He shook his head slowly. “You do not understand. It matters not what I think. Those of Society will strive to view you in the dimmest possible light. They are wolves. They will assume you are a beast of the field until you prove otherwise. Any mistake will simply serve to maintain your inequality in their eyes.”
She pouted her lower lip. “That hardly seems fair.”
The duchess placed a comforting hand on Lucy’s arm. “I know, my dear. Unfair indeed. However, he is correct. The challenge you face is no less than a single-handed cavalry charge into the gathered masses of the haute ton, and they give no quarter.”
Lucy pondered that dark fate before quickly concluding that she would flee the house before allowing such humiliation to befall her. However, for the present, she had no other option but to play along. Her eyes locked with Henry’s.
“Very well. I am yours to command. Teach me, if you can.”
A feeble smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He resumed his chair. “Right, then. Let us begin with appropriate posture. A proper lady maintains an erect carriage at all times, whether sitting or standing, as the duchess does now.”
Lucy surveyed the woman’s straight-backed posture while Henry continued.
“Slouching or leaning back in one’s chair as you do now is considered slothful and inelegant.”
With narrowed eyes, she emulated the posture of the older woman, including a stretched neck, raised chin, and hands folded neatly in her lap. She found the resulting position quite uncomfortable.
“Is this appropriate, Sir Judgment?”
“Yes, that is acceptable.”
“What if one engages in very strenuous activity of a non-slothful nature and then chooses to recline against a chair for well-earned rest?”
He shook his head. “Then one must excuse oneself to a lonely place where one might recline, lean back, slouch, or otherwise relieve oneself of the unmitigated burden of maintaining an erect posture.”
She could not fail to miss the accusation in his statement. “Very well, then. If I must slouch, I will take my leave…to spare my guests the horror.”
“That is all good, but you must continue to maintain correct form when walking as well. You must glide from place to place as if skating on ice, and not lumber like an ox.”
“I do not lumber like an ox.”
“Yes, you do, my dear,” the duchess said. “But we will devote ourselves to improving that. Meanwhile, let us speak of hosting.”
Stung, Lucy nodded silent agreement. Talk of posture was numbing her already.
“Hosting,” said Henry, “begins with greeting. You must nod politely to acknowledge equals and curtsy respectfully to superiors. As such, we must teach you how to curtsy properly.”
“I know how to curtsy. We need not waste time on such exercises.”
The duchess brought a hand to her chest. “Where did you learn to curtsy, my dear?”
“I have seen it done many times. The act is not so difficult.”
Henry frowned. “Perhaps you would grace us with a demonstration.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Just now, if you are so inclined.”
Lucy stood and dropped a curtsy. She raised her eyes to find both Henry and the duchess grimacing. The old woman forced a smile. “We shall work on that, too, my dear.”
Lucy plopped to her seat in a defeated slouch. With eyes on her, Henry straightened his back and swept his palms up his torso as a reminder. Upon resuming the awkward position dictated by appropriate posture, she frowned. “If I might ask, how will I know who is deserving of a respectful curtsy and who rates merely a polite nod of acknowledgment?”
“Ah, yes,” said Henry, “A very practical question. As you are the granddaughter of a duke, you enjoy significant rank. You must curtsy to any of the royal house and its numerous offshoots, and to highly respected members of other noble houses, perhaps even those of lower rank.”
She stared at him. “You failed to answer my question. My confusion is greater now than it was before you began explaining. You seem to possess a talent for that.”
He rubbed his forehead. The duchess again lightly touched Lucy’s arm. “Yes, dear. Rank is terribly confusing to the uninitiated. Until you learn, take your lead from me.”
“Not from Mr. Beaumont?”
The duchess winced, so Henry explained. “I am well below your rank. My lead would prove inaccurate regarding your expected greeting.”
She smiled. “Do you mean to say that you must bow to me and yet I owe you not even a polite nod of the head?”
His face colored slightly. “It would seem so.”
“How interesting.” Lucy felt suddenly more engaged in the rules of the game. “And what if I encounter a superior who is a particularly odious person. Must I still curtsy?”
The duchess nodded. “You must show respect to superiors always, even to those who are undeserving louts. Otherwise, Society will cut you.”
“And if that superior is the most scandalous of rakes who treats everyone with selfish disregard or contempt, must I still curtsy?”
“Yes,” replied Henry and the duchess in unison.
“You are telling me, then, that a superior who is an utter jackass deserves a show of respect, and to not show said jackass respect is to earn disrespect?”
“Yes. Exactly,” said Henry.
She shook her head. “’Tis a stupid rule.”
Henry and the duchess exchanged a startled glance. He cleared his throat. “Well, then. We should move on to the next lesson, which applies very uniquely to you. When in polite company, you must never show overt emotion and must refrain from sudden outbursts.”
“I do not have sudden outbursts!” she said hotly. No sooner had the statement left her lips than she realized how thoroughly she was proving his point. She dipped her chin. “As you were saying.”
“Yes, as I was saying. No emotion and absolutely no outbursts. That includes gregarious laughter.”
She cocked her head. “How shall I respond, then, if I find something particularly amusing?”
“If you must, then dip your chin, cover your mouth, and chuckle softly and briefly. You see, well-bred persons always maintain tight control of their facial features, physical bodies, and manner of speech when in the presence of others. To do otherwise marks you as lowborn.”
“I see. One would not wish to appear lowborn. The horror!”
He stared grimly at her. “Yes. The horror.”
“So, I may not laugh, understandably. May I at least smile?”