“Yes.” David nodded. No doubt asking about male wallflowers would only result in him making yet another faux pas. “Now, where were we? I believe you were reciting an extremely long list of things that a gentleman must remember. Tell me, what are ladies supposed to be doing?”
Lady Annabelle smiled and fluttered her lashes at him. “Oh, there are even more rules for ladies, I assure you.”
“Such as?” He lifted his brows.
“Such as, we cannot cross our legs. We cannot lift our skirts above the ankles. We cannot fail to acknowledge someone, unless we are purposely giving them the cut direct.”
“It all sounds extremely tiring. And boring, if I’m honest.”
Lady Annabelle gave him a conspiratorial smile. “Can I tell you a secret, Lord Elmwood?”
He leaned toward her. “Of course.”
“I find it boring and tiring, too.”
“What’s this?” he asked with a smile. “The most popular debutante and the most novice earl have something in common? How can that be?”
She laughed and slapped playfully at his sleeve. “It’s not such an outlandish turn of events, my lord. After all, I do hope that eventually you’ll consider me a friend.”
“A friend?” He arched his brows again. “If we’re to be friends, I do believe we should call each other by our Christian names.”
She narrowed her eyes on him and pressed her fists to her hips. “Are you purposely using my own words against me?”
His smile grew even wider. “Why, yes, I am. Friends use each other’s Christian names, you said so yourself.”
She pursed her lips. “Very well. I suppose we’re soon to be related by marriage, also.”
“Yes. Good point. Excellent. Now that we are established friends, I feel it’s appropriate to point out that you never answered my question yesterday. Not directly at least,” he said.
She arched a brow. “Which question was that?”
“Is the reason why you’ve not chosen a husband because you’re in love with someone your brother won’t approve of?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Is that the only reason you can think of why I wouldn’t want to marry?”
“No. Not at all. In fact, I can think of a half a score of reasons. Would you like me to ask you each individually?”
“No!” She nearly jumped toward him.
He laughed. “Then tell me, why don’t you plan to marry?”
She shrugged. “Marriage has more benefits for men than women.”
He nodded slowly. “I cannot argue with that. But you are preoccupied with the rules of your social set, and it seems to me that getting married is highly valued in London Society. That is what the Season is for after all, is it not?”
“It’s precisely what it’s for,” Annabelle replied. “Which is why we must get you prepared. Now, your sister gave me a list of the types of things you want in a wife.”
David’s brows drew together sharply. “My sister?”
“Yes, I paid her a visit yesterday,” Annabelle informed him.
“You asked my sister and not me?” He pointed to himself.
She shrugged. “I am asking you now. I’m curious to see if the two sets of answers align, actually.”
He grinned and shook his head. “Heaven help me. I don’t understand females.”
“Yes, Marianne mentioned that. A pity. We’re quite easy to understand, you know. We simply want to be treated as human beings.”
“Rather than prize hogs?” he asked, grinning at her.
“Exactly. Now, shall we begin? The first question is—”
“If Marianne told you my answers, I dare say I don’t need to repeat them. She knows me as well as anyone, I suppose. But I’d be quite curious to hear your answers to the questions.”
Annabelle stopped and blinked. “Wha…what?”
“What’s the first question?” he asked.
“What is your favorite meal?” she breathed.
“Yes, well, go on, then. Answer it.” He nodded toward her.
She frowned. “You want to know what I think about food?”
“Very much so. Food, politics, religion, the best color of drapes for a sitting room? Anything and everything.”
She stared at the wall, a disoriented look on her face.
David winced. “Oh, no. Have I been rude again? Is it improper to ask you such things?”
Annabelle’s ice-blue gaze met his and the look in her eyes was a mixture of confusion and…delight?
“You don’t have to answer any of those questions if you don’t want to, of course,” he assured her.
“No, no. I’m happy to,” she said, the adorable quirky smile popping to her lips. “It’s just that…no gentleman has ever asked me any of those things before.”
