Pretending To Be A Debutante: Miss Primm's Secret School For Budding Bluestockings, #3

By Annabelle Anders

What happens when a spinster teacher pretends to be a debutante?
Miss Priscilla Fellowes is no stranger to disappointing loved ones. So when her employer, Miss Primm needs her to impersonate troublesome student—Allison Meadowbrook—to protect the school's reputation, Priscilla cannot refuse. It'll only be one meeting… perhaps two…
Unfortunately, in agreeing to play the part of a debutante, she must allow the Earl of Hardwood to court her. Caught between the proverbial rock and hard place, the rock being Lord Hardwood, and the hard place, being… well, also Lord Hardwood, she's torn between loyalty to those who were there in her time of need and the desires of her heart.  
Will Lord Hardwood forever be an impossible dream, or is there a path in all her pretending that can somehow lead to love?

 

Don't miss out on any of these big-hearted stories featuring teachers and students from Miss Primm's Secret School for Budding Bluestockings—an academy where English Misses go to learn how to fit into society, but instead learn how to make their place in the world. Pretending to be the Debutante is book 3 of this Steamy, Regency Romance Series.

Other books in the Miss Primm's Series:

Trapped with the Duke

Educated by the Earl

Pretending to be the Debutante

Rescued by the Rake

Advising the Viscount

Make-believe with the Marquess and

Miss Primm's story… Schooled by the Bastard

• Language: English
• Publisher: In for a Penny Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Feb 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201654788

Book preview

Warstone Crossings, England, 1831

Miss Priscilla Fellowes transferred the dog leash to one hand so she could loosen the scarf around her neck with the other. " Gah ," she muttered. It still felt like it was strangling her.

A sensation she ought to be accustomed to.

She really ought to return to Miss Primm’s. She and Fiddlesticks had been meandering in the park for nearly an hour now, and the bitter cold penetrated her woolen coat despite the bright sun and unusually blue sky—for January.

And yet…

She delayed returning to the warmth of the school. Which, in fact, allowed her to delay facing the troubles awaiting her there.

Tucking her chin into her coat, she sighed.

As she reasoned that no one would be missing her yet, the leading string tightened around her hand. Oh no you don’t, she warned when Fiddlesticks strained toward the partially frozen lake. He’d, of course, taken notice of the birds there, preening like debutantes waiting to be presented at court.

I may be subject to your mistress’s whims, Fiddlesticks, but I refuse to succumb to yours. Priscilla tugged fondly on the leash to prevent her student’s small dog from seeking out trouble.

The water was only partly frozen. Furthermore, with such a long body and short legs, Little Fiddle had proven more than once that he wasn’t much of a swimmer. 

A second flock of birds lifted off the nearby trees. Then, with a flourish and moving as one, they just as quickly landed, settling their webbed feet on the thin ice to join the others.

Fiddlesticks broke free.

With his ears flapping and his tongue hanging out, he dragged the leadings string behind him as he dashed toward the birds.

Come back here! Priscilla took chase, her half-boots digging into the frozen dirt. Fiddlesticks! Come back here right now!

 Although Priscilla wasn’t officially Fiddlestick’s mistress, she never minded tending to him. In fact, she loved the little red pup who had taken to sleeping with her last fall when the weather turned cold.

Stay off that lake! But it was no use. Oblivious to anything but the birds, with short legs, he nonetheless galloped onto the ice. Fiddlesticks!

The pup slid to a stop as though rethinking the wisdom of his hunt—he even swiveled his head around to stare at Priscilla.

Come back Little Fiddle, Priscilla cooed from where she balanced on her haunches, hovering over a concoction of ice and mud. If only she’d thought to bring a treat along, she could lure him with it… That’s a good boy, Fiddlesticks. Come here now.

Caw! One of the birds called out, and Fiddlesticks forgot that Priscilla—the person who fed and cared for him most of the time—existed.

She worried not only for Allison Meadowbrook’s sake, but because she, Priscilla, would be devastated if anything happened to that little dog. He loved her.

And he trusted her to keep him safe.

Priscilla studied the surface. Was the ice thick enough that she could go after him? A thought drifted through her mind. Standing in the center of the lake, and then the ice breaking beneath her. The water would be cold, and dark… so quiet. And how would that help Fiddlesticks?

Aside from the snowstorm that came through over Christmas, the weather had been unusually mild for January. The ice would not be safe.

