Page 36 of The Marchioness Who Tempted Fate
“Of course you are,” Percival replied. “Just consider this part of your education. The ability to hold a conversation is considered to be a high art, especially by theton.”
This time Tiffany laughed. “And when am I going to hold a conversation with a member of theton? Any conversation I might have with a peer, other than yourself, is more along the lines of, ‘Yes, My Lord,’ ‘No, My Lord,’ ‘Will you have cream or sugar with that, My Lord?’ Truly, Percival, I am unlikely to become a Lady any time soon.”
Percival looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “You might have a point. However, I do have it on the best authority that even the serving class do occasionally hold conversations.”
“Yes, My Lord, we do. But hardly any conversation I might have with anybody is going to start out with, ‘Tell me about yourself.’”
“I hadn’t really thought about that, Tiffany. How would a conversation start?”
“Well,” Tiffany temporized, “I’ve not had a lot of occasion to refine the art. Many conversations I’ve had in the past have started with things like, ‘Do you have hot cross buns in today?’ or ‘I’d prefer jelly-filled pastries, if you don’t mind’.”
“Not a lot of socializing in your past, then,” Percival commented.
“Not most days, no. Talking with Grace comes about as close as it gets, or maybe exchanging jibes with Michaels.”
“Point taken. So let us try this again. Miss Tiffany, what was your favorite memory of all time? I do not have a lot of opportunity for conversation, either. Could you entertain me a little with a story from your childhood?”
Tiffany thought for a moment. “There was not a lot of opportunity for play in my childhood, but sometimes Father Bentley would take me to the park on Sunday afternoons. There was this one time when we went that there was a man with a bunch of little dogs.”
Percival leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Tell me about the little dogs.”
“The man had them jumping through hoops, and turning in circles on their back legs—just all manner of things that you don’t usually see dogs doing. Then at the end, he had one of the little dogs carry his hat around to people. The dog would place the hat on the ground, then sit up on its haunches and wave its paws in the air, as if it were begging. When people would put money in the hat, he would pick it up and move on to the next person.”
“Very charming, I don’t doubt.” Percival considered for a moment. “Truly your favorite moment?”
“Truly, Percival. The little dogs were so clever, and Father gave me a ha’pence to put in the hat. Then we went home. That night, Father sang me a nursery song about an old woman whose little dog failed to recognize her when she got her petticoats cut off. Such a good thing that I didn’t have a little dog these last two years.”
“Why is that, Tiffany?”
She flashed a grin at him. “Because I’ve not worn petticoats for the last two years. So how would any little dog know me?”
Percival waggled a finger at her in mock admonition and appreciation. “You know, I think there is a book here, or perhaps it was a broadsheet, that has that very song on it.”
Percival went out into the library and shortly came back with a broadsheet. At the top of it was a picture of an old woman with her skirts cut short up to her knees. Across the page were lines with what appeared to be little dots with odd tails sitting on them. Words were written between the bars.
Percival picked up the sheet and began to sing, ending with, “This cannot be I, for my little dog doth not know me.”
“That is wonderful!” Tiffany exclaimed. “How do you know what to sing?”
“I look at the notes,” Percival replied. “You see how they are positioned on the line? That tells me whether to sing high or low.”
“Truly? Can anyone learn to do this?” Tiffany was round-eyed with astonishment.
“Most people can. A few don’t have the ear for it.”
“How much Lisa would love this! She always had to listen to the songs several times before she knew them well enough to sing them. Of course, she would have to learn to read the words, as well.”
“She didn’t know how to read?”
“Well, no, My Lord. Street orphans don’t have such advantages.”
“I . . . I do not know what to say.” Percival stared at her for a moment. “Of course, they do not. How foolish of me not to realize what a disadvantage that could be.”
“It is all right, My Lord.” Then at his continued expression of both embarrassment and concern, Tiffany added, “Truly, Percival, you could not be expected to know. It was one of the advantages I brought to my little group of urchins. I could read and figure.”
“What a colossal boor you must find me, lording it over you because I can speak and read both French and Latin.”
“No, no! Not at all. You are sharing what you know, My Lord. It is just,” she paused a moment, “I cannot learn it all at once. I am grateful, truly I am. I would so like for Lisa to be able to learn to read, and to be able to look at a page and be able to sing what she sees on it.”