* * *
David touched her hand and a spark shot up her arm, making her feel warm all over. She glanced up and his gaze captured hers. It was as if he were looking deeply into her soul. “What sort of books do you like to read, Annabelle?”
Chapter Eleven
“When exactly is the Talbots’ ball?” Lord Elmwood—no, David—asked the next morning as soon as Annabelle had entered the salon. Mama was still abed with a megrim, so Annabelle had come down to meet him alone.
He was wearing a fitted dark-blue coat, white shirt, white waistcoat, expertly tied cravat, and buff-colored breeches with perfectly polished black boots. He looked as handsome as ever, and smelled heavenly too. Some mixture of soap and cologne that was making Annabelle’s head spin. She’d told him he needed to take notes. Now she needed to, to keep to the subject at hand. Every time she glanced up at his dark-blue eyes, she inwardly swooned a little.
They’d spent the remainder of the morning yesterday talking. He asked her a variety of questions about herself, her life, her favorite things, and most special memories. To her own surprise, she’d told him. All of it. In fact, she’d been embarrassed when Mama had to come into the salon at noon to tell them it was time for luncheon. Lord Elmwood had refused the invitation Mama had extended for him to join them, clearly thinking he’d overstayed his welcome. Meanwhile, Annabelle had traipsed into the morning room for lunch in a somewhat hazy fog. She’d just had the most unique experience in all her social life. A gentleman had asked her about herself, beyond the usual pleasantries such as how she found the weather and if she was enjoying the opera. He’d asked real questions, and even more amazingly, had listened as she’d answered every single one. And David hadn’t just listened, he’d listened intently, as if he was truly interested in the answers, as if he was hanging on her every word. It had been the most profound feeling, being paid attention to for more than her beauty. Speaking to David yesterday, she’d got the distinct impression that the man cared about her mind.
By the time it was over, she did think of him as a friend. Calling him David only seemed natural. Though she wasn’t about to announce their agreement to Mama and Beau. Not yet. She’d wait till after Beau’s wedding. Then perhaps it would seem less forward.
David had asked her a question just now. What was it? Oh, yes… “The Talbots’ ball?” she replied, purposely glancing away from him, and placing a hand at her throat. “Saturday next.”
“That means we only have a few days?” David clarified, his countenance draining of color.
“That’s right.”
David scrubbed a hand across his face. “Is there any hope I’ll be ready in time?”
Annabelle cocked her head to the side and smiled at him. “There’s every hope. Besides, if you do or say anything too egregious, we’ll simply tell everyone it’s the new rage.”
He chuckled, the color slowing returning to his features. “Is that all there is to it? Why, if I’d known that, I wouldn’t have been so worried.”
Her brows shot up. “You’re worried?”
He grinned at her. “You can’t tell?”
“Not at all.” She shook her head.
David expelled his breath while r
ocking back and forth on his feet. “I suppose after seeing war, nothing is as daunting, but make no mistake, I’d much rather be on a battlefield than meeting ladies at balls. I’m certain to make a complete cake of myself.”
Annabelle frowned. “I cannot believe a man as handsome as you are would be worried about attracting ladies.”
David cracked a grin. “Perhaps it’s because a very attractive lady once read me the riot act in a garden.”
Annabelle couldn’t help but smile at the fact that he’d called her ‘very attractive.’ “But seriously, why would you be worried about meeting ladies?”
“I don’t know,” David replied, pacing in front of the fireplace. “I wasn’t worried about meeting ladies in Brighton. But I won’t be meeting ladies from Brighton at the Talbots’ ball. I’ll be meeting ladies from London.”
“Ladies from London cannot possibly be much different from ladies from Brighton,” Annabelle assured him, having absolutely no idea if she were speaking the truth. But regardless, the man was anxious, and she wanted to do whatever she could to make him feel more comfortable. Besides, how different could the ladies in Brighton possibly be? Marianne was lovely, and she was from Brighton.