Confounded and growing frantic, she removed her gloves and then rummaged through her pockets. She must have something to offer that would be of more interest to Fiddlesticks than those dratted birds!

Lint. Her shopping list. More lint—and a half-penny. Discovering the last item to be no more than a short pencil, she made a small cry of despair. 

What’s his name? a reassuring voice asked from behind her. 

She spun around, and even in her distress, the gentleman’s inordinately good looks stole her breath. His name…? The person attached to that deep voice had silky black hair that was perhaps a tad too long, light green eyes, and she guessed his build to be slim and elegant beneath the layers of his greatcoat.

Fiddlesticks, she finally answered.

The gentleman tilted his head, two tiny lines forming between his eyes. Pardon?

His name, she clarified. My dog’s name is Fiddlesticks.

Which had her turning back around to make sure her little darling hadn’t fallen through the thin surface. He can’t swim, Priscilla moaned. If he were to fall through, he’d sink like a stone.

Not about to allow such a tragedy, she lurched toward the lake but found herself caught.

Stay here. He was gripping her arm. Fiddlesticks! The stranger’s commanding voice echoed across the ice.

The intrepid dachshund, who only behaved when it was convenient, hesitated, and then glanced from the shore back to the birds and then to the shore again. 

Come! Fiddlesticks! Priscilla added her plea to the stranger’s.

The man stretched out an arm, his gloved hand fisted as though offering her dog a treat. Come! 

Fiddlesticks studied the man’s hand as though contemplating his odds.

And then, once he’d come to a decision, Little Fiddlesticks gave up his bird quest in favor of a potential snack. A few yards from safety, however, the surface gave up on him.

Horrified, Priscilla watched the pup slip beneath the ice and into the water.

No! She moved to go after him, but that strong hand held her back.

Hold these. He gave her no choice but to take the heavy coat as he tossed it into her arms. And then his jacket.

But…?

I’ll fetch him. The man kept his gaze intent on the spot where Fiddlesticks had disappeared.

Shaking inside, Priscilla hugged the warmth of his garments to her chest and watched the man wade into the water.

Utterly helpless, she watched as his tall Hessians sunk into the murky depths. What was he doing?

She gasped when, without warning, the man ducked under the slivers of ice, disappearing into the water himself.

Oh! Dread lodged in her throat. 

If another man died because of her—

Had her heart stopped beating? But no, pounding thundered in her ears. And she could hear the blood racing through her body. Come back! she croaked. Come back!

As quickly as he’d disappeared, the man’s head surfaced, and then the top half of him, his black hair slicked back like a seal’s coat. Drenched now, his shirt clung to his chest and his form-fitting breeches hugged his thighs.

And he held Fiddlesticks in his arms. Water rolled off the whimpering pup, but he was very much alive.

Oh, thank you! Priscilla licked her lips, which were as dry as her mouth. Thank you! 

The man’s light green eyes twinkled in the sunshine, and his white teeth flashed as he smiled. He was not hurt. 

I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have. She shook her head. Bad dog! You bad, dear, sweet dog! 

The thoroughly soaked gentleman wrapped Fiddlestick’s leash around his wrist as he stepped out of the water onto the bank. Shivering pathetically, Fiddlesticks burrowed into the man’s chest.

Quite the narrow escape. The rich timbre of his voice rumbled pleasantly as he stepped onto the shore—his boots ruined.

Priscilla stared straight ahead at his chest. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

Water clung to his thick black lashes, fringing eyes set in a face made up of robust and symmetrical features. I don’t know how to thank you. She barely managed the words. Something stirred in her core, and the air felt heavy all around her. She hardly even noticed the cold.

No need. He dipped his head to get a look at Fiddlesticks. Have you learned your lesson, little one? Fiddlesticks took a moment to acknowledge his rescuer before nuzzling the man’s chest again. Poor thing. We all make mistakes from time to time.

He laughed again.

The wind swirled around them, and Priscilla imagined a whisper.

Him.

True, she agreed.

A silky lock of ebony hair curved around his jaw and beneath his mouth. Priscilla’s gaze followed it to where a bead of water hovered on the curve of his top lip, which was fuller than the bottom. But those lips weren’t a dusty rose as they ought to be. Instead, they appeared to be turning blue!

You are freezing! She jerked herself into action and began fumbling with the two garments he’d tossed at her.

