Page 31 of Everything a Lady is Not
“I am so pleased that you have come.”
“I nearly believed you that time. Much better.”
“Thank you. My ability to lie has improved greatly under your tutelage, sir.”
As Henry schooled her in the art of leveling one’s emotions, she quickly became aware that he was searching for emotional wounds that he might exploit in order to prod her into an outburst.
“Is it true, Lady Margaret, that country maidens enhance their complexion using sheep dung smear?”
“I have never heard of such.”
“My mistake, then. When first we met, your dark facial smudges and distinct odor led me to think the rumor true.”
“Is that so? Then let me share my first impression of you!”
“I am listening.”
Pause. Pause.
“So, Mr. Beaumont. Would you call the color of your cravat the green of nasal drip or the green of cat vomit? I cannot decide.”
Deep sigh.
“Definitely cat vomit.”
Small talk and the boundaries between appropriate and inappropriate subjects comprised the next circle of torture. It soon became obvious to Lucy that in the vast realm of appropriate versus inappropriate subjects, the latter far outnumbered the former. In fact, virtually all Lucy knew about informal conversation appeared to be wrong.
“Can I compliment a woman’s dress, Mr. Beaumont?”
“No. The remark might be misconstrued.”
“How does one misconstrue a compliment?”
“People of Society often use insincere compliments to offend and ridicule. A form of sarcasm, as it were.”
“Why would they do that? Such behavior is cruel and untruthful.”
Pause. Pause.
“I do not know. Just refrain from doing so.”
In short, Lucy learned that any remark about a person’s appearance was off-limits, as was any question of a personal nature, anything that might be deemed gossip, or anything relating to shocking or evil behavior.
“So, then, Mr. Beaumont. You are telling me that conversation is largely limited to the weather, the quality of the food, and my thoughts on needlework.”
“More or less.”
“And you find this sort of social function interesting?”
Pause. Pause.
“No. I find most dinner parties to be an incredible bore.”
“That pleases me. It provides evidence of a brain inside your skull.”
The schooling continued for four days to a point where Lucy thought she might just survive the grueling education. However, a disclosure from the duchess destroyed even that illusion. Shortly after Henry had left the house, agitated and mumbling one afternoon, Lucy and the duchess sat down for what she hoped would prove an unremarkable supper.
“Lucy, dear,” said older woman. “In your opinion, how does your training progress?”
