Arabella cleared her throat. “Maybe the duke has had a hand in it. If he is as evil as you say, I wouldn’t be surprised if he meddled. Somehow.” She looked down at her fingernails.
Both men stared at her.
“By Jove. He could be involved in some way,” Philip said slowly.
Fergus leaned forward with a crafty look on his face. “Exactly. Which is why ye need to play in the same way.”
“Granda. We’ve been through this. I’ve sworn not to make a career using his money or his name.” He set his mouth in an obstinate line.
“That name would open doors for ye.” Fergus knocked on the table.
“I will make my way using the name Merivale and not Morley.”
“You wouldn’t. Ye’d use yer father’s name. The Earl of Threthewick was your father, too.” Fergus’ eyes bored into Philip’s. “Which ye are now.”
Philip opened his mouth to deny it. Then he suddenly snapped it shut.
“Think of yer father, boy,” Fergus insisted. “Nothim. Forget him. Yer father never renounced his name, did he?”
“No. He never used it, either.” His expression was a mask of stone.
“There is no shame in usin’ yer father’s name if it helps achieve yer goal.”
Philip pulled on his hair. “Even if I were to agree, there is no way this would ever work. How do you see this working?”
Fergus leaned back in his chair, with a small smile. “Easy. She’ll teach ye.”
Both men looked at Arabella, who’d followed the interaction between the two men with amused confusion.
“What exactly am I to teach him?” She looked from one to the other.
“Teach him how to be a bleedin’ earl.”
Philip threw up his hands and groaned.
“Then ye go to that earl’s dinner party. Ask to be admitted to the Society of Engineers. Ask him to intervene at the patent’s office. One thing leads to another. It’s easy as pie.” Fergus nodded.
“Dinner party with the ‘nobs.” Philip shuddered.
Fergus patted his shoulder. “It’s time ye learn to be an earl. See it as it is. A role ye play.”
“When do we start?” Arabella threw him a tentative look.
“Tomorrow.” Fergus got up and picked up the candle. “Until then, guid nicht.”
Chapter 21
“What do I need so many spoons for?” Philip sat in the chair and stared at the table with misgiving. Learning table manners from Miss Weston made him feel like a boor.
Miss Weston had collected all the chipped porcelain plates, bowls, cups, and silverware she could find in the cottage and arranged them in a certain order. A teacup, a whisky glass, and a wine glass represented the different glasses that were at a formal dinner table. The silverware was limited, so there were more spoons than other utensils.
“I couldn’t find enough forks, so you just have to imagine that some of these spoons are, in fact, forks. This one is for salad, fish, and meat. This one here,” she touched the little fork on top of the plate, “is for cake. And this one here,” she pointed to another spoon on the other side of the plate, “is your oyster fork. Imagine that it is a smaller fork with only three prongs.” She pointed at the glasses. “You will have a champagne flute, a glass for white wine, one for red wine, and one for cordial sherry. A coffee or teacup and a demitasse will be brought in by the footmen afterwards.”
Philip shook his head, bewildered.
“I filled some of them with water to make it more real. The footmen will bring and refill your glasses.” After a thought, she added, “I recommend that you take a minute to observe what your neighbour does and just copy him or her. Speaking of which, you only converse with your neighbour on the right until tables are turned, then you turn to your neighbour on the left. Never talk to the person across from the table. And never converse with the footmen!”
He curled his lips in derision. “What tosh.”
