Chapter Nine
Why in the devil was Josie being so rude when the Dowager Countess Davenport was the perfect hostess, and Viscount Jonathon Davenport was utterly charming and exceedingly funny? Did her defensiveness stem from feeling less than around a handsome gentleman who befuddled her?
Was it possible that she was developing feelings for Nicolas Wentworth? Well, of course, she had feelings for him. Annoyance, frustration, and fury were valid feelings. But—did she also harbor affection for him?
Whatever the case, abashed by her atrocious behavior, Josie did her best to clean up her language during their late morning lesson. It took all of her concentration to eliminate the list of banned words from her speech. Hiding her sarcastic attitude proved even more difficult.
She worked hard, even carrying the new, improved Josephine into their afternoon meal—which was quite delicious, although not nearly filling enough.
She spent the afternoon talking about the weather and her favorite flowers.
But after hours of nattering on about sunshine and roses, her ability to converse dried up.
She could talk forever if permitted to discuss pugilism, the gymnasium she wanted to open, and her opinions.
Alas, take those topics from her, and she had the personality of a dead slug.
After the midday meal, they returned to the drawing room. The footmen moved all the furniture to the side, giving the four of them plenty of space to dance.
“Today, we shall prepare for the ball,” Agatha said. “You will be expected to converse politely, so please keep in mind everything we practiced this morning.”
Well, that sucked cow bollocks since Josie had just discovered she had little knowledge about the things the ton considered appropriate conversational topics. Nevertheless, since she was exhibiting decorum, she didn’t say this out loud.
“Young ladies must avoid reporting gossip or scandal,” Agatha said. “Never speak ill of others. Avoid disagreeable subjects such as religion. Do not interrupt others, and above all listen more than you speak.”
Bollocks! How was Josie to remember all of that?
“A lady must wait until she is formally introduced to someone before she interacts with them,” Agatha said. “The man of the house or a respected older woman will make the introductions. Even then, there are rules one must follow.”
Rules in athletic competition were good. Social rules were meant to keep women in their place. However, again, Josie held her tongue.
“Dance etiquette is as important as your conversational skills,” Agatha said. “Clapping with too much enthusiasm and outward displays of emotion are frowned upon. And never, ever stop dancing before the music has ended. Leaving the ballroom before all the dances end is a faux pas.”
But what if Josie required fresh air? Or was having a miserable time? Or, God forbid, had to use the necessary?
Agatha’s lips firmed. “Never dance more than two dances with the same man, or you will develop a notorious reputation for being overly familiar. You should know how to waltz, do a few country dances, and perhaps even a quadrille. The quadrille is quite intricate and will come later. Today, we shall concentrate on the waltz, which until recently was considered quite scandalous.”
Finally, something Josie was good at. She bounced on her toes.
“Franny and I waltz around the kitchen all the time. We don’t have a lot of room, so sometimes we bang into the table, and then Coach grumbles.
” If only Franny were here now, then Josie wouldn’t feel so alone and like an utter failure.
She exhaled a bittersweet sigh. “Franny and Coach are probably worried sick about me. I should post a letter tomorrow and let them know I am well.”
“Of course,” Agatha said. “If you write down their address, I will have one of the footmen take a message to them immediately. Tomorrow, you may borrow stationery and write to them. Unless you require me to pen your letter?”
Josie failed at hiding her indignation. “I read and write good, I do. I ain’t… I am not a dolt.”
Jonathon cringed, and his cheeks reddened, which was interesting since nothing seemed to faze him, leaving Josie to wonder if she’d said something cutting.
Probably not. She’d been the one belittled. How dare they assume an indigent, orphaned girl couldn’t read and write when she and Franny practiced both daily, alongside their boxing and dancing.
“Ye see,” Josie explained. “Franny’s mom was a governess before she married Coach. She taught Franny to read and write. Then Franny taught me, she did. I can read and write as good as ye toffs, I can, even if I don’t talk like a snob.”
Agatha closed her eyes for a moment. After exhaling, she opened her eyes and continued. “I do hope your friends show the utmost discretion and keep our undertaking a secret.”
“I trust them with my life.” Josie grinned proudly at her use of my instead of me. Using her neatest handwriting, she wrote the address and a one-line message on a small square of paper. True to her word, Agatha immediately entrusted a footman with the missive.
“Continuing with our lesson,” Agatha said, following their brief break. “You must wait for a man to approach you. You must never approach him. Once he asks you to dance, he will chivalrously offer you his arm. You should take it and accompany him to the dance floor.”
“Easy enough,” Josie declared confidently.
“Unfortunately, one of the most difficult parts of these events is understanding social status. There is no room for errors. You must address a gentleman by his family name or title, never by his first name.”
Josie inclined her chin toward Meddlesome. “Then why am I calling him Nicolas?”
His jaw clenched. “Because we are not currently at the ball, and especially because your use of the name Meddlesome has become quite tiring.”
“Now, now, children,” Jonathon said, seeming to have recovered from whatever had embarrassed him. “Play nice.”
Her expression controlled, Agatha kept right on edifying. The woman could teach through a volcanic eruption. “Since you shall be playing the part of a viscount’s cousin, you should greet the duke as My Grace and curtsy to him.”
This would have been so much easier if she had been able to approach him at The Lyon’s Den as Jabbing Josie, the feisty pugilist.
