"I expect a full report of today's progress this afternoon," the duke said, turning to Lavinia. His expression had reverted to stern impassivity, but she caught the briefest flicker of something else in his eyes as they glanced toward his daughter—concern, perhaps, or uncertainty. "Four o'clock in my study."
"Of course, Your Grace." Lavinia curtseyed again.
With a final nod, he departed, closing the door behind him with a decisive click that seemed to echo in the sudden silence.
Sophia remained standing, her eyes still lowered.
"Well," Lavinia said brightly, setting her reticule aside, "shall we begin by getting acquainted, Lady Sophia? I find lessons proceed much more pleasantly when tutor and pupil know a little something about each other."
"Yes, Lady Lavinia." The girl's voice was barely audible.
Lavinia moved to one of the chairs positioned near a small table, choosing the one that would place them at right angles rather than directly opposite one another. "Please, join me. I promise I don't bite."
Sophia dutifully moved to the indicated chair and perched on its edge, her back straight as a ramrod, her hands folded in her lap. Her eyes remained somewhere around the third button of Lavinia's dress.
"Have you had many lessons in deportment, Lady Sophia?" Lavinia asked.
"Yes, Lady Lavinia."
"And what subjects do you most enjoy?"
"I don't know, Lady Lavinia."
Lavinia suppressed a sigh. This would be more challenging than she'd anticipated. "Perhaps you might tell me what books you've been reading recently?"
"Whatever was assigned, Lady Lavinia."
This will never do, Lavinia thought, studying the girl's closed expression. Behind the perfect manners and dutiful responses, she sensed not haughtiness but fear.
She stood abruptly. "I believe we should begin with something practical. The foundation of a lady's education is proper carriage and deportment. Show me your best curtsey, if you please."
Sophia rose and performed another flawless curtsey, her movements utterly without warmth or personality.
"Technically perfect," Lavinia observed, "but lacking something essential. Watch me."
She demonstrated a deep, formal curtsey, then straightened with a smile. "Now, the technical elements are important, of course—the angle of the knee, the placement of the foot, the tilt of the head—but equally important is the impression one creates. A proper curtsey should convey respect without servility, confidence without arrogance."
Sophia watched with slightly widened eyes as Lavinia performed several variations—the quick, shallow curtsey appropriate for casual acquaintances; the deeper, more formal one for those of superior rank; and finally, an exaggeratedly deep one that had her nearly touching her nose to her knees.
"That last one is only for meeting royalty or for particularly impressive feats of balance," Lavinia added with a conspiratorial wink. "Speaking of balance—" She crossed to the bookshelf and selected a slim volume of poetry. "The finest finishing schools teach young ladies to walk with books balanced on their heads. Shall we try?"
For the first time, uncertainty rather than bland acceptance crossed Sophia's features. "Books, Lady Lavinia?"
"Indeed." Lavinia placed the volume atop her own head and walked several steps with perfect posture. "It teaches proper carriage of the head and spine. Though I warn you, it can lead to disaster if one isn't careful."
She purposefully exaggerated her movements, placing one foot before the other like a tightrope walker, arms extended for balance. "One must be very, very careful," she intoned seriously, "or else—" She allowed the book to wobble precariously. "Oh dear?—"
The book tipped, and Lavinia made a show of trying to save it, twisting comically before letting it fall with a dramatic gasp. "Catastrophe! Literature scattered upon the carpet! Whatever shall we tell the librarians?"
Sophia's lips twitched upward at the corners—not quite a smile, but the first crack in her perfect, porcelain composure.
"Your turn," Lavinia said, retrieving the book and offering it to the girl. "Remember—chin parallel to the floor, shoulders down, spine straight but not rigid."
With visible trepidation, Sophia accepted the book and placed it on her head. It balanced for approximately three seconds before sliding off and landing with a soft thump at her feet.
"An excellent first attempt," Lavinia said warmly. "Try again. This time, imagine a string pulling you upward from the crown of your head, like a marionette."
Sophia tried again, managing several wobbly steps before the book slid sideways. Her small hands darted up to catch it before it fell.
