Why in the bloody hell had she danced with Lord Murdock twice last night? According to her mother, it was completely out of character for her. Was Murdock such a catch or…was Annabelle trying to make David jealous?
Or was he just a fool who had imagined all of it? Damn. Perhaps he owed her an apology.
David glanced around the dining room. The table had been laid as if a large dinner party was going to be held there. The sixteen-person table was filled with a variety of dishes, plates, cups, glasses, bowls, utensils and serving ware. Not to mention napkins, tureens, platters, knives, linens, and tablecloths.
“You can’t just have a simple dinner in the Beau Monde, can you?” he asked, shaking his head.
“No,” she replied, with a short, sweet smile. She spread her hand in front of her as if presenting him the dining table. “Now, we’ll begin with the basics. I’m certain you already know that guests queue up in the salon in order of rank for a dinner party.”
“Yes, that much I knew.”
She nodded. “You’re an earl, so that means you’d only ever come after a duke, a duchess, or a marquess or marchioness.”
“That’s what I understand,” he said with a sigh.
“If there was no female of your station at the party, you’d escort the female with the next most prestigious title into the room.”
“Understood,” he replied.
“I am the daughter of a marquess, so I would enter the room as if I hold that title.”
“If you were to marry Murdock, you’d retain that position.” The moment he said the words, David wanted to kick himself.
She nodded again, a blank look on her face. “Yes. If I were to marry Murdock, I would become a marchioness and would be even more powerful than the daughter of a marquess.”
“Much better than a countess,” he grumbled.
“What was that?” she asked, cupping a hand behind one ear.
“Nothing,” he replied batting his eyelashes at her innocently.
She cleared her throat. “Once the couples enter the room, they are seated male, female, male, female. And depending on the type of dinner party, which is decided by your hostess, one speaks with either the people on one’s left or right, or one speaks with those across the table. It’s much more common to speak only with those on the left and right.”
“I’m certain I’ve made that mistake,” David said with a sigh. “In Brighton we speak to everyone at the table.”
Annabelle folded her hands together primly. “That is not civilized. The conversation would quickly become unmanageable.”
The sound that came out of his throat was half-snort, half-laugh. “I agree. It was often unmanageable, but always enjoyable. My parents rarely invited anyone to dinner who we didn’t like.”
Annabelle shook her head. “That is impossible. One must invite certain people to one’s dinner parties, regardless of one’s feelings.”
She was speaking so formally. Quite unlike their other lessons. She was clearly trying to reiterate, after their kiss last night, that she was merely his tutor and he, her pupil. “What if one doesn’t care for the company of those one must invite?” he countered.
She busied herself with straightening the already perfectly straight tableware. “Caring for their company is certainly not a pre-requisite for an invitation to a dinner party.”
David rolled his eyes. “Let me guess what is…wealth, title, and status.”
“Precisely. I do believe you’re learning, my lord.” Leaving off with the tableware, she splayed her hand toward one of the chairs. “Now, please take a seat at the head of the table. I’m going to show you how you should behave if this was a dinner party at your home.”
Nearly two hours later, Lady Angelina had yet to return from the milliner and David had learned the proper usage of every single implement on the table—and some that the servants brought up from the kitchen for show. He knew about à la russe and à la francaise dinner service, the proper usage of a finger bowl, the proper placement of a variety of confusing wine glasses, each holding a different type of wine, and how to gracefully end the dinner without a hostess. He also now knew far too much about the care and placement of napkins.
He and Annabelle had fallen into a sort of unspoken truce, where she only mentioned the lesson at hand, and he only asked questions about the same. It was far less entertaining than their previous lessons had been, but far more expedient, he supposed. He missed her laughter, her teasing him. But he supposed he couldn’t blame her. He shouldn’t have kissed her last night. That was all there was to it. It had only made things awkward between them. And made him want to kiss her again. Neither was good.
“Marianne should be your hostess until she is married. Then she will be the hostess here, as she will be Beau’s wife,” Annabelle said, interrupting his thoughts.
“And your mother will step aside?” David asked.
“Exactly,” Annabelle replied. “Mama will be the dowager Marchioness of Bellingham once Beau and Marianne are married.”
“Perhaps Marianne should be here too, learning all of this,” David said, daring to crack a smile.
Annabelle’s countenance remained completely blank and her back ramrod straight. “Lady Courtney is seeing to Marianne’s lessons, and they are coming along nicely from what I can tell.”
“Lady Courtney is an excellent teacher…as are you,” David said, hoping the compliment might make her smile. Might make her seem more like the pre-kiss Annabelle.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, not even looking at him.
Damn. He did need to apologize again. Groveling was probably in order. “No, thank you, Lady Annabelle. I owe you an apology for my behavior on the verandah last night.”
“I should have slapped you,” she said calmly, smoothing a hand over a napkin that sat on the table in front of her.
His brows shot up. “Did you want to slap me?”
“No,” she admitted with a slight smile. “But to do otherwise was to encourage your behavior.”
David expelled his breath. Oh, she didn’t have to worry about that. He was far from encouraged. “What if I promise never to do it again?”
Annabelle stood and walked to the door. “I would say you shouldn’t make a promise if you’re not completely certain you can keep it.”
Before David had a chance to react to that entirely unexpected reply, Annabelle said, “I believe we’ve learned enough for today, my lord. I’ll see you at the at the Milfords’ ball tonight.”
Chapter Nineteen
The Milfords’ ballroom was blazing with the light of a thousand candles hanging in the chandeliers high above the dance floor when David stepped in with his sister on his arm. He and Marianne had come alone tonight in his grandfather’s—his—finest coach.
“You’re taller than me, David. Do you see Annabelle or Lady Angelina?” Marianne asked soon after they’d made their way toward the dance floor.
David had already been scouring the ballroom for any sign of Annabelle. He and Marianne had come alone tonight because Lady Angelina and Lady Courtney had decided that after the previous night’s incident in which David cut in on Annabelle’s dance with Lord Murdock, it would be less grist for the gossip mill if they didn’t arrive together again.