The Amorous Education of Celia Seaton Read Online Free PDF Page A

slight ones.”
    “Are you an expert?”
    “As governess in a family of four boys I have vast experience with all kinds of minor injury.”
    “Did any of your charges ever lose his memory?”
    “Only for the multiplication tables. And the dates of the kings of England.”
    “I assume such memory failure was temporary.”
    “Intermittent, but in some cases likely permanent, I fear. I was never a very good teacher.”
    He laughed. “Ouch.”
    She drew back. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
    “Only by making me laugh.”
    “I want to give you a compress. Bend your head and keep still.”
    The cold wet cloth felt wonderful. As the dull throbbing in his brain faded he realized Celia had pulled his head almost into her bosom. He jammed his eyes shut but that didn’t help since he became aware of her scent: a little musky, not surprising after a strenuous walk in hot weather, but far from disagreeable. When they’d lain together hiding from their pursuers, his impression had been that her small breasts, under the sensible shift, were well-shaped and pert, practically perfect. He ventured a quick look, just to make sure, but the range was too close. All he could see was linen and shadowed skin so he closed his eyes again, with a feeling of virtue, and concentrated on the blissful soothing of his wound.
    “There,” she said after several minutes. “The cloth is warm now. Shall I soak it again?”
    “Later perhaps. Thank you for your care. If only your ministrations had cured my more vexatious injury! But I still can’t remember a thing. Please tell me everything you know about me.”
    She fussed with the damp rag, spreading it to dry before returning to sit beside him on the ground. “I don’t know where to start.”
    “How about when we met,” he said with a touch of impatience. “Surely the reminder of such an important event will jog my memory.”
    Celia certainly hoped not.
    During their long walk she’d had time to invent a few details of her romance with Mr. Fish, so she began with a degree of confidence. “Soon after you came to lodge with Mr. Blyth, the vicar of Sedgwick.”
    “To study for the church?”
    “As I said before. Soon afterward we met at a ball.”
    “A public assembly?”
    “A small private ball given by the squire’s wife, Mrs. Wilkinson, to celebrate her daughter’s engagement.”
    “Is it usual for a governess to be invited to such a private party?”
    How typical of Tarquin Compton to detect the flaw in her story. She had decided to stick to facts, as far as was possible, in the invention of their courtship. It so happened that she had attended Mrs. Wilkinson’s ball because she had lately become betrothed, to her employer, Mr. Baldwin. Apparently the blow to the head hadn’t dulled his instinct for social nuance.
    “I may only be a governess,” she said with a touch of hauteur, “but my family is not without distinction. Miss Baldwin, my employer’s sister, chaperoned me.” Much against her will, she could have added. Miss Baldwin had loathed her brother’s promised bride. Celia was sure she’d done everything she could to make Bertram believe the evidence of her misbehavior. “Shall I continue?”
    “I was merely trying to understand the situation. Why was I invited to the ball?”
    “Because you are a gentleman, and Mr. Blyth’s pupil.”
    “Not because I come from a family of distinction?”
    “Will you stop interrupting and let me tell the story?”
    “I beg your pardon. Go on.”
    “I wore my best evening gown, a pale yellow silk left from my London season. I believe I looked very well for Yorkshire.”
    If any doubt remained that Tarquin Compton was not himself, his reception of this statement dispelled it. “I’m sure you looked charming, but could we pass over the fashion folderol and get to the point?”
    This was where her account departed from the historical into the fantastic. “The dancing had already begun but I had no partner because there