Page 12 of A Duke Reformed
The duke's lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes remained unreadable. Emma could sense that he might be teasing her, but she wasn't entirely sure. There was something in his tone, in the way his gaze lingered on her just a moment too long, that made her wonder if he was playing a game she didn't fully understand. It was as if he knew more than he was letting on, as if he were testing her patience, or perhaps her resolve.
But then again, he had no reason to do so, so she brushed the thought aside.
"Perhaps we can begin the lesson," Emma said. "Time, as I'm sure you're aware, is a luxury neither of us can afford to waste."
Solomon nodded. "Of course, Miss Lockhart. Far be it from me to keep you from your noble mission of civilizing the uncouth." He gestured toward the settee with an exaggerated flourish. "Shall we?"
Emma hesitated, her gaze narrowing slightly as she studied him. There was a glint in his eye that she had not seen before... a spark of mischief that made her suspect he was enjoying this far more than he should. But before she could press him further, he moved to sit across from her.
She took her seat, smoothing her skirts with meticulous care. "Very well," she said. "Let us begin with the basics."
"Basics," he repeated, biting his lower lip in a way that made her pause. His eyes sparkledagain and the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Emma felt a flicker of irritation, and something else, something she couldn't quite name. There was no mistaking it now. He was teasing her, deliberately provoking her.
"Your Grace, if you find this so amusing, perhaps you would care to share the joke with me. Or is it simply my presence that you find so entertaining?" she questioned.
The smirk disappeared from Solomon's face as he leaned back into the chair. "It's nothing. I just... I'm not used to this, so I find it absurd that I have to... unlearn and relearn basic etiquette."
"You came to me," Emma reminded him.
"I know," he said and sat up. "My apologies, Ducky. Do continue."
Ducky?
Emma's hands stilled mid-gesture as the word hung between them.Ducky?Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and she blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected term. It wasn't offensive... not exactly, but it was... unusual. Certainly not the kind of endearment one would expect from a duke, or any gentleman of refinement, for that matter.
Her lips parted, ready to gently correct him, but then she stopped, not wanting to bicker any further. "We will start this lesson by discussing how to act at parties. Dinner parties to be exact."
Solomon leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. "All right."
"A dinner party.." she began and turned her body slightly to face him. "... is not merely a social gathering. It is an opportunity to demonstrate one's class, to engage in meaningful conversation, and to forge connections that may prove invaluable in the future. How one conducts oneself at such events can have lasting consequences."
"What kind of meaningful conversations?" Solomon asked, tilting his head to the side.
Emma hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by his question. "Well, one might discuss matters of politics, literature, or the arts. Topics that demonstrate intellect and refinement."
Solomon's brow furrowed slightly, as if he were genuinely trying to understand. "Politics," he repeated slowly. "So, if I were to say, ‘I think the Corn Laws are a disaster for the working class,' that would be considered meaningful?"
Emma squinted her eyes. "Why would you want to discuss Corn Laws? At a dinner party, no less?"
"You just said that people discuss politics," he explained. "It's a pressing issue, isn't it? People are starving because they can't afford bread. Seems like something worth talking about."
"At a dinner party?" she repeated.
"Miss Lockhart, I'm merely following the conversation," he said.
Emma stared at him for a moment, noting no change in his expression. "Your Grace," she began softly. "While I admire your... concern for the working class, a dinner party is hardly the appropriate setting for such a discussion. It's far too contentious. You risk offending your host or, worse, inciting an argument."
Solomon leaned back again in his chair. "So, what you're saying is, I should avoid talking about anything that actually matters. Stick to the weather, perhaps? Or the latest fashion trends?"
"I'm saying that a dinner party is not the place for heated debates. There are other forums for such discussions like political clubs, parliamentary sessions, even private meetings. But at a social gathering, the goal is to maintain harmony and ensure that all guests feel comfortable."
Solomon clenched his jaw. "I suppose that makes sense. But what if I find all this... restraint a bit stifling? What if I prefer to speak my mind, even if it ruffles a few feathers?"
Emma took a deep breath, her patience beginning to wear thin. "Your Grace, the rules of etiquette exist for a reason. That is what I am here to teach you. They ensure that social interactions remain civil and productive. Without them, people would say and do whatever they pleased, without regard for the consequences."
Solomon's gaze returned to hers. "And what's so wrong with that? Why should people have to hide behind masks, pretending to be something they're not? Why can't they simply be honest?"
Emma's cheeks flushed. "Because, Your Grace, not everyone is capable of handling the truth. Emotions can cloud judgment, leading to misunderstandings and conflict. The rules of etiquette exist to prevent such... unpleasantness."