In no apparent hurry, he took the jacket but rather than don it himself, wrapped it around Fiddlesticks. I struggle getting into it when I’m dry. No use trying to wear it now. He gestured toward the soaked shirt, laughing. 

Laughing!

The warm and throaty sound washed over her like a summer day. When was the last time she’d laughed? Not since before Christmas, she’d wager—what with all the problems she was having with a potential scandal and Fiddlestick’s mistress, Miss Allison Meadowbrook.

Shall we trade? Your dog for my coat?

Trade? Oh, yes. As Priscilla handed over his long coat, it unfurled, the hem brushing the ground. It weighed as much as Fiddlesticks, possibly more.

Hold tight to this little fellow. Although the man was drenched in icy water, heat flooded her veins when he carefully transferred the bundle of wet dog into her arms. Tingling danced through her when his elbow brushed her sides, and she barely noticed the drops of water falling onto her shoulders.

I don’t know how to thank you, she said. We’ve been away, you see, for the school holiday, and we just collected him from Mrs. Pratt. The innkeeper had watched him for Allison because Fiddlesticks didn’t travel well. But Allison had not been interested in walking her dog and was instead visiting the mercantile with Miss Fortune. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along. 

Her voice broke when she realized the afternoon very nearly had been a tragic one. Fumbling with her free hand, she did what she could to assist Fiddlestick’s hero back into the coat. Sir, you ought not to remain outdoors in the cold like this. You could catch your death.

Even as she drew the sleeve over his shoulder, a shiver rolled through him. He might be a hulking specimen of masculinity, but he was human, after all, and therefore, as vulnerable as anyone.

What he needed was a cup of hot tea—or better yet, some of the special soup she concocted for just such an occasion—chicken stock, garlic, celery, carrots, and of course, more garlic.

Most swore it had magical properties.

If Priscilla didn’t care so very much for Miss Primm and the school, she’d forgo the dreaded meeting she’d committed to and instead deliver a batch of soup to wherever this heroic stranger was residing…

Emerson Huntington, the Earl of Hardwood, would later question his sanity.

No person with brains would willingly submerge himself in a lake this time of year. Already, the chill had seeped into his bones. 

But what was a gentleman to do when a lovely young woman with alabaster skin and pleading midnight-blue eyes required his assistance? Not to mention bee-stung lips, the color of ripe cherries…

He answered his own question ironically: one temporarily lost his sanity, that was what.

His damsel was a tiny little thing, and when he’d arrived, she had been on the brink of putting her life in danger for the adventurous pup.

It had been a lucky coincidence he’d come walking this way.

No need to thank me, Hunt assured her, clenching his teeth together. 

Chattering teeth would diminish her first impression of him, which, he conceded, had been somewhat heroic.

Which oughtn’t to matter. Nothing could come of the attraction he had for the chit.

She’d said she’d been away from school for the holidays. Likely, his intended was one of this damsel’s fellow students. Although Emerson’s natural sense of honor urged him to escort this young lady home—to the school—practical concerns demanded he not arrive at Miss Primm’s Private Seminary for the Education of Ladies with another young woman on his arm. 

His prospective wife—a girl who held his future in her hands—had already evaded him once. She would make him dance a merry tune, it seemed, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed to secure the betrothal with Meadowbrook’s daughter. 

A chill that had nothing to do with the water or the wintery air churned his gut. Failure was not an option.

You don’t live nearby, do you? she asked. 

He liked her voice—low and undemanding. 

She had taken a step away from him and was clutching the dog in front of her.

She was petite with a hint of curves—a girl on the brink of womanhood. But then he studied her eyes—the darkest of blues. They lacked the exuberant innocence typically found in young women such as her. Her hat only allowed him a glimpse of her hair, which wasn’t quite as dark as his. 

She was a lady, he had no doubt. A privileged upbringing was evident in her mannerisms—the set of her chin, her posture. Gentility had even managed to show in her panic.

But she was watching him, waiting for his answer.

Just visiting. I’ve business to conduct in the area. I’m staying at the Gray Swan. Despite feeling the chill of his damp clothes, he was reluctant to take his leave of her.

She dropped her gaze and then looked up again, a shy smile stretching her mouth—an exceedingly kissable mouth.

I didn’t think you looked familiar. It’s a small village. With a slow blink, she drew his attention back to her eyes. They were the color of the ocean at night, or a black sapphire, and the thick lashes that framed them matched her arched brows. 

