Page 46 of A Rogue in Firelight
“Some.” Feeling silly and hopeful, she only shrugged. “But we are here for tutoring. Shall we begin?”
“Aye, or greatly disappoint your Mr. Corbie.”
“He is not my Mr. Corbie,” she said stiffly, and led him toward the chairs by the window. She sat, as he did, and reached toward the stack of books.
“We need only review these. Most books on manners address what is proper for girls and women. I found just one or two that address gentlemen’s manners.”
“Both genders need sensible advice.” He took up another book.
She opened the volume in her hands. “This one discusses how a worthy gentleman must act... Ah, here. Social encounters.”
He shifted to lean an arm on the chair, which was snug for a man of his height. The chair she had was too large, her toes barely touching the floor. Suddenly she felt conscious of the room’s fussy formal setting; neither she nor MacGregor could relax.
She began to read. “For most social occasions, standing is acceptable and common for a gentleman, except at meals. While standing, it is frowned upon for a gentleman to thrust his hands into his pockets or warm his back at the fire.”
He stood then, towering over her, a smile teasing his lips. He lifted a side flap in the black coat. “This has an actual pocket. Excellent. What is proper to keep there? A wee page with what I should say to the king?”
She stood too, laughing. “Do take this seriously.”
“Trust me, I do, for your sake and mine.”
“No hands in the pockets, then. When you take a seat, remember that a gentleman never drops down loosely. Especially a tall man. It is most unbecoming.”
“I shall try to remember.” His eyes sparkled. “Next? Shall we practice going into dinner?” He extended his elbow. “Miss Graham?”
She wrapped her hand lightly around his offered arm, sensing hard muscle beneath smooth wool. He walked her forward, turned, came back. “Neatly done, sir. A gentleman never jabs out his elbow in case he should hit the unsuspecting lady.”
“I would never hurt a lady.” His eyes caught hers. She felt herself blush.
“Common sense. Most good manners are.” She looked away, cheeks hot, too aware of his closeness, his strength—and glad of his charming willingness and droll humor. His upbringing had been proper indeed, which only raised her curiosity.
“We only need to review the protocols relevant to meeting royalty,” she said. “Though more might be expected of you.” But if Papa and Mr. Corbie knew how easy this was, she thought, they might take MacGregor back to Edinburgh sooner, even back to prison if they could. She would not be the cause of that. “We will take our time.”
Seated again, she chose another book. “Lord Chesterfield’s letters to his son.”
“The infamous Chesterfield. My father gave me a copy as a boy, advising me to take some to heart and reject the rest. The author’s sour attitude actually shows us hownotto behave.”
“Oh dear. I have not read it, I confess.”
“Nor would you. But if you have a son someday, be warned.” He took the book from her. “Chesterfield emphasizes hard work, persistence, truth, and honor. What is worth doing is worth doing well, and so on.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
He skimmed his fingers along a page. “A man should keep his eyes open and mouth shut and avoid gossip. Also sensible. But he advises gentlemen to impress others of superior rank by copying their dress and mannerisms, even if those are foolish fashions.”
“That will not do!”
“His thoughts on women are interesting as well,” he added, turning pages.
“I can hardly wait.”
He chuckled. She loved the sound of it. “‘Women are only children of a larger growth; they have an entertaining tattle and sometimes wit; but for solid, reasoning good sense, I never in my life knew one that had it.’”
“What! You invented that.” She reached for the book, but he held up a hand.
“On my honor, madam. Listen. ‘A man of sense only trifles with women, humors and flatters them... but neither consults them nor trusts them with serious matters.’”
“Let me see!” As she reached for the book, her fingers grazed his. A gentle thrill ran through her.
