failed utterly.
    Her breath misted the coach window. “When is the last time you saw
Father?”
    “Your father is a busy man, as is your husband, Elizabeth. It is
not your position to question their politics. You were not raised to do
such. A woman’s duty is to support her husband. Love is not a play that demands
an audience. It is sacrifice.”
    Elizabeth turned her head and met Rebecca’s disapproving gaze. “When
did you last see Father, Mother?” she repeated.
    Rebecca was not used to being questioned by her daughter. Perhaps
that was why she answered, albeit reluctantly, “Sunday.”
    Sunday.
    “You will not aid your father and husband if you go on in this
fashion. Tomorrow night we attend Baroness Whitfield’s ball—the baron opposes
your father and husband on a new Act, and it is very important that we win
their favor. Thursday you speak for the Women’s Auxiliary. Andrew and I cannot
attend the Hanson dinner party, so you and Edward will have to go in our stead.
Saturday is the charity ball. I trust you will not take to your bed because you
do not receive the attention that you feel is your due.”
    Elizabeth bit back a sharp retort; There are more important
things than politics.
    But there had never been anything more important than politics to
her mother and her father. And now Elizabeth was married to a man who showed
every sign of following in their footsteps. Except, of course, Edward had a
mistress.
    The carriage jarred to a stop.
    Rebecca had not seen Andrew for three nights and two days. Did
Elizabeth’s father have a mistress too?
    Is that why Rebecca dedicated her life to politics . . . because
of her husband’s neglect?
    The coach door opened.
    If Elizabeth did not change the course of her marriage, would she
one day be like her mother, with nothing but her husband’s career to occupy her
time and conversation?

Chapter 5
    ou have beautiful hair, Mrs. Petre.”
    The door closed behind Elizabeth, sealing her inside the warm
intimacy of the library with the seductive echo of the Bastard Sheikh’s
compliment ringing in her ears.
    No one had ever complimented her hair.
    She self-consciously raised her hand to her bare head—caught
herself. If she had beautiful hair, then her husband would not now be out with
another woman.
    Damn him. Edward
had not come home again.
    “I have unfashionable hair, Lord Safyre,” she corrected him icily.
    The flickering gas lamp on the massive mahogany desk alternately
cast the Bastard Sheikh’s saturnine face in shadow and light, hair shining
first gold then dark wheat. “Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.”
    “As is a man’s ‘meritoriousness.’ ”
    A smile hitched up the corner of his mouth. He gestured toward the
burgundy leather chair. “Please. Sit down. I hope you slept well.”
    Holding her spine straight and her head high, Elizabeth crossed
the Oriental carpet. The abrasive rub