She’d paused and watched him expectantly.

Pardon? he asked.

I said, you mustn’t remain in the cold. Mrs. Pratt—the innkeeper’s wife—will heat a bath for you. I must have just missed seeing you there when we collected Fiddlesticks. 

No, she had not just missed him. He’d left the inn at daybreak and spent his last hours as owner roaming the crumbling halls of Longbow Castle. It had been necessary; he had needed assurance that he was doing the right thing in selling. 

The reminder of his circumstances brought him up short. Even if he’d not been soaking wet, it would have been unwise for him to remain in the park flirting with her. 

He grimaced. You best get him somewhere warm. Emerson hardened his voice as he flicked his gaze toward the dog. 

Of course. She hesitated. Thank you.

Before he could do something stupid, like ask her name, her favorite color, or even who her family was, he bowed. Good day.

Likewise. She still hadn’t moved.

He pivoted and, his boots squishing with each step, marched in the direction of the park entrance. He needed to dry off and change quickly if he was going to be on time for his appointment.

Miss Primm had indicated Miss Meadowbrook would meet with him for tea today.

Without consciously doing so, he glanced over his shoulder. 

His damsel remained in the same place he’d left her. She waved, nuzzling her chin on the dog’s head.

Hunt lifted one arm in return and then turned his back on her again.

He’d have Miss Meadowbrook’s consent and then get her signature on a marriage certificate without delay.

Only then would he be able to breathe again.

The Scheme

W here on earth did you go off to? Miss Fortune and Miss Meadowbrook returned from the village ten minutes ago. Miss Primm, the owner and namesake of Miss Primm’s Private Seminary for the Education of Ladies, held the door wide for Priscilla to enter her private chambers. The residence had been built onto the school, and Miss Primm had shared it with her assistant director, Miss Victoria Shipley, now Lady Rosewood, until recently. 

Not allowing Priscilla time to answer, Primm flicked her stare to the bundle in Priscilla’s arms. What did he do now?

He fell into the lake. Priscilla wouldn’t go into the details of her encounter with the gentleman who’d saved him. She had thought he was flirting with her. She’d found herself flirting back. But she must have been wrong. Because in the end, her heroic gentleman had seemed anxious to get away from her.

Although, to be fair, he had been soaking wet.

As astute as ever from behind her spectacles, Miss Primm frowned as she stared down at Fiddlesticks. And how, pray tell, did you come to be in possession of a gentleman’s jacket?

Oh! It belongs to the kind stranger who fished Fiddlesticks out of the water. I’ll have to return it to him. He’s staying at the Gray Swan.

Mr. Driver can deliver it for you. Primm was already unwrapping Fiddlesticks when her housekeeper appeared with a towel from behind her. Will you tend to Miss Meadowbrook’s dog? Miss Primm transferred him from Priscilla’s arms into the housekeeper’s.

Following the concerning events over the holidays, Miss Primm’s stern demeanor was understandable.

A scandal that threatened one’s school involving one’s brother and the assistant headmistress was apt to do that.

Lady Rosewood is waiting in the parlor with Miss Fortune and Miss Adelaide. We need to decide on our course of action before he arrives.

You haven’t had any luck convincing Allison? Priscilla asked hopefully.

None whatsoever. The obstinate girl maintains that she’ll break her silence on the matter—tell Mrs. Pratt first and, thusly, the entire world—if we don’t handle the earl for her. Primm smoothed her dark hair away from her face and then adjusted her spectacles.

Were the headmistress’s hands shaking?

But there must be another way. Priscilla sighed. Allison Meadowbrook was what most considered an impossible student—spoiled, stubborn, and quite accustomed to having her way. And unfortunately, her father’s propensity to make significant donations to the school had only perpetuated the problem.

After refusing to meet with the gentleman her father had betrothed her to over the holidays, Allison had come up with what she deemed to be the perfect plan. She’d decided that Priscilla must refuse the man for her.

While pretending to be her. 

Because he’s an earl and I’m barely a child. He won’t accept a refusal from me. Before you know it he’ll be carrying me off kicking and screaming. My dreary existence, Allison had mourned, "will then forever be on your conscience."

Write him a letter, Priscilla had suggested.

"But he’s coming here, Allison had pressed her point. And it’s important my refusal come straight from the horse’s mouth."

