His cheeks flush at my reaction. “Sorry,” he says with a shy grin.
Since when does Monty apologize for his dirty humor? Then again…since when do I laugh at it? Normally I’d snarl, roll my eyes, or call him swine. Yet it’s a little late in our friendship for me to pretend I don’t find him funny. I’ve always been amused by him. Lately, it’s been easier to show it.
Monty averts his gaze, expression still bashful. “Why don’t you demonstrate your formal curtsy? You’ll be meeting potential suitors who wish to dance with you.”
A rush of panic moves through me, but it disappears just as quickly. I’ll have to meet strangers tonight, but at least Monty will be there. If he’s with me, I can manage.
I rise from my chair and dip into a curtsy. It’s clumsy and more on the casual side.
“Slower,” Monty says. “Keep your eyes down just a second longer.”
I repeat the motion, recalling what I learned as a debutante ten years ago. With as much grace as I can manage, I dip down, keeping my eyes lowered until the last moment.
“Much better,” Monty says with an approving smile. He rises from his chair and stands before me. “Now, let’s practice introductions.”
With one arm held gracefully behind his back, he lifts his other. My pulse quickens, unsure what I’m supposed to do. Then he nods at his proffered elbow. Right. If we’re practicing introductions, and he’s the one escorting me, I’ll need to walk with him like a lady. I place my hand in the crook of his elbow, just below his rolled-up sleeve. A shudder runs through me at the warmth of skin touching skin. Tonight, I’ll be wearing gloves and he’ll be in a proper suit, but right now we have no such barriers between us.
He guides me a few steps away, then dips his chin in a polite bow. “Mr. So-and-so,” he says to an invisible figure, “how lovely to see you. May I introduce Miss—” He faces me, dropping the act. “You know, I think it’s time you chose a surname.”
“You think so?”
“The upper class values surnames, and it helps place a proper barrier between you and your suitors.”
I know he’s right. “A surname. Well…I choose Heartcleaver, then.”
“Heartcleaver?” He barks a laugh. “Daph, that sounds more like a name you’d hear at the boxing club.”
“That’s why I like it.”
He gives me a withering look. “I cannot introduce you as Miss Heartcleaver without scaring half your potential suitors away. How about Hartford?”
I pull my lips into a pout. It’s boring, but I suppose it will do. “Fine.”
He straightens and returns to the act. “Allow me to introduce Miss Daphne Hartford.” He swivels to stand before me in the pretend-suitor’s place and offers a bow. “A pleasure, Miss Hartford,” he says in a ridiculously haughty voice.
I stifle my giggle and breathe deeply, seeking the mask I must wear. My body tingles with discomfort, but I know how I’m expected to act amongst high society. Just like I know I could never measure up to those born with status. Still, I keep my motions slow and controlled as I dip into my curtsy. Then I speak in a higher, softer voice than normal, modulating the way I’ve heard others do. “The pleasure is mine.” When I meet Monty’s eyes, I’m startled to find such a sad expression on his face. I must have done something wrong. “Should I try again? Sorry, I?—”
He places a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Daph…” His throat bobs before he manages to speak again. “I hope you know you don’t have to pretend to be anyone you’re not. You deserve to be loved for exactly who you are.”
My chest tightens. “What lesson is that?” I ask, my voice coming out a whisper.
He shakes his head. “It should be a lesson.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I simply stand there, trapped beneath his gaze.
He coughs into his hand—a very fake-sounding cough if you ask me—and takes a step back. “Let’s move on to fashion. What are you wearing tonight?”
“You want me to show you?”
“Yes, I told you to bring your three best dresses, didn’t I? We’ve already agreed that fashion is now part of our lessons, which means I get the final say. So, go on.”
I brought three dresses, just as he’d requested, but one of them is now covered in graphite until I can have it washed. Of the two remaining, only one is even remotely formal. I suppose that makes my first choice easy. I scurry over to the gilded wardrobe beside the bed and throw open the door. Just as I’m about to slide the dress from the hanger, I dart a glance at Monty. “Should I step into the washroom to change? It’s a rather small space in there.”
His face flushes and he whirls around impressively fast. “I didn’t realize you’re changing now. The ceremony isn’t until six.”
My shirt is already off when I pause. “I thought that’s what you wanted. To judge my choice of dress.”
“Yes, but—it’s fine.”
