Jeremy called to the servant.

“Seth, I hired you as a footman, not as Miss Pemberton’s dance instructor.”

Seth quickly stepped back.

“I apologize, Lord Crimsworth. I had the afternoon off today, so I wanted to help Miss Pemberton—”

“Help is only helpful when you have the ability to provide it; otherwise, it’s interference.”

Jeremy coldly cut off Seth’s words.

Of course, Seth wasn’t a gentleman, so he couldn’t dance the waltz perfectly. Still, he had taken time to help her. Bronwynner felt the need to defend Seth.

“It wasn’t Seth, but my lack of skill, Lord Crimsworth.”

“I never said Miss Pemberton’s skills were better than Seth’s.”

Bronwynner lowered her eyes. Otherwise, she might have glared at him.

“I’m sorry for my poor skills.”

“Being servile is worse than having terrible waltz skills.”

He pointed out.

Now Bronwynner just wanted to forget about practicing waltz and go to the barren rose garden to feel the cold wind all afternoon. Or sit by the frozen pond in the backyard and stare at it.

But he didn’t leave her alone to do that.

“If you want to find a good husband, try saying something more appropriate.”

Bronwynner Pemberton was supposed to be a young lady who had come to the capital from the countryside in search of a better husband than her six brothers-in-law. Everyone in the room except Jeremy believed this.

However, her job, if it proceeded smoothly, would end in three months. Debutante status and finding a husband were merely fabricated objectives. Knowing all this, she couldn’t understand why he brought up things that would never happen.

“You yourself said that Your Grace is my guardian, not my fiancé.”

A crooked smile appeared on his aristocratic face.

“Did I propose to you, Miss Pemberton?”

“……No.”

“Then would you like me to personally explain the difference between a guardian and a fiancé again?”

She felt her face growing hot.

“You were talking about husbands, so……”

“Ah.”

He extended his hand. “Since you are the only one in this room who wants to get married, I thought you were looking for a good husband.”

Bronwynner stared blankly at his hand.

This was a moment when she fully understood Maude’s description of Lady Devon as a thorny rose. How could she not grow thorns when she had such a rude and willful man as her betrothed? She wished Lady Devon would stab this man’s hand with those thorns.

But she was neither a rose nor Lady Devon.

“Are you asking me to dance now?”

“A lady’s lack of perception is as bad as being servile.”

He said leisurely.

Thinking back, caring for Elise and Kaylee hadn’t been easy from the start. While the nanny held the children and sang lullabies, Bronwynner had to wash sheets soiled with excrement and vomit, mend torn dolls, and clean the nursery. Initially, the shy Elise would pull her hair, pinch, and bite her. While carrying the constantly whining Kaylee and cleaning the floor, Elise would spill milk and throw apples.

But those children had never deliberately tormented their nanny with malice.

They had never criticized the nanny for having terrible work skills, being servile, or lacking perception.

‘……Let me just do what he asks and get this over with quickly.’

Though she thought this, her wounded heart didn’t readily comply.

She tried not to let her voice tremble.

“Would you please teach me how to waltz, Lord Crimsworth?”

His eyes curved with satisfaction. If his face hadn’t been so handsome, she wouldn’t have felt so resentful.

Once again, she mentally disputed Lady Windell’s assessment of him as a cold person. A cold person doesn’t take pleasure in teasing others.

This man wasn’t cold, he was mean.

“If you wish.”

He answered.

She didn’t wish it.

Truly, Bronwynner didn’t wish it. She didn’t want him to wrap his long hand around her waist and pull her toward himself so naturally, nor to envelop her right hand with his other hand.

When she had stood with Seth, she hadn’t been conscious of it, but standing next to him made her strangely aware of his body. He was taller than the footman, and his posture was naturally straight and elegant. The height difference between them was such that if he lowered his head, his chin would almost touch the crown of her head.

She stared fixedly at his cravat. A faint cologne scent wafted from either his morning coat collar or his smooth skin.

“Keep your head up.”

He instructed. When she raised her head, she was flustered by how clearly she could see his face.

He seemed unbothered.

“Don’t look at me. Well, I understand if you can’t take your eyes off me.”

Her gaze wandered, lost for a place to settle. He gently applied pressure with his left hand. Only then did she remember that she should direct her gaze over her partner’s left shoulder.

“Move your body closer to me.”

She suddenly became acutely aware that she was wearing an evening gown that exposed half her chest, shoulders, and back. When she hesitated, he applied pressure with his right hand, practically pressing one side of her pelvis against his firm thigh.

