“I do love a good metaphor. You may commence explaining.”
He nodded in defeat, stood, and began pacing the floor. “You are aware of my service to the Crown in the war against Napoleon, from Nivelle to Waterloo?”
“You told me as much on the road.”
“Very well. What I did not say was that my regiment at times belonged to a combined force of British and Portuguese cavalry. One day, a finely dressed fop of a man joined the regiment and proceeded to earn everyone’s loathing, mine included.”
“Sounds awful,” she said with sarcasm. “How ever did you cope?”
“As it happened, this dandy was a member of the Portuguese royal house, a minor duke and cousin to the king. My commanders received strict orders to prevent him from dying ingloriously, out of respect for the alliance. The commandant called me to his tent and said, ‘Mr. Beaumont, you are the son of an earl and thus understand the quirks of nobility, and as you are not particularly crucial to my operation, I require you to keep the Portuguese fool from getting killed. Godspeed.’ The newcomer was indeed a fool, with no understanding of military matters and no sense whatsoever, but such was my burden.”
She nodded understanding. “I see now. You have done this before, although I would make the strenuous point that ignorance and foolishness are quite different. That said, I must ask the obvious question. Did you, in fact, succeed in preventing his inglorious demise?”
“Through no small effort, yes. I chased him across four battles, dragging him away from certain death as he wandered into enemy defenses, twice preventing the slitting of his throat by jealous husbands of local women he had bedded, and even pulling him from beneath his dying horse at Orthez because he managed to shoot his own mount in the head during a cavalry charge.”
She slapped her palms to her cheeks in mock dismay. “Oh, my! How terrifying. You seemed to have done well, though.”
He stopped pacing and pointed a finger skyward. “I did so well, in fact, that the silly man’s cousin sent me a medal and a certificate of thanks. So, you see, Lady Margaret, not only was I a wet nurse, I earned a medal for it. I doubt you will find anyone in London more qualified than I am to serve you in that capacity.”
Lucy nodded, hoping to hide the fact that she was impressed. He would never let her hear the end of it. “I have only one more question, then.”
“And that is?”
“Do you consider this situation better or worse than the one in France?”
He cocked his head in thought. “The French faced me merely with rifles, cannons, and sabers. In this case, I stand against the fierce judgment of thehaute ton. As I know the damage my peers can inflict, I am rather more afraid of them than of French cannon fire.”
Lucy wanted to believe he was joking, but doubt plagued her. She put on a brave face instead. “I am satisfied as to your credentials, Mr. Beaumont, nanny-at-large and itinerant wet nurse. Where shall we begin?”
He resumed pacing while massaging his square chin. “Let’s see. Over the course of two weeks we might manage a minimally effective charade suitable for you to survive a dinner party without bearing the brunt of poisonous rumors.”
He pivoted to wander the other direction.
“We have no time to address complicated matters such as dancing and a list of accomplishments. We must instead focus our attention on superficial behaviors, such as hosting guests, conducting polite conversation, and maintaining suitable posture. Although I fear your table manners alone may undo the charade. You eat like a drunken sailor.”
As Lucy listened to his careful stream of logic, her newfound good grace toward him faded. “For heaven’s sake! I may not be a proper lady but neither am I a beast of the field, foraging mindlessly while wolves circle.”
He shook his head slowly. “You do not understand. It matters not what I think. Those of Society will strive to view you in the dimmest possible light. Theyarewolves. Theywillassume you are a beast of the field until you prove otherwise. Any mistake will simply serve to maintain your inequality in their eyes.”
She pouted her lower lip. “That hardly seems fair.”
The duchess placed a comforting hand on Lucy’s arm. “I know, my dear. Unfair indeed. However, he is correct. The challenge you face is no less than a single-handed cavalry charge into the gathered masses of thehaute ton, and they give no quarter.”
Lucy pondered that dark fate before quickly concluding that she would flee the house before allowing such humiliation to befall her. However, for the present, she had no other option but to play along. Her eyes locked with Henry’s.
“Very well. I am yours to command. Teach me, if you can.”
A feeble smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He resumed his chair. “Right, then. Let us begin with appropriate posture. A proper lady maintains an erect carriage at all times, whether sitting or standing, as the duchess does now.”
Lucy surveyed the woman’s straight-backed posture while Henry continued.
“Slouching or leaning back in one’s chair as you do now is considered slothful and inelegant.”
With narrowed eyes, she emulated the posture of the older woman, including a stretched neck, raised chin, and hands folded neatly in her lap. She found the resulting position quite uncomfortable.
“Is this appropriate, Sir Judgment?”
“Yes, that is acceptable.”
