Chapter 12 #3
Lord Kinsale’s eyes gleamed. “It sounds like this hand-handbook of yours is very com-comprehensive. Though tell me, Miss Dav-Davenport”—the marquess picked up his cutlery and sliced off a neat portion of his sole en cro?te—“what if … what if your employer requires dancin’ lessons?
Because that is a s-s-skill I do not possess and should like to ac-acquire as well.
How-how would we pro-proceed if we can-cannot … if we cannot touch?”
Mina suddenly wished her glass contained something a tad stronger than water.
Lord Kinsale’s gaze was resting on her, and she knew her face was ablaze.
She took a hasty sip before replying. “I imagine there are certain situations, particular cases such as yours, where exceptions to the Academy’s strict rules can be made,” she said carefully.
“If said touching is socially acceptable—for instance, when engaging in an activity such as dancing—I don’t see why not. ”
At least, Mina didn’t think that what she’d stated was an outright falsehood.
The Handbook’s chapter on fraternization had never mentioned that dancing was not allowed.
And it wasn’t as though she and Lord Kinsale would be dancing as part of some “courting” ritual.
No, it would be part of the suite of etiquette lessons Mina was providing.
“I shall keep that in m-m-mind,” said the marquess, placing his fish fork and knife in the precise center of his plate.
“Rest assured, I would play the part of a per-perfect gentleman. I w-w-wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with the P-P-Parasol Academy.
” Then he gave a wry smile. “Your Mrs. Temple scares even a b-b-big bruiser o’ a man like me. ”
Mina laughed at that. Considering Lord Kinsale was at least a whole foot taller than the petite Parasol Academy headmistress, it was an amusing notion indeed.
Although, Mina had, on at least one occasion, witnessed Mrs. Temple’s “death” glare when several students in Mina and Emmeline’s cohort had broken the Academy’s rules and snuck out of the dormitory one night—well, teleported out—to Covent Garden to see a play.
It was the sort of look Mina never, ever wanted to receive.
She was certain she’d fall into a dead faint.
The marquess rang the crystal bell and the servants, including Smedley, immediately appeared.
Of course, Smedley’s expression grew sly when he observed that the marquess was now seated beside Mina rather than across from her, but for the most part, it was easy to ignore the supercilious butler.
In the flurry of activity that ensued—the clearing of used plates and cutlery, the replenishing of wine and water, the serving of the main course (roast beef with mustard sauce and a mélange of seasonal vegetables)—Mina fell to contemplating what exactly she would do with Lord Kinsale after dessert had been served and dinner ended.
She imagined they’d repair to the nearby drawing room. Or perhaps the library.
But then what? Chapter 24 of the Parasol Academy Handbook had mentioned that singing and reciting nursery rhymes or poetry could assist one’s charge with achieving fluent speech, at least temporarily.
Praising one’s charge for being fluent was also highly recommended.
Other than that, providing a calm environment to promote relaxed conversation was the only other recommended strategy.
But Lord Kinsale couldn’t very well sing his parliamentary speech. And did he even like to sing? He had a deep, melodious voice and Mina was certain that he’d be lovely to listen to.
As one of the footmen carefully poured mustard sauce over the slices of roast beef on her plate, Mina released a surreptitious sigh and smoothed the linen napkin resting on her lap. She really didn’t want to fail Lord Kinsale. But what if—
Mina frowned as her fingers brushed against something hard in her uniform’s pocket. Something small and rectangular like a notebook. Something she hadn’t placed there.
Something she was sure would be useful even if it wasn’t magical …
Glancing at Lord Kinsale, she could see he was distracted as he issued instructions to Smedley about how and when dessert—a steamed treacle pudding with glazed clementines and vanilla custard—should be served. Surely it would be all right to take a peek at what her pocket had provided.
Mina reached in, then withdrew a small, slim, leather-bound volume. On the dark green cover was written in embossed gold lettering:
The Governess’s Guide to Fluent Speech Instruction: Practical Exercises to Encourage Clear and Smooth Elocution in Any Social Setting
“Wh-what do you have there, Miss Dav-Davenport?” asked Lord Kinsale. The butler and footmen had gone and she and the marquess were alone once more.
“It’s er … It’s a new guidebook I found … that might have a few strategies that will help you achieve smoother speech, my lord,” she said.
Lord Kinsale’s green eyes glimmered with a roguish twinkle. “I’m up for tryin’ anythin’ if you are, Miss Dav-Davenport.”
Mina smiled back. “Anything?” she asked. “I might hold you to that, my lord, because I suspect singing might be on the cards.”
The marquess whipped around in his seat to face her. His expression was the textbook definition of “aghast.” “Singin’?” he exclaimed. “You m-m-must be jokin’ with me.”
“Indeed, I’m not,” returned Mina. “From what I understand, singing and reciting poetry might help control stammering because one doesn’t have to think about the words.
And one draws breath at regular intervals.
There’s a predictable rhythm to it all. If it makes you feel any better, I will sing along with you.
Perhaps even accompany you on the pianoforte. ”
Lord Kinsale’s gaze grew curious as he picked up his glass of claret. “Do-do you know ‘The Rose of Tralee,’ Miss Davenport?”
“I can’t say that I do, but I’m a quick study,” she said. “Even if you hum the melody first, I should be able to work out the notes to play it.”
“I will teach you,” he said. “The words and the tune.” And then he picked up his knife and fork and sliced into his roast beef with alacrity.
Mina smiled as she did the same. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Lord Kinsale had just said her name quite perfectly for the very first time. Indeed, his last two utterances had been completely stammer-free as well.
Perhaps it was a side effect of the wine. (Although, the marquess really hadn’t had much at all.) Or maybe it was the convivial atmosphere. Mina couldn’t be certain.
Nevertheless, she suddenly had a glimmer of hope in her heart. Perhaps she could help Lord Kinsale with his stammer. Even just a little bit would be better than not being able to help him at all.