The Tutor's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

woman asked from behind the door, her voice polished and genteel.
    The servant turned his head to reply. “Says his name is Smallwood, my lady. Says he’s the new tutor.”
    â€œTutor? What tutor?”
    At the incredulity in the woman’s tone, Emma’s stomach churned. She opened her reticule to extract Sir Giles’s letter as proof of their invitation. She had not thought she would need it.
    The manservant backed from the door, and his face was soon replaced by that of a handsome gentlewoman in evening dress, though Emma noticed her hair was somewhat disheveled and she held the door partially closed.
    She said, “Mr. Smallwood, is it?”
    Her father removed his hat and bowed. “John Smallwood. And you are Lady Weston, I presume. We have not met in person, butI have had the pleasure of hosting your sons Henry and Phillip at my academy in Longstaple.”
    â€œMy stepsons. Yes. I recall hearing your name.” Her countenance rippled with several emotions, there and gone too quickly for Emma to catalog. Then the woman forced an apologetic smile. “I am sorry. We were not expecting you.”
    Emma felt her cheeks heat. She could not distinguish her father’s countenance in the dim light but did hear his tone grow mildly defensive. “Were you not? But Sir Giles requested that my daughter and I tutor your younger sons here in the comfort of your own home.”
    One arched brow rose. “Did he indeed?”
    â€œYes. We wrote back to accept more than a fortnight ago.”
    Emma added, “And sent word of our travel plans.”
    Lady Weston flicked a look at her but addressed her father. “He must have forgotten to mention it.” She glanced over her shoulder, then said, “Unfortunately, you have come upon us at an inopportune time.” She glanced to the waiting trunks. “But I cannot in good conscience, I suppose, ask you to return another time, considering the hour. . . .”
    Her father stiffened. “We are very sorry to inconvenience you, my lady. Perhaps this young man will not mind taking us back down to the village. . . .”
    Another voice rose from behind the door. A low male voice. “What? Who? . . . Good heavens. I quite forgot that was tonight. . . . I know, but it cannot be helped.”
    The door opened farther, and there stood fifty-something Sir Giles in evening attire, though his cravat was missing, exposing the loose skin of his aging neck as it draped into his shirt collar.
    â€œMr. Smallwood. Please forgive the rude reception. My fault entirely. I am afraid communication is not one of my strong points, as dear Lady Weston is forever reminding me, and with good cause, I fear.” He ducked his head apologetically and looked up from beneath bushy eyebrows. “Please do come in.”
    Her father turned to her. “You remember my daughter, Emma?”
    The baronet’s eyes widened. “This is little Emma? Why, last Isaw her she was no bigger than this.” He stretched forth a hand, chest high.
    â€œYes, well, children do grow up. As no doubt Henry and Phillip have as well.”
    Behind them their driver cleared his throat, and her father turned, digging into his purse. But Sir Giles pulled a crown from his pocket and said, “Allow me.” He tossed the silver coin to the driver. “Thank you, Tommy. Good night.”
    The youth caught it handily. “Thank ’ ee, sir.”
    Her father bent to pick up his smaller valise, but Sir Giles stayed him.
    â€œNo, no. Leave them. Our steward shall have them delivered up to your . . . uh, rooms . . . directly. Well, not directly, but do come in.” He held the door open.
    Her father gestured for Emma to precede him.
    Emma entered the vast two-story hall, trying not to gape. The hall was clearly quite ancient, unlike the modern windows of the side wings she had seen from outside. The