Am I the horse, or are you? Priscilla had asked.

Well, you are. Because you will pretend to be me—the actual horse.

Priscilla had adamantly refused, believing it to be a horrible idea—not to mention that it was dishonest and cruel.

But I am six and twenty, and you are barely seven and ten, Priscilla had pointed out.

"You don’t look your age. It will work. Trust me, Allison had said. Besides, I promised James that I would wait for him. If some stodgy earl tries to kiss me, I’ll just die!" 

Allison was, of course, currently pining for one of her father’s former footmen. 

The ridiculous suggestion of posing as one of her students hadn’t been a problem until Priscilla and Allison had returned to the school early on Christmas morning.

The events of that morning were regrettable, indeed.

Believing the residence was vacant, she and Allison had entered the small apartment, not bothering to call out or announce themselves. And as they’d both been exhausted from their travels, Priscilla had led Allison directly back to Primm’s bedchamber. Of course, they had expected it to be unoccupied.

It had not been. No, Allison and Priscilla had stumbled inside and witnessed a scene that had been highly improper—many would say immoral. 

And that unfortunate encounter had provided Allison with the bargaining power she now wielded over them.

Most specifically, Priscilla.

Stepping into the parlor, Priscilla winced at the memory. 

Luckily, the other students were still away for the holidays, and Allison had yet to divulge the meaty scandal. But the commencement of spring term was only a few days away. If this situation wasn’t resolved soon, Allison’s vague hints, which had evolved into ominous threats, had the potential to manifest into something disastrous.

Which placed Priscilla in a complicated position.

Come sit down and warm up, Priscilla. Victoria Shipley, now the Countess of Rosewood and the woman at the center of the scandal, indicated the space beside her, nearest the hearth where a fire blazed. No doubt you’re half frozen.

Miss Chloe Fortune and Miss Adelaide Royal were seated on the smaller sofa, knees together and backs straight, looking every ounce the proper schoolteachers they were supposed to be.

With her brown hair and hazel eyes, Chloe had an air of being mousy—until she spoke, that was. She taught philosophy—from a uniquely feminine position—dance, and self-defense and, before teaching, had been a student at Miss Primm’s. 

Addy, the math and science teacher, was the most optimistic of them all—despite the circumstances that led to her current vocation.

With an American for a father, her come-out had been a dismal failure. She wore her blond hair braided like a coronet and crooked spectacles and spoke in soft tones that almost sounded musical. She’d been considered far too plump by both the other debutantes and the dowagers. And—because she smiled more than she ought—unrefined. 

But her students adored her—as did nearly everyone she met. 

Priscilla considered herself lucky to have them as her friends.

Miss Primm closed the door and then took her usual place in the winged-back chair adjacent to both.

The meeting promised to be a somber one, indeed.

Never one to beat around the bush, the director of the school straightened her shoulders. I’m not going to dissemble with you. Unfortunately, the foundation on the west end of the building has been compromised and is going to have to be replaced.

Can we not put that off a year or two? Priscilla asked.

Not according to the engineer—Mr. Stewart. A gentleman hired to oversee Lord Rosewood’s new project had inspected the school’s foundation the day before. Priscilla hadn’t realized his verdict had been so dire.

But you have personal funds, Chloe suggested.

A flicker of something Priscilla couldn’t quite read flickered in the headmistress’s expression. I cannot access those at the moment. Primm set her jaw. Which means that we cannot afford to lose any students right now. Especially those with generous parents.

Piers and I will pay for the repairs, Victoria said. I told you, Primm. We are the cause of all this. We intend to do everything we can to mitigate damages.

By damages, they all knew she was not only referring to the foundation, but also the school’s reputation. Unfortunately, no dollar amount could protect that. 

Because the school was owned by a woman and run by women, society allowed less wiggle room for improprieties. That being the case, the respectability and trustworthy nature of a school such as Miss Primm’s…

Was everything. The school’s reputation was, in fact, priceless. 

We simply can’t allow this scandal to get out. Primm sighed and then adjusted her spectacles. I hate the idea of giving in to Miss Meadowbrook’s demands, but if we don’t…. She pinched her mouth together and lowered her eyes, blinking.

It’s only one meeting, Addy supplied. And then we only need to keep Miss Meadowbrook quiet until something else captures her interest. 

Priscilla nodded, comprehending the student’s nature. Fortunately, in