by Tonya Brooks
Although Mrs. Dasher had been pleased to see that she was finally applying herself seriously, the woman still bemoaned the fact that she was a hopeless case. Determined not to give up without a fight, Scarlett went to visit her friends, Willow and Magnolia Downey in the hopes that they could help her. After all, both of them behaved like ladies... most of the time, so they might be able to give her some practical advice that she could use.
In spite of their rather impoverished circumstances, the Downey sisters had been raised as ladies by their mother, the daughter of a viscount, and their father, the third son of an earl. Their brother, Briar, and the Ashbrook males had become friends while attending Oxford, where Briar’s father had taught botany. When his father died, and support of his mother and sisters fell on Briar's shoulders, Devlin had hired him as his man of affairs and had never regretted the decision.
With a keen business acumen and a knack for picking high risk ventures that invariably paid off quite handsomely, Briar had managed to not only increase the Ashbrook fortunes, but he could support his family in a much nicer manner than they had ever known before. He had bought them a small, comfortably furnished manor house and staffed it with five servants to see to their every need. Since it was in such proximity to Devil's Keep, his sisters and Scarlett had become the best of friends.
When she arrived at their house, Scarlett flopped down in a chair without an ounce of decorum, rested one booted foot atop her knee as usual, and then realized what she had done. Immediately sitting upright, her spine and shoulders completely straight, she dropped her foot to the floor and brought her legs together until her knees touched, as a lady should.
Noticing her friends odd expressions, she muttered, “This blasted season is going to be the death of me.”
“Oh, Scarlett, you're so lucky,” sixteen-year-old Magnolia sighed wistfully, her posture perfect, hands lightly clasped in her lap. “I can't even begin to imagine how wonderful it will be. All those gorgeous gowns and hats and gloves and dancing until dawn with charming, handsome gentlemen. Oh, I'm so happy for you!”
“Would that it were you and not me,” their guest said fervently as she sought to emulate her friend’s graceful poise and made a mental note not to try to emulate her effervescent manner. Or her rather annoying tendency to emphasize every other word. “And to make a bad situation even worse, Dev still hasn't talked Grand’Mere out of dragging me to Almack's.”
~~~~~
“Oh, dear,” Willow sighed and knew her dearest friend wouldn't like that at all. The patronesses at Almack's were such sticklers for propriety, while Scarlett simply loathed the idea of conforming to society's standards. She'd be positively miserable inside the famous assembly hall.
“Almack's!” Magnolia exclaimed, her expression rapturous, her delicate little hands fluttering with excitement. “Oh, Scarlett, how wonderful! You must remember to write and tell us every little detail.”
A scowl covered Scarlett's face. “I haven't agreed to go, Nolie.”
~~~~~
“Not go?” Magnolia gasped, aghast at the very idea that Scarlett would refuse such a glorious opportunity. Such a thing was unheard of. Why, the members of the ton practically coveted the precious vouchers required just to enter the hallowed assembly hall. “But, Scarlett, you must. Heavens, it's Almack's!”
“Yes, the holy grail for marriageable females,” she snorted in disdain. “It's nothing but an aristocratic auction house to show off the newest crop of brood mares so the prospective buyers can sniff around them before the bidding starts. It's like Tattersall’s for people.”
~~~~~
Magnolia was staring at her wide eyed, not having a clue what Scarlett was talking about. Knowing, and understanding to some extent, her friend’s views on marriage, Willow made the connection and she laughed in genuine amusement.
“Dearest, Scarlett. Only you would compare such a venerable institution of society’s traditions with a horse auction,” she chided her horse mad friend lightly. “But I must admit you're quite right about the similarities. Almack's is the human equivalent of Tattersall’s.”
~~~~~
Having no comprehension what they were going on about, Magnolia began to prattle on with barely restrained excitement about how grand it would be to appear at the famous assembly hall, to meet all those eligible gentlemen and have them vying to fill her dance card. The two older women exchanged a knowing look and waited patiently until the girl ran out of steam.
That was the problem with Magnolia. Like her mother, she was so much like a child that it was almost impossible to carry on a serious conversation with her. Twenty-year-old Willow, on the other hand, was nearly as well versed in business matters as her brother, but she didn't have a drop of common sense when it came to managing a household. However, they were her closest friends and Scarlett accepted them, faults and all, just as they accepted her.
“That blasted companion that Grand’Mere hired is even worse,” she snorted inelegantly. “The woman is driving me mad. 'Do this, do that. No, not like that! Lady Scarlett, you will be the ruination of my good name if you do not try harder,'” she mimicked in a prim, snooty little voice.
~~~~~
“Oh, dear,” Willow commiserated. Her dearest friend had no social graces whatsoever. The poor companion definitely had her work cut out for her.
“A companion!” Magnolia exclaimed. “How delightful.”
Looking as if it were all she could do to keep from making a scathing retort, Scarlett merely replied, “In spite of my best efforts to comply with all of her ridiculous dictates, Mrs. Dasher has informed me that I am a hopeless case. Therefore, I need your help.”
“Certainly. How may we be of assistance?” Willow queried, more than happy to aid her friend.
