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Isla removed a piece of paper from her desk and dipped her quill into ink. Then she wrote in large letters: How to Train a Viscount.
The words were absurd. Normally a future viscount was trained from birth. Still, the viscount was correct. If someone was knowledgeable about etiquette, it was her. The man displayed a good judgement that would serve him well as a nobleman.
She tapped her quill against her blotting paper and then proceeded to write:
1.) A Lesson on Language. The man needed to know how to address people, what to say, and what absolutely not to say. Like many who came from the colonies, Lord Tremont’s accent did not designate a particular origin. Still, he needed to know which words were common and should be discarded and replaced with more appropriate ones.
2.) The importance of introductions. Lord Tremont had already shown a disturbing unfamiliarity with that process.
3.) Eating with elegance. She smiled. Even Miss Grant might enjoy these lessons. She’d have to amend the usual list her housekeeper ordered to include the most popular, if potentially puzzling, food items.
4.) Appropriate attire. The viscount would need to learn the basics of dress. No man could depend on his valet for everything, though it seemed this particular man needed to hire one expediently.
5.) Conversing with confidence. He could practice this lesson with the Duke and Duchess of Vernon.
6.) Delightful dancing. Tea with the duke and duchess might lead to future ballroom events. She would not mind teaching this particular lesson. Whatever his faults, and pretending to be a viscount was one of them, the man’s appearance was not flawed.
“You have a visitor, Lady Isla.” Giles gave her a disapproving glance, and Isla found herself grinning.
There was only one person who could cause her butler to look so disgruntled, and it wasn’t her brother or any of his titled friends.
“That must be the Viscount of Tremont,” she said gaily.
“He is still alone,” the butler said.
“Thankfully, I am not.” Isla glanced at Miss Grant.
Her companion gave a disapproving look that rivaled the butler’s.
Oh, well.
Let them glower.
It gave their facial muscles some exercise. They certainly weren’t spending any time laughing.
“Please send him in,” Isla said.
“Very well, my lady.” The butler’s words were tight, as if resenting any words that removed him from his newfound delight in frowning.
“This idea is inadvisable,” Miss Grant whispered. “You can still change your mind.”
“Nonsense,” Isla said.
“What viscount needs etiquette training?” Miss Grant grumbled.
“A new one,” Isla said, refraining from confiding just how unsuitable the man was to the role.
Besides, the late Viscount of Tremont had not been known for pleasantry. Isla considered it to be in Lord Tremont’s favor that the two were not related, even if people couldn’t know of the lack of relation.
“Please pen a note to the Duchess of Vernon,” Isla said.
“Very well,” Miss Grant said. “Shall I claim another engagement for you?”
“Nonsense,” Isla said. “You may inform her that I am happy to attend and that I will be accompanied by Lord Tremont, since he is a new peer and I trust the duke will desire to meet him.”
Miss Grant’s eyes seemed curiously close to bulging. “Are you certain you want me to write that?”
Isla waved her hand. “You’ll phrase it more elegantly. The important thing is that the new viscount will attend as well. It’s only tea, I’m certain that will be possible. They don’t have seating arrangements to pore over.”
“Of course,” Miss Grant said. “I’ll inform her.”
Lord Tremont strode into the room. Giles hastened after him and cleared his throat. “The viscount.”
“Good heavens,” Miss Grant said.
Even Isla’s eyebrows lurched upward.
“He’s wet,” Miss Grant muttered.
The statement was obvious.
Water dripped from the viscount and from Thabisa, perched on his shoulder.
A puddle formed on the floor, one the housekeeper would not appreciate.
“I’m sorry,” the viscount said. “It began to rain harder.”
“You don’t have a carriage?” Miss Grant asked.
“Er—no.”
“Never mind that,” Isla said loftily, before Miss Grant launched into the benefits and wonders of carriages as if she were a sixteen-year-old boy. “Take a seat. Just—er—not one of the upholstered ones.”
The viscount settled onto the piano bench.
“Good,” Isla said, feeling suddenly nervous.
She wasn’t a tutor. She might always be right, but teaching required more.
No matter.
“We can begin by speaking about how you entered the room,” Isla said.
