Chapter 6

Six

J ulia attempted to flip open her fan for the third time, only to have it fly from her hand and land on the floor with a thwack. Good heavens, who would have thought maneuvering a silk fan would require such skill? With a sigh, she bent to retrieve the frustrating prop and returned it to her lap.

"The trick is in the wrist, dear. Like this." Her Grace flicked her wrist and, like a flower, the fan she held unfolded. "Now watch Celia do the same. Pay mind to the movement of her wrist."

Julia turned her attention to Lady Celia, watching raptly as the girl repeated her mother's movements. Her fan also spread out to reveal its fine embroidery and lace. The pair of them made it seem so easy.

"Now you try." Celia rested her fan on the arm of her gold-brocade wingback chair.

With a sigh, Julia raised her fan, flicked her wrist as they had done, then watched as it once again soared from her hand. "I am hopeless when it comes to fans," she woefully cried. "Could I not simply avoid their use?"

Celia walked to where Julia's pink silk fan rested on the floorboards. "Nonsense. You simply need more practice." She bent to pick it up, then brought it back to Julia. "One cannot flirt properly without a fan."

"Celia!" Her Grace shot a disapproving glare at her daughter.

"What? I only spoke the truth." Celia grinned and reclaimed her seat.

"Fans serve a greater purpose than flirting." The dowager moved next to Julia on the settee. "Allow me to help you. And do stop tapping your foot."

Julia stilled her foot and nodded, lifting her fan again.

The lady took Julia's wrist between her thumb and fingers, then flicked it out.

To Julia's astonishment, the fan spread open.

"You did it!" Lady Celia grinned triumphantly on Julia's behalf.

Julia glanced between the ladies, her own lips upturned from the accomplishment—no, it was a victory. After several failed attempts, she'd managed to succeed. It mattered not that the duchess had helped.

"Indeed she did." Her Grace retook the chair she'd abandoned moments ago. "Now try without my help."

Julia closed the fan and a steadying breath. She could do this; she would not be conquered by a ladies' hand fan. After readjusting her grip, she closed her eyes and flicked her wrist as Her Grace had demonstrated moments before. The fan remained in her hand. She could still feel its cool ivory against her gloved hand. She opened her eyes, victory warming her blood.

"Wonderful. Now you must continue to practice, for the last thing you want is to send it flying across a crowded parlor. Your reputation would be forever stained," the dowager said.

"Yes, Your Grace." Julia closed the fan, then repeated the actions, watching it spread out before her. Whether or not she would ever master the art of flirting with a fan remained to be seen, but at least she could effectively operate one now.

"Now that you have learned the fan, let us see what you recall of our previous lessons." Her Grace tapped her fan on her lap. "When at a dinner party, what is the first course?"

"Soup," Julia answered.

"And how does one consume soup?" Her Grace angled her head, her earbobs catching the noonday sun pouring through the window.

"They sip from the side of the spoon and always must be careful not to make a sound." Julia had memorized every rule the dowager duchess had told her. In fact, over the past several days, she had even come to enjoy the lady's quizzes. Having the answers and being confident about them, made her feel like she could fit into their world—perchance—though she would never be one of them.

Aristocrats did not wed destitute girls, most certainly ones without good bloodlines. No, her place would be beside Lady Celia, and that was preferable to her fate before the Duke intervened and brought her here. In fact, being companion and chaperone to his sister is more than she ever could have hoped for.

"Very good. I must admit, I am surprised at how well you are retaining my lessons." Her Grace offered a warm smile. "Now tell me, what is one to do if they are not particularly fond of said soup?"

"Pretend otherwise and make the appearance of eating, for it is vulgar to refuse the first course." Julia glanced at Lady Celia as she retook her chair, folding her hands in her lap.

"I have always thought that rule to be particularly confounding." Lady Celia angled her head at her mother. "Why must we pretend to enjoy something? Why can't we simply refuse and wait for the fish? I do detest most soups, as you are well aware."

"Do hush, you insolent girl." The dowager duchess's tone was playful, matching the twinkle in her eyes. "I did not make these rules, but we all must follow them or risk becoming social outcasts."

"If I made the rules, there would be none." Lady Celia leaned back, allowing her posture to slump.

"Sit up straight, and if you continue to speak in such a way, I will be forced to delay your come out." Her Grace reached across the space separating them and swatted Lady Celia with her fan.

The girl shot Julia an amused look as she corrected her posture. "As you wish, Mama."

"On the subject of debut balls, how many times should you dance with a gentleman, Celia?"

"Not more than three."

Her Grace nodded, then looked to Julia. "And what is assumed if you dance more than one set with the same gentleman?"

"That you are interested in courtship." Her cheeks warmed at the idea.

"Indeed, you could expect a gentleman with whom you danced two sets to come calling the following day, and if you should dance more than three sets, your reputation would be lost. Keep that at the forefront of your minds." Her Grace glanced between Lady Celia and Julia. "It is of the utmost importance that neither of you falls into such a trap."

"Unless, of course, we wish to wed the gentleman in question." Lady Celia wiped her hand across her skirt. "That is the reason for having a come-out, is it not?"

"Yes, darling, however, you do not want to set your cap too soon. Dance only one set with each gentleman until you find the one that truly captures your fancy. Even then, do not exceed two sets if you wish to marry well."

"What if I do not wish to wed at all?" Lady Celia asked, a mischievous glint in her blue gaze.

"When you cross paths with the right gentleman, you will want nothing more." As Her Grace stood, Lady Celia and Julia rose as well. "Now, go change into your riding habits. His Grace will be along shortly."

Julia's pulse increased at the mention of him. She'd found him handsome the night he rescued her, but what the lamplight had revealed under the veil of darkness could not compare to what the light of day revealed the next morning.

His hair shone like gold in the sunlight, his square jaw and straight nose were so perfect they could have belonged to a sculpture, and his wide shoulders and muscular arms seemed specially made for holding a woman. She knew very well the comfort to be found within them—and would never forget the way she felt when he held her.

She averted her gaze, her cheeks blazing.

She had to stop thinking about the man in such a way. He was her rescuer, and now her employer, nothing more.

Well, perhaps he had become her friend. They'd spent a good deal of time together these past days. Furthermore, she enjoyed his company. He made her believe she belonged here, with them, in this world so different from her own. When she spent time with him, he made her laugh and forget her troubles, her doubts.

Yes, they were friends, but never anything more.

She repeated the mantra, never anything more , over and over as she made her way to her room.