“Teach me how to behave like a lady,” she implored fervently.
Magnolia laughed a bright, tinkling sound of delight. “But it’s so easy, Scarlett. There is really nothing to teach.”
The silly child did not realize how foolish that statement was. Their mother had been teaching them all the rules of decorum since birth, so to her it came as naturally as breathing. Willow understood the problem however and reached over to pat her friend's hand encouragingly. Scarlett had not had the benefit of a woman's guidance therefore all the traits that were inherently ingrained in them were all new and frustrating for her.
“Where would you like to begin, dear?” She queried.
Casting a baleful look at her, Scarlett replied honestly, “As Mrs. Dasher has pointed out, I have no feminine graces whatsoever, so the areas that need improvement are too numerous to list. I can't even sit properly.”
Willow looked her over carefully as she examined her posture. “I must say, you're seated quite well. Your posture is perfect, but you're holding yourself too rigid.” She rose and walked behind the chair to place her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “Relax, just a bit. There. Much better. No, don't drop your shoulders. No, no. Too high. Lower them just a bit.”
Scarlett bit back a curse. “This is impossible,” she growled in vexation. “I'll never be able to manage.”
“Of course you will,” the older woman chided lightly as she returned to her seat. She continued to stare at her friend as if she were a specimen under a magnification glass until inspiration struck. “Scarlett, you are one of the finest equestrians I've ever observed, and your posture while riding is superb. Can you sit like you do while astride your mare?”
Scarlett shifted easily into the familiar position, knees spread, and arms loosely by her sides, elbows bent, hands resting lightly atop her lap.
Willow nodded her satisfaction. “Now, can you retain that pose and bring your knees together?” When Scarlett complied, she beamed her satisfaction. “Perfect! You look relaxed and graceful, yet your posture is flawless.”
“Really?” Scarlett asked doubtfully.
“Oh, you look like the perfect lady,” Magnolia assured her. “Except for your attire, that is.” Making it
clear that no one would mistake Scarlett for a lady in those awful boots and breeches.
“I can't believe it,” their guest said in amazement. “I actually did it right. And it’s not uncomfortable a'tall.”
“Mrs. Dasher will be pleased,” Willow said confidently. “Now, let's move on, shall we? Show me how to rise from the chair.” Placing her hands on the chair arms, Scarlett pressed down and shoved herself to her feet. Oh, dear. This could take a while.
“Nolie, be a dear and ring for refreshments. Now, Scarlett, I want you to watch me. One must never use the chair arms for support...”
~~~~~
Over the next two hours, Scarlett discovered that Willow had the patience of a saint, and her instructions made much more sense than Mrs. Dashers. By the end of the visit, she had learned how to lower herself into a chair, as well as sit, and rise, both comfortably and gracefully. She had also made great strides in gliding across the floor instead of walking in her usual gait.
The Downey sisters were pleased with the results. Scarlett was ecstatic with joy. She had accomplished a very minor victory, but a victory nonetheless. That bolstered her spirits enough to keep trying.
“Here are a couple of books on proper etiquette,” Willow said as she handed them over. “I know its exceedingly tedious and trivial reading, but I am confident they will help you.”
Scarlett's eyes sparkled like emeralds as she accepted the books. “Oh, Willow, thank you so much,” she said fervently and hugged the leather bound volumes to her chest. “You know how I adore reading. These will make it so much simpler to learn.”
Which was true. Scarlett had an incredible memory. Anything she read, she retained and recalled to mind word for word. Her tutors had been amazed at the ability and had encouraged her to read anything that sparked her attention. It had also facilitated the ease with which she had mastered eight languages to date. If she had learned to read a language as difficult as Sanskrit, then by all that was holy, she could certainly learn how to behave with decorum.
Ever impulsive, on the way home from the Downey's, Scarlett decided to stop by Branvill Manor to see if Nicholas had any books that might help her. He had an even larger library than she did, so there might be something of relevance tucked away. Not that she thought for a moment that he might have purchased a book on etiquette, but his mother could have left something behind on her visits. If anyone would have such a thing, it would be Jacqueline Branvill, a woman hailed by the ton as the perfect lady.
Entering the house without bothering to knock, she called a cheerful greeting to the butler who was involved in a discussion with two footmen. Groves returned the greeting fondly and didn't even bother to inquire if he could be of assistance. Nicky had instructed the staff to give her free reign when he'd purchased the estate, so Scarlett came and went as she pleased on a regular basis.
Much to her delight, the handsome duke was at home and comfortably ensconced in his favorite reading chair. Nicholas was an avid reader and the two of them had spent many a pleasant hour together quietly reading or discussing a well-aged tome from his vast collection. She would never comprehend his fondness for poetry though she did love to tease him about it since he had an entire section of the library dedicated to a topic with no practical value.
~~~~~
Nicholas Branvill was an enigma, a man with many hidden facets. Facets that only a select few were ever privileged to see. Groomed since birth to claim the ducal title of Ryder, he had been trained first at his father’s knee, and then by his guardian, Charlton Ashbrook II, to handle the responsibilities of his station and he took them very seriously.
