“When you sit, a gentleman should always place his napkin on his lap.”
He took the cloth from the table and dropped it into his lap.
“Not like that.”
“What’s wrong with that? It’s in me lap,” he said sharply.
“Like this.” She took the cloth from his knees and lifted it high, fluttering it once like a butterfly’s wings, then laying it delicately across his lap.
“And that doesnae look ridiculous to ye?” His tone had deepened again. He could see something twitch in Charlotte’s face. Was that fear?
Perhaps this is a hopeless endeavor. Whatever I do, people will always be afraid of me.
Mrs. Philips made a sound that could have been a snort of laughter, but Charlotte looked most put out, standing tall with her hands on her hips.
“It is the done thing,” she explained. “Now, taking the wine is when you make sure the lady to your right and then left has the wine of their choosing before you pour your own.” She gestured to the two chairs on either side of him.
He nodded.
“What if I daenae want to drink wine?”
“What else would you drink?” she asked distractedly, moving one of the carafes toward him.
“Ale.” His answer outraged her further. She planted her hand flat to the table, shaking her head. “I like ale. Do ye despair of me, lass?”
“Your Grace—” she seethed between gritted teeth.
“Aye, aye, I ken. Lady Charlotte.” He stressed her name once more, so sharply this time that she bristled at his side.
“You can have your fill of ale at home. When entertaining, or being entertained by others, one drinks wine.”
He sighed heavily. He’d never been a particular fan of wine.
“Now, it is customary for a gentleman to enquire upon the ladies on either side of them how they are, what they have done in their days, and so on.” She gestured to the two chairs.
“This is stilted.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, but she abruptly pushed them off again. “Can I nae just have an open conversation with them? Talk of other things besides what will undoubtedly end up bein’ a conversation about the weather?” He placed an elbow on one of the arms of the chair and leaned into it, but again, she brushed him away. “Can I put me elbows anywhere?”
“Tuck them in at your sides.”
“Aye, for this feels completely natural,” he muttered wryly.
“Your sarcasm is not helping,” she said tartly. “These rules are in place so one can engage with others within the realms of a decent conversation.”
Gerard looked at her, his anger rising by the second.
“Lass, what are the realms of a decent conversation, as ye call them?” he asked tartly.
“What can and should be talked about in good company.”
“Surely the mark of good company is the freedom with which ye can talk? The best evenings I’ve ever had, we’ve felt free to talkto one another. It is nae as if we have the eyes of an etiquette constable on our shoulders,” he said snidely.
“I thought you wished to learn etiquette.”
“Och, I do. I also wish to be able to talk as I like. Or do ye expect me to talk like this?” He cleared his throat and adopted a rather poor English and overly formal accent. “Oh, what did you think of the weather today, my good chap? Awful rain, is it not?”
“Stick to your own accent,” she said darkly.
“Aye, I intend to.” He matched her glower, watching as she quelled a little, stepping back from him. Noticing her looking away only made his fury worse. “Even if they call me a ruffian for it.”
