Page 78 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“I grew up in Hull,” she said tartly. “We all know about sheep.”
“Of course,” he said. “Don’t tell anyone that. Don’t claim to be from Hull at all.”
“I am not going to lie to my grandfather!” she snapped.
He nodded slowly. “True. But he will expect you to lie, so you should confuse him with the truth.”
“But—”
“My mother was a courtesan. I was there as a boy, watching as she dealt with society.” His eyes darkened. “London and the elite are very different than anything you can imagine.”
“I can imagine a great deal,” she groused.
“Then imagine yourself going through the steps of a quadrille.”
“A what?”
He jolted as if shocked. “Good Lord, you do not know how to dance.”
She threw up her hands. “There wasn’t much call for it in Hull. No matter how much I hummed, the sheep refused to do the patterns.”
His lips twitched, but it didn’t soften his glare. “You’ll have to learn that immediately. One misstep, and you shall be branded a provincial.”
She sighed. Shewasa provincial, and she began to doubt that any education would change that. “Bram, I am tired. Can you not let me be?”
“And that’s another thing. Gentlemen are boring. You will have to feign interest even if you are ready to fall dead asleep.”
She dropped her head back. “I will not be talking to gentlemen, Bram. I will be speaking to my grandfather.”
“Who will either rail at you or refuse the door.”
“Neither of which is boring.”
He huffed out a breath. “I am trying to teach you.”
“No,” she said wearily. “You’re trying to frighten me.” She looked down at her clenched fists and consciously opened them. “And it’s working.”
“Well, of course—” He stopped himself, narrowing his eyes as he stared at her. She didn’t respond. She looked back, relaxing enough to let fear show on her face. She was a girl from Hull. What did she know about confronting an earl?
“This is a mad scheme,” he said softly. Then he touched her hand. “But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”
She nodded and let his warmth seep into her. She inhaled his scent to her soul and let it stay there, supporting her. And in thisway, she finally relaxed. Which is when he started quizzing her again.
All the way into London. Which was when she declared enough.
She gave him her back and stared out the window. They were at the most interesting part of the drive. Houses near enough to see into each other’s windows. Another mail coach so large, she could barely believe it. People wearing colorful clothing right next to someone in rags. All things she had never seen before, every mile bringing something new.
“It’s bad form to be pressed up against the glass like a country git.”
She glared at him, willing him to soften, just this once. It didn’t work, not even when she relied on her pleading expression. Big eyes, slight pout, even a strategic blink that suggested tears.
He laughed. “Don’t try that on your grandfather. Your eyes are pretty, but they’re not quite big enough to make a pout attractive.”
“Did you just call my eyes small?”
“No. I said they’re not big enough for the weeping kitten look. Not without cosmetics. But then, Eleanor will teach you all about those.”
Eventually, they arrived at the coaching inn, and suddenly, Maybelle was struck dumb with fear. So many people! So much confusion! If she were here alone, she wasn’t sure she could manage it. But Bram knew exactly how to go on. He commanded a hackney and handed her up while she was still quivering inside.