On his left hand, he wore the Ryder signet ring, while on the right he wore a second signet ring that he had inherited through his mother. As a member of the Gerrard family, the reigning house of Moldavia, he was a Prince du Sang, a prince of the blood. By right of birth, he was third in line to inherit the throne, and by the tragic circumstance of his cousins disappearance, now the second in line.
Responsibility had come to him at the absurdly young age of ten and he had been diligently instructed to accept it. In addition to his many obligations as the owner of several vast estates in both countries, and a variety of lucrative business investments, he still took his rightful place in the House of Lords and was well respected among his peers as an insightful young man. His calm, even temperament and level head were also widely recognized as a steadying influence on his hot headed friend, the Duke of Langford.
The Ashbrook and Branvill families had been close for generations. Their grandfathers had been the best of friends, their fathers as close as brothers, while Devlin and Nicholas had been raised as brothers. Nicholas had always been considered a member of the Ashbrook family, and he trusted them implicitly.
Having come into his title so young, he had learned at an early age that unscrupulous people were drawn to those in a position of power and would use him to further their own selfish interests if allowed to do so. Needless to say, he did not trust easily, nor did he suffer fools gladly. Which is why he trusted only those within his select circle of friends.
And then there was Scarlett.
The one woman in the world that he could truly be himself with. She didn't see him as a prize to be attained because he was a duke, nor did she care that he possessed one of the largest fortunes in the realm.
To her, he was just Nicky. A man who didn't have to aspire to anyone's standards save his own. A man who didn't have to be dignified and in control of his emotions at all times. A man who had the luxury of saying and doing exactly as he pleased without censure. He was her tutor, her confidant and best friend.
Her big brother.
Yeah, he was gonna have to find a way around that one. The fact that Scarlett thought of him as a brother was a problem, but not one that he wasn't prepared to overcome. For the last two years he had been subtly, very subtly, easing himself out of the role of sibling, and more prominently into the role of friend.
Scarlett needed to see him first and foremost as a man before he could put the rest of his plan into motion. So far, Nicholas was well pleased with the results of his machinations. At times he would catch her watching him with an awareness that hadn't been there before. The awareness of a young woman coming to realize her own sensuality and that of the men around her.
Not that he had done anything overt enough to make his intentions obvious. No, the Rake of Ryder was well known for his patience and subtlety when it came to the fairer sex. Reputed to be able to seduce a woman with nothing more than a look, Nicholas was using every ounce of sensual skill he possessed to ensnare the lovely Scarlett's heart and make her his own.
But his renowned patience was beginning to wear thin under the strain.
As if he'd conjured her up, the object of his thoughts strolled into the room, dropped down in the chair opposite him, picked up his glass of brandy and drained it before announcing, “Nicky, I need your help.”
A smile quirked his sensuous lips as he laid the book of poetry he'd been perusing aside. “What did the dragon lady do now?”
“Other than prattling nonstop about proper etiquette like a bloody harpy?” She asked sarcastically as she placed the empty glass on the table and picked up his smoldering cheroot from the crystal ashtray. “Can you believe that Grand’Mere is actually paying that woman to make my life a living hell?”
Nicholas repressed a smile and didn't even consider chastening her. Scarlett had picked up quite a few of his bad habits over the years, cursing, drinking and smoking among them. But when she was constantly surrounded by rakes, what else could you expect?
Besides, the companion's instructions on the proper rules of deportment, as well as a multitude of other innocuous bits of etiquette, persisted in driving the young woman to distraction. What Scarlett needed was to relax and unwind a bit. Well, he could certainly help her with that.
Rising to his feet, he circled the chair and came up behind her to place his hands lightly on her shoulders.
“Sit up,” he commanded gently.
~~~~~
“Not you, too,” she groaned through a cloud of smoke and assumed the correct posture in the chair, thinking that Nicholas was going to give her instructions as well. When his talented hands began to knead the tense muscles of her neck and shoulders, she sighed in genuine pleasure and allowed her posture to go limp again. “Oh, Nicky. That feels marvelous,” Scarlett practically purred.
~~~~~
Enjoying the delightful glimpse of cleavage down the front of her shirt, and reveling in the feel of her warm flesh through the material, Nicholas continued the ministration with expert hands. God, it felt so good to touch her, and those soft little moans of pleasure she was emitting fired his already heated blood even more. How he ached to make her moan with real pleasure. That was not an option, however, so he forced his mind to more innocuous thoughts and his eyes away from her breasts.
Having always taken an interest in whatever unusual, and more often than not, bizarre subject she chose to study, he queried curiously, “What was today's lesson?”
“How to determine if a suitor is making improper advances and protect myself from them,” she mimicked in a prim, proper, snooty little voice and then snorted for good measure. “Like I don't know a well-placed knee to the ballocks will do the trick.”
He winced at the mental imagery that comment stirred. “True. That works well enough,” Nicholas acknowledged. “If you're in a position to do so.”
“How could I not be?” She asked curiously and rolled her head forward to grant him better access to her neck.
“It's not practical when you're sitting,” he pointed out and worked his hands up the silken skin she had exposed.
“A solid right cross would suffice,” she assured him and he laughed in genuine amusement.
