“It’s how things are done in those circles.”
He crossed his arms behind his head to test her reaction. It came promptly.
“You’d never do that at the dinner table,” Arabella scolded.
He dropped his hands. Devil take it. He’d never remember all those rules. “One should just invent one device to use instead of…” he counted. “Thirteen.”
Arabella shrugged. “It’s table etiquette. Dinner at court is even more formal.”
Dinner at court? He sat up. “Miss Weston, are you saying you’ve been to dinner with the Regent?”
“Of course not.” She averted her eyes. Then she looked up into his face and met his gaze frankly. “It’s common knowledge. There are pictures of court table settings in every etiquette book. Regardless of whether you’ll ever be attending a court function, one needs to know those things.”
Philip wrinkled his forehead. She’d said her father was a baron. Were barons ever invited to court? Or their daughters? He supposed she was right that one needed to know these things. He felt like an oaf.
He tipped a finger against a knife that lay across a smaller plate on the left. “What’s this for?”
“That’s the butter knife. In reality it’ll be smaller, wider and not as sharp.”
Philip sighed. His blacksmith instruments were less complicated than this.
“You’re an intelligent man. You’ll figure it out. What you need to know is that your table partner will be assigned to you by the hostess, and you will enter the dining room with her together.”
“I’ll have to offer her my arm, I suppose, when we enter the dining room,” he grumbled.
“Yes, but there’s a certain order to this as well. The ones with the higher title go first. You’re quite high up, so be prepared.” Arabella quirked a smile and for a second her dimple appeared, which he thought charming. He decided to make her smile more.
“Order?”
“Dukes, marquesses, earls, followed by the rest of the guests in order of precedence.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Yes, I know you don’t care a tuppence for this, but it’s the way it is. Back to what is in front of you. Repeat what each of these are for.” She pointed at the glasses.
He cleared his throat and attempted to identify the purpose of each glass.
“It will do” She furrowed her brow. “Now, after dinner, the gentlemen remain to smoke and drink port, whereas the ladies retire to a separate room.”
“Why?”
She blinked. “Because. It’s always been done this way. I suppose it isn’t seemly for men to be smoking in the presence of women.”
“I don’t smoke, so I can go and have coffee with the women?”
“No!”
“Why?”
“Because the men only join them after they’ve had their smoke and their port. Elbows off the table!”
He removed his elbows. “It seems mightily strange to me. And then?”
“Then, after the men are done with —” she waved a pale hand. “whatever it is they do, they join the women, and they have coffee together.”
“Why?”
“You’re worse than Robin.” A smile lurked on her lips. “You are doing this on purpose.”