“I knew the ladies in Brighton. I grew up with the ladies in Brighton,” David continued, scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck. He was quite cute when he was nervous. “I’m certain to say something rude to a lady from London that will mark me a clod immediately. I’m likely to ask to borrow her finger bowl at the dinner table or something equally ill-mannered.”
Annabelle eyed him carefully. He’d said it as if it were a jest, but she sensed something deeper behind his words. Could it be that he was truly worried about the silly ton and all its nonsense? Why, this man had nearly given his life for his country. He spoke Spanish. He saved a baby hare. He was a better man than most of the fops and blowhards strutting around the ton’s ballrooms in their peacock-like ensembles, dandies who’d never performed an honest day’s work in their lives.
“You’ll do fine,” she assured him. “Besides, I’ll be there, and Mama and Marianne will be too. We’ll make certain you don’t make a cake of yourself.”
David stopped and braced a hand against the mantel. “I appreciate your confidence in me, but I’m afraid my cakelike status is nearly inevitable.”
“Please give me more credit, my lord. I am your tutor after all.”
David dropped his arm and turned to look at her. “Quite right. I’m terribly sorry. Of course.” The tension seemed to drain from him. He straightened his shoulders. “I do have the best tutor in Society. If you cannot help me, I cannot be helped.”
Annabelle shook her head. “Nonsense. You can and you shall be a model of societal propriety. Today I plan to teach you how to ask me to dance, how to bow while I curtsy, how to take my hand and lead me to the dance floor at a ball. Tomorrow we’ll move on to the actual dancing.”
“Most of our dances in Brighton were public. Is there another way to go about asking at a private ball?”
Annabelle contemplated the question for a few moments. “First, you should know that you cannot ask a lady to dance without a proper introduction. But that shall not be a problem as Mama will be there to perform the introductions. And if Mama cannot, we shall employ the skills of Lady Talbot, as she is the hostess.”
“Very well. That sounds reasonable.” David smoothed his hand down his shirtfront once again.
Annabelle brought her hands together and folded them primly in front of her. “Now. Let’s begin by you showing me how you would currently ask a lady to dance at a ball.”
Nodding, David stepped toward her.
Annabelle sucked in her breath. He was only a pace away from her, towering over her and smelling so good, she wanted to bury her face in his neckcloth. She stared directly at it so she wouldn’t be so distracted by his penetrating eyes. “Tell me. Did your valet tie your cravat for you this morning?”
David chuckled. “I don’t have a valet. Can’t quite wrap my head around the notion of someone dressing me each day.”
Annabelle let out a small gasp.
David scrunched up his nose. “I suppose if I don’t have a valet, it’ll make me the most unconventional earl in town, won’t it?”
Annabelle considered it for a moment. “I don’t see why you must have a valet. But perhaps Beau can enumerate their merits.”
David sighed. “Believe me. He’s already tried. Instead, I tipped his man to show me how to tie several of these ridiculous knots in my cravat.”
“You must be a quick learner. It looks perfect.” She gulped.
“I was an army man, not a navy man, but I suppose tying a knot or two isn’t terribly difficult. And if I’m doing it correctly, perhaps I don’t need a valet after all.” He winked at her.
He most certainly was doing it correctly. He looked like a dream, and smelled like one, too.
She swallowed and stared at his cravat again. “Go on, then. Pretend I am a lady on the sidelines of a ballroom. Ask me to dance.”
Clearly quite willing to play the game, he walked away, nearly to the door of the salon, turned, and came striding back toward her, staring at her intently as he made his way to her side. For a split second, Annabelle wished they truly were at a ball, and he truly was about to ask her to dance. The fops who usually asked her to dance never looked that focused on her, and so intent to win her over. But he was pretending, she had to remind herself. This was merely a lesson.
“I’m assuming we’ve already been introduced?” he asked.