“Left side here, right side open. Arch your back more. Maude.”

Maude began to play the piano.

The slow triple-time melody filled the atelier, bathed in the languid late winter sunlight.

Enveloped in that light, surrendering her body to the flowing melody, Bronwynner still didn’t want to dance with him.

She didn’t want to know that his movements while dancing were both splendid and precise, nor did she want to wonder about the meaning of the faint smile he wore when he leaned over her as she arched her back.

Moreover, she didn’t want to think deeply about the feel of those firm arms and shoulders, the golden hair that fell over his forehead during a big turn, or the sparkling eyes beneath. He must have danced like this with countless young ladies before, and all his expressions, gestures, and even his gaze were merely parts of the waltz.

For Bronwynner, this was her first dance with a partner.

As she struggled not to miss a step, Jeremy whispered in her ear.

“Your posture is still stiff.”

“If you make me talk, I might step on Your Grace’s foot.”

“Go ahead. That’s one of your few rights.”

She didn’t step on his foot, but her small feet did step in the wrong places several times, and each time, he skillfully led her to cover up the mistake.

Keeping up with the rhythm, she was completely unaware that her hair was tickling his arm, or that the thin yet voluminous layers of lace in her dress were wrapping around and falling away from his legs, unnecessarily stimulating him.

She only wished for this waltz to end quickly.

* * *

[To the Duke of Crimsworth, Jeremy Lovedale,

I have received your somewhat sudden but intriguing letter.

It is an honor that Lord Crimsworth has taken an interest in this person’s small experiment.

I am willing to accept your request with pleasure, but first, I wonder if you could let me meet your lovely ward.

As part of our efforts to develop the Whitman Bride Training School into an educational institution with the highest tradition and dignity in Lennox, we have recently introduced a one-on-one interview system between the headmistress and recommended students. Of course, the fact that Lord Crimsworth personally vouches for her is enough to prove Miss Pemberton’s excellent qualities, so I promise her admission will not be rejected.

Regarding minor procedures, the academic director of the Whitman Bride Training School has already contacted the address you provided.

Devon and I look forward to the day when Lord Crimsworth brings Bronwynner Pemberton to visit our academy.

Francine Whitman]

When Jeremy showed the former Marchioness Whitman’s letter, Bronwynner’s large olive-colored eyes grew even larger.

“Is this real?”

The two sat facing each other across a tea table in the sunroom, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight. Though they were alone, the room was surrounded by glass, allowing them to be observed from outside. Their chaperone, Countess Windell, occasionally looked up from her embroidery in the hall beyond the glass door to glance at them.

He questioned her.

“I thought you could read?”

By now, Bronwynner no longer reacted to most provocations. Or rather, she was suppressing the urge to react. This fact gave him a strange mixture of satisfaction and disappointment.

She answered.

“……What I meant was, is it true that the former Marchioness Whitman said my admission wouldn’t be rejected?”

“Why, aren’t you confident?”

One of this woman’s strengths was her honest acknowledgment of what she didn’t know or couldn’t do.

“I didn’t know there would be an interview.”

In truth, Jeremy hadn’t known either. From his investigation, no such interview had originally existed.

In his opinion, it was highly likely that the spiteful old lady had suddenly created this interview process because she wanted to test the young lady personally sponsored by the Duke of Crimsworth. Perhaps she even presumed this ward might become Devon’s rival.

“It’s an interview, not an exam, so you just need to answer questions about the Pemberton family and yourself well.”

He said dismissively.

That old lady also wanted him and Devon to marry as much as her granddaughter did. He just needed to make her believe that rejecting Bronwynner’s admission would mean the marriage was off.

But Bronwynner looked worried.

“If I don’t pass, there won’t be another chance, will there?”

“No, there won’t.”

When he cut her off, she lowered her eyes. Clever or stupid? She still didn’t seem to realize that this was one of the behaviors he hated most about her.

“Then…… Your Grace will think of another way to investigate Lady Celestine.”

That wasn’t Bronwynner’s concern. He didn’t feel it was worth answering.

“Let’s talk about the job instead.”

Bronwynner reluctantly nodded.

“Assuming Miss Pemberton passes the interview.”

If he couldn’t get her into the Whitman School, he would have to recruit a young lady already attending the school to conduct the investigation. That would be troublesome to clean up afterward, so it wasn’t a method he preferred.

‘I’d rather get Reginald drunk and push them both into bed.’

Her Majesty the Queen would be appalled, but that would be the happier ending for everyone.

Despite his encouragement that she could pass, the worry on her pretty face didn’t easily disappear.