Page 33 of Plucked By the Orc

Normally, “blimey” would have earned her a wince and a fussy comment from Duncan Higgins. Truth be told, she sometimes uttered the phrase to engender that reaction, which wasn’t without humor. But today, she might have said no more than a ladylike “oh, dear” for all Duncan reacted to the word.

“Why not?” he said. “You have shown you are more than capable.”

“For starters, Lady Maberly already thinks of me as lesser than herself.”

“Yes, but even so, she was perfectly polite.”

“With respect, ladies are a site cleverer than any gent when it comes to noticing slights made by other ladies. And I don’t think she will believe you would have hidden my title when introduced at your mother’s house.”

“Well, Lady Maberly can stuff it,” Duncan said with a passion that sent a delicious shiver down Iris’s spine. “But you, clever woman you are, said nothing about your background other than that your family hails from the North and that you were sent away at a tender age. Therefore, I shall slip a comment or two in confidence to individuals who cannot keep any confidences at all. And soon enough, word will spread.”

“No one will believe I’m a countess!”

“You were aces at Mother’s. We could introduce you as Countess Jessup. Will that suit? A mysterious young woman raised abroad.”

Iris had never heard him say anything like “aces” in her company and thought it a sign he was growing more comfortable. A sensation she liked, probably more than she was willing to admit, even to herself. Still, she pressed her case, for his sudden burst of enthusiasm was utterly out of character. And probably unwarranted. Could he have that much faith in her abilities when Iris herself did not?

“Being a lady is one thing. Countesses behave in a whole other manner and need to know more than mere ladies,” Iris argued. “More will be expected. We haven’t much time.”

“Countesses know nothing that you can’t master quickly, Miss Gabbert. Trust me on this. Humans act high and mighty in society, but it is often only to disguise self-doubts. If you believe you are a countess, then thetonwill assume you are one as well.”

“Is there going to be dancing at this here rout?” Iris asked.

“It’s not a formal ball, but Lady Bellingham may engage an orchestra. Which means a dance or two.”

“What am I to do about that? A countess should dance better than anyone in the room. I can’t dance.” She thought of the jigs and gallops she’d done at public assemblies when she had a spare shilling. “Not in the manner of theton, at any rate. I know some country dances and maybe a quadrille I could manage with more help from Mrs. Higgins. What if someone asks me to waltz?”

“That is a possibility, but there is little to a waltz. Here. Let me show you.”

He tossed his serviette aside and extended his hand. She could not help but notice that his claws were prominent. Not that she should have expected less. She hardly looked the ticket over breakfast, what with her manners still being nowhere near as refined as Duncan’s.

“Do you mean for us to practice right here and now?”

“We can retire to the drawing room to have space to maneuver. Do you need more time to finish your meal?”

Butterflies flitted in her stomach. For once, she didn’t think she could stuff down Cheffie’s cuisine. “I’ll return to it later.”

“Let’s go, then.” His hand remained extended. “I shall escort you to the dance floor, Lady Iris. As is suitable.”

Iris’s heart skipped a beat as her hand rested in his, and they walked out of the breakfast room together. Then again, walkingwas too commonplace a word to describe the experience. With Duncan escorting her in the manner of a lady, Iris felt like she was floating.

He escorted her down a narrow corridor leading not to the library, where they were accustomed to taking their lessons, but to the formal drawing room.

The area had a right chill, which made sense since she assumed it was typically reserved for gatherings to which Iris had little knowledge and almost certainly would not be invited. Or at least that would have been the case in the past. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Running her hands up and down her arms, she took in the paneled walls, hardwood floors, and green-felted billiards table pushed to the side, all immaculate. Opposite, a white marble hearth held only a mantel clock and twin gilded sconces above with a long oval looking glass between them on the wall.

Iris glimpsed the two of them reflected in the mirror, Duncan’s figure towering over hers. The walls rose to twice Duncan’s height, at least. And that was saying something. She gazed upward. They stood underneath a chandelier dripping with crystals. The wax remained half-melted on its candles, suggesting they had not been lit for some time.

“Here now,” Duncan said once they had taken their place in the center of the room. “First, a gentleman will approach you and ask for the favor of a dance.”

He backed up and began playing a character, approaching her with an almost seductive smile. She shivered with delight.

“May I have the honor?” he asked.

“Why not, I say?” Iris clasped her hand in his.

“No, no, no.” Duncan broke character to shake his head, his expression unsettled. “You must measure your enthusiasm.”

“But I want to dance.”

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