At her nod, he nodded too, and said, “Very well then. Lady Annabelle, you look lovely this evening. Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
He bowed, and she quickly sniffed his hair before saying, “Yes, my lord. I should enjoy that greatly.” She lifted her skirts and curtsied to him.
He held out his arm, straight and firm, bent at the elbow. An excellent offering. Annabelle nearly forgot to tell him he must ensure she remained on his right.
Once her hand was firmly atop his sleeve, he led her to the center of the room, where he turned to her and pulled her into his arms as if a waltz were about to begin.
“We, ah, we’ll practice the dancing tomorrow,” she said in voice that sounded shaky even to her own ears.
“Yes, you said as much,” he breathed.
All Annabelle could think of was his nearness, his scent, the feel of his muscles beneath his coat. His hand held hers tight, sending a tingling sensation all the way up to her throat. The other hand was on the small of her back, sending unfamiliar sensations zinging around back there, as well.
“Perhaps we should…try it again?” she finally managed, swallowing the lump in her throat his nearness had caused.
“Try what?”
“You, er, you asking me to d…dance?” When in heaven’s name had she become tongue-tied?
When he’d touched her. That’s when.
“Oh, yes, of course.” He dropped her hand and pulled his other from her back, stepping away, and leaving her feeling bereft. She watched as he made the short journey back toward the door and then she returned to the place she’d previously been standing.
He came walking toward her again, the hint of a smile on his face this time, and Annabelle’s heart fluttered. He was going to touch her again, and she was greatly looking forward to it. She smiled to herself as the most delicious thought entered her mind. She could tell him they needed to try this no less than a half dozen times if she chose. He needed practice, after all, didn’t he?
Oh, this would be a fun morning. A fun morning, indeed.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, while Lady Angelina read aloud from Debrett’s book of the peerage, David danced with Annabelle. He didn’t need much in the way of dance lessons. If there was one thing his mother had taught him, in addition to languages, arithmetic, maths, literature, and science, it was dancing. His parents had loved to dance. They danced all over the house to songs t
hey hummed. Sometimes Mama would play the small pianoforte in the corner of their cottage. Sometimes Marianne would play it, but no matter what, there had been dancing in the Ellsworth home. David hadn’t told Annabelle that he was already proficient in dancing. First, that would seem like bragging, and second, he wanted her to be the judge of his dancing skill. For all he knew, dances in London weren’t done the same way.
“You’re quite good at this already, you know?” Annabelle said as he spun her around to a waltz she was humming.
David breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. That makes one thing I’m proficient at,” he said as they continued their three-step count.
“Not just proficient, Lord Elmwood,” Mama interjected. “Good. Quite good, indeed. I’ve seen few gentlemen who are as graceful as you are at the waltz.”
David smiled at that news. It was the first time he’d felt as if he were worth a damn as an earl. He’d been listening to Lady Angelina recite titles all morning until his head was spinning. There was little hope he’d remember all that nonsense. The layout of battlefields, the planned attack, the coordinates of the enemy, those were things that stuck in his memory as if he could see them written upon a page. But all of these lessons on manners and titles and the proper fork to use when there were five sitting on the table, such things flew from his mind like bits of gossip Marianne repeated from his Aunt Emily’s letters.
He glanced down at Annabelle. Did she regret volunteering to teach him how to be an earl? Yesterday, they must have practiced his asking her to dance over half a dozen times. He clearly hadn’t got it right, because each time he led her to the pretend dance floor in the middle of the salon, she asked him to try again.
Poor girl. He’d been in danger of wearing a hole in the floor yesterday. Today, Lady Angelina had ordered the butler to bring in a special round rug, which they were using as their makeshift dance floor.
Annabelle was kind. She didn’t have to take time out of her no doubt busy schedule to teach him to go about in Society. He owed her a favor. Actually, more like he owed her a half a score of favors, but he would start with one.
Earl Lessons: The Footmen’s Club Series Page 8