“Nicolas, please see that Josie has a list of correct titles and addresses to study,” Agatha said.
So much for the dancing lesson being easy because Josie would make a muddle out of the curtsying, my gracing, and my lording. She was not cut from the same cloth as these fancy people and their supercilious ways.
“We shall have to visit the modiste and have a gown made for you,” Agatha said. “Something flowy, mayhap purple silk. You will require matching slippers, gloves, a reticule, and hairpiece made of purple feathers.”
“No feathers, Mother.” Jonathon’s nose wrinkled as if plumage smelled like chamber pots. “We don’t want the poor girl to fly away.”
“Feathers do not suit Josie,” Nicolas agreed. “Mayhap an emerald dress and sparkling emerald clips in her hair.”
Was she imagining things, or had Nicolas’s eyes just clouded over?
Emeralds? Silk? How was she to afford such frippery? “There are dresses in me wardrobe. I can wear one of them, I can,” Josie said.
Agatha regarded her so intensely that Josie squirmed. “I believe you are correct, Nicolas. Emeralds will suit her coloring.”
“Mother, don’t you have a set of emeralds?” Jonathon asked. “They would look lovely on her.”
Agatha clasped her hands together. “Oh, yes. My anniversary set. A necklace, earrings, and hair pins. They have not seen a ball in over a decade. Josie will shine in them. Or I should say, they will shine on her.”
Josie did not favor them talking about her as if she wasn’t in the room. She waved. “I’m right here. And what if I lose them? Sometimes I lose things, I do.”
“Psh.” The viscountess swished her wrist dismissively. “You won’t lose them.”
Josie had given them fair warning, so they better not hold her accountable when a set of priceless jewels fell off her and landed in a punch bowl, never to be seen again.
“How am I supposed to afford a ball gown?” Josie thumped her chest. “Remember, I’m the poor pugilist who gave her winnings to a matchmaker and still owes an overdue down payment for her new gymnasium.”
“Let us solve one problem at a time,” Agatha said. “Nicolas, you shall be my partner. Let us show Josie what a proper waltz looks like.”
“But I know how to waltz,” Josie said.
Agatha placed her hand on Josie’s forearm, most likely trying to soften the blow after the condescending reading and writing insult.
“I suspect you know the riotous version danced in taverns. The one you will be expected to participate in is quite slow. ’Tis very graceful and is done on the balls of your feet. Come, Nicolas, let us show her.”
Josie harrumphed. Certainly, her version was more fun.
Nicolas held out his arm, linking elbows with Agatha.
They stepped to the center of the room. Nicolas faced the dowager, one hand on her back, the fingers of his other hand intertwined with hers.
He stepped forward as she stepped back. Soon, they swirled around the room together as the viscountess chanted, “Slow, quick, quick.”
Jonathon hummed a waltz as he tapped his toe.
Despite their mismatched ages, the pair danced together beautifully, reminding Josie of white swans glissading on a crystal pond. Their movements were similar to what she and Franny did in a kitchen in the East End. Except the aristocrats glided, and she and Franny bounced.
Surprise of surprises, she wanted Nicolas Wentworth to press his hand to her shoulder blade, stare into her eyes, and twirl her until they lost track of time.
Jonathon approached and held out his hand. “Shall we?”
It seemed she was to dance with the fun-loving viscount instead of the stick-up-his-arse son of an earl, which was probably for the best. She placed her hand on Jonathon’s back.
The viscount chortled. “You must let me lead.”
It was a forgivable error since she took the gentleman’s part when she and Franny danced.
She pressed her palm flat against his shoulder.
It took her a few moments of awkward fumbling to train herself to step back when Jonathon stepped forward.
She flexed and unflexed her knees slightly and stepped lightly onto the balls of her feet.
She dropped on the first step and rose onto her toes on the second and third.
She didn’t have to concentrate on keeping her back straight since she still wore the backboard.
Jonathon encouraged her the entire time. “Back, side, close, back, side, close. Forward, side, close, forward, side, close,” he chanted until they effortlessly swirled.
Nicolas and Agatha stepped to the side, giving her and Jonathon the floor.
“Slow, quick, quick. Low, high, high,” Agatha called. “Beautifully done, my dear. You are as light as air.”
“I am as light as air,” Josie whispered. Truthfully, she did feel as if her feet weren’t touching the floor.
She and Jonathon moved faster and faster until they were both laughing and breathless. He twirled her under his arm, grabbed her around the waist, and dipped her in front of their audience, calling, “Tada.”
Agatha clapped enthusiastically but quickly contained herself.
Jonathon stepped back and took a bow as Nicolas frowned at him.
“Why the scowl, old chap? Josephine is a splendid dancer.” Davenport winked at her. “You must save your favorite cousin a dance. Mayhap even two.”
“I would be delighted.” Josie beamed with her curtsy. Dancing had done wonders for her spirits.
Agatha cringed. “Oh, my. I suppose we should work on that curtsy next.”
What in the devil had Josie done wrong now?
“Yes. Let us move onto the curtsy post haste,” said Meddlesome, the sour puss.
“I told you, Mother,” Jonathon said.
“Told her what?” both Josie and Nicolas asked at the same time.
“On to the curtsy,” Agatha declared with what Josie swore was a mischievous grin.