Digby was quiet for a long moment, folding a cravat. “My lord, these are all problems we can solve.”
“How can I possibly learn to dance in time?” James asked.
“Monsieur Lefevre. He will help.”
James blinked. “Who?”
“A dancing master of considerable skill. French, naturally—they have the best sense of these things. He’s discreet, efficient, and has transformed gentlemen with far less natural grace than yourself.” Digby’s tone grew practical. “I took the liberty of making inquiries after our conversation about the Season yesterday. He is available, if you’re willing.”
James stared at him. “You already arranged this? But how did you know?”
“I made preliminary inquiries only. The decision remains yours, my lord. But I’ve found that practical solutions tend to ease abstract worries.”
“You think he can teach me? Truly? In time for the Season?”
“Monsieur Lefevre has prepared gentlemen for their first Season in less time with remarkable results. You have natural coordination and, more importantly, strong motivation. Those are his favorite pupils. Although he’ll never let on. He’s known for his vigor and insistence on excellence, not compliments. Or coddling, as he puts it.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“My lord, if I may be so bold, learning to play the part of a gentleman is considerably easier than the other challenges you’ve faced.Your childhood. The war.” Digby smiled. “You will flourish. I’ve no doubt.”
“And if I stumble? Step on Mrs. Fairfax’s toes in front of half theton?”
Digby straightened another book as he passed. “Then we shall ensure you recover with such grace that they remember your composure, not your misstep. But you won’t stumble, my lord. Certainly not after Monsieur Lefevre is finished with you.”
James studied his new valet. Digby was a man who excelled at his job. If Digby could do it, so could he.
“What about the rest of it? All the rules and such?” James asked.
“There are many, but we’ll take them one at a time.”
Digby began ticking them off calmly, as if reciting a familiar prayer. “When attending a ball, you must bow when entering the room, and again to the hostess. Only once you’ve done so may you begin requesting dances. Never ask a lady for more than two in one evening, lest it appear you are courting her.”
James muttered, “What if I am?”
Digby’s brow lifted slightly. “Then be prepared to explain your intentions to her brother or father by morning.”
And what if she had neither of those? He kept that question to himself.
Digby continued. “During the meal, you’ll speak first to the lady on your right, then the lady on your left, never across the table unless addressed. Napkin in your lap, not tucked under your chin, and you must wait for the hostess to lift her fork before beginning.”
James frowned. “Seems a lot of rules for a simple supper.”
“Indeed. And then there’s conversation. Stick to safe topics—music, books, the weather, perhaps horses. Never politics. Never scandal. Never religion.”
“Even if I’m dying to speak my mind?”
“Especially then.”
James shook his head, half in admiration, half in despair. “Anything else?”
“A few small items. Never remove your gloves unless eating or shaking hands. Don’t dance the same set with the same lady twice. Never, under any circumstance, speak ill of another gentleman or lady in mixed company. If a lady drops her fan, you may retrieve it, but do not comment on the fact unless she thanks you.”
James gave him a long look. “This is certain to be a disaster.”
Digby’s eyes twinkled. “My lord, I disagree. You must try not to worry overly much.”
James swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in his throat. “I will do my best, especially if it helps Mrs. Fairfax and Cecily. I shall do my best to learn. And yes—please arrange for Monsieur Lefevre to come.”