“Oh?” The man’s eyes sparkled. “Can we instead begin by me telling you that I am so grateful you are taking me on as a student?”
“It seems you already have begun that way,” Miss Grant muttered.
Isla refrained from hushing her companion. Miss Grant’s inclination toward bluntness might be beneficial.
“Praise is unnecessary. Your focus should be on your lessons.” She looked through the curriculum she’d created. “There is much to teach you.”
Miss Grant nodded vigorously.
“I am eager to learn,” the viscount said.
Isla was certain most tutors would find those words comforting. Pupils, after all, had a reputation for being suspicious about education. No doubt that was the reason so many institutions pontificated about the virtues of learning, inscribing Latin words on stone buildings, despite the cost, in a sheer effort to spur the curiosity of the younger inhabitants.
The viscount was depending on her. Could she truly teach him everything he needed to feign being an aristocrat? And what would happen if he did not learn? If she foisted the viscount in an imperfectly polished state on Brighton’s local aristocrats?
If someone found out, he would certainly go to prison. Wouldn’t that reflect poorly on her? Everyone knew the importance of only giving introductions to the absolute right people.
“Let us begin with diction.”
*
APPARENTLY ETIQUETTE encompassed more things than Adam had thought.
Lady Isla desired to teach him speaking.
Speaking.
As if he hadn’t been doing it his whole life anyway. Even worse, she wanted to change the way he spoke.
Adam had thought he’d need to learn how to eat certain food, what words to avoid and tips to not mistake servants for gentry members. But it seemed there was more about him he needed to change.
He could do it. He would do it.
Adam shifted in his seat, but the piano bench was hard, and there was no back to rest upon.
Not that either Lady Isla or her companion seemed to be taking advantage of the comfortable seating with which they might avail themselves. They both sat rigidly, their spines straight, not resting against the curved back of the sofa.
Adam would rest upon the back of the sofa were he them.
Thabisa crawled from Adam’s shoulder and onto the floor.
Miss Grant’s face paled, and she cleared her throat as if to notify Lady Isla of the monkey’s presence, even though a monkey was hard to miss.
Thabisa ventured toward Lady Isla’s dog. Her eyes were round, and she approached slowly.
Adam hesitated, watching how Lady Isla’s dog might react. But the dog seemed calm, perhaps thinking Thabisa was simply a smaller person. She didn’t know just how far Thabisa had traveled, or just how rare she was in England.
There were no monkeys in England.
Adam hadn’t seen a single one.
With the exception of the mice and rats he’d seen scuttling across the street and the tiny terriers that chased them away from homes, England did not stray from a compilation of horses, cows and sheep.
“Come here,” he said, addressing Lady Isla’s dog. She pitter-pattered toward him, her long golden ears wobbling. He glanced at Lady Isla. “What’s her name?”
“Dido,” Lady Isla said.
“Good afternoon, Dido,” Adam said, and Dido wagged her tail.
“She’s a King Charles Spaniel,” Miss Grant said. “Most special.”
“I think Thabisa is quite special too,” Lady Isla said with a smile.
“Why don’t you greet her, Thabisa?” Adam asked.
Thabisa padded toward Dido and then reached out a paw to pet Dido.
“How adorable!” Lady Isla exclaimed. “How old is she?”
“Just a few months,” Adam said. “Her face is pink now, but it will get darker when she ages. She was a baby when I found her.”
“What happened to her mother?” Lady Isla asked.
“She was shot.”
Lady Isla blinked. “How sad.”
“Monkeys like eating crops,” Adam said. “And sometimes that makes farmers upset. But I’ve been providing for her as best I can.”
“You’ve done a good job,” Lady Isla said, her tone serious. She returned her gaze to Thabisa and Dido. Thabisa was venturing to other parts of the room, and Dido pitter-pattered after her, her tail wagging.
Miss Grant rolled her eyes for some reason. “I believe you wanted to teach him the virtues of proper language.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. In fact, I made lesson plans.”
“Splendid,” Adam said.
Lessons plans meant knowledge, and knowledge meant hope. He decided not to linger on the fact it would take tremendous work to achieve mastery.