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Daphne took a deep breath and attempted to imitate Isadora's fluid movements. She tried to keep her steps light and her posture straight, but her feet felt clumsy beneath her, and her shoulders kept tensing up.

"You're overthinking it," Isadora said, her tone exasperated. "Stop trying so hard. Just relax."

Daphne shot her friend a frustrated glance. "It's easy for you to say. You've been doing this your whole life."

Isadora sighed. "Yes, but that's the point. If you want to impress Ambrose, you have to show him that you can carry yourself like a Duchess."

Daphne groaned inwardly. Why did everything with Ambrose have to be so difficult? Why did he care so much about appearances and manners? It was infuriating.

Surely, Richard would not care about any of this non-sense. If only Ambrose was not a big obstacle in my way of marrying Richard...

Daphne was determined. She would show him that she could be everything he thought she wasn't. She would prove him wrong.

By the time their lesson was over, Daphne's feet ached, her shoulders were sore, and her patience was running thin. But she refused to give up.

"Tomorrow," Isadora said as she gathered her things, "we'll work on your conversation skills. You need to be able to engage in polite society without losing your temper."

Daphne sighed, feeling exhausted just thinking about it. But she nodded. "Fine. I'll be ready."

Isadora smiled, clearly pleased with her student's determination. "Good. Remember, Daphne, this is about more than just impressing Ambrose. It's about proving to yourself that you can rise to the challenge."

Daphne watched her friend leave, her mind still buzzing with thoughts of Ambrose, Richard, and the impossible task she had set for herself. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but she was determined to succeed.

She would show Ambrose that she wasn't the reckless girl he thought she was. She would be the perfect Duchess, even if it killed her.

The days following Daphne's first lesson with Isadora were grueling.

What had seemed like a simple plan—becoming the perfect duchess—was proving to be far more difficult than she had imagined.

Her legs ached from the endless hours of practicing her walk, her back throbbed from maintaining her posture, and her temper was fraying from trying to contain her natural impulses.

During afternoon tea one day, her sisters, Joyce and Annie, were the first to notice the change. Daphne was trying to maintain her newly perfected posture when she caught them whispering behind their teacups, occasionally glancing at her.

"Daphne," Joyce began, setting down her teacup with exaggerated elegance. "What is going on with you?"

Daphne blinked innocently, sitting as perfectly upright as a duchess in a painting. "Going on? I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

Annie narrowed her eyes playfully. "Don't give us that. You've been walking around like you've a book on your head for days. I mean, look at you—sitting there like a statue."

Daphne attempted to sip her tea with grace, but the tension in her shoulders caused her to miss the cup slightly. She recovered quickly, but not before her sisters burst into giggles.

"There it is again!" Joyce laughed, leaning over to Annie. "She's doing that thing—like she's afraid to blink."

"I am not!" Daphne protested, trying to sound dignified, but the absurdity of the situation was starting to crack her composure. "I'm just... being more refined, that's all."

"Refined?" Annie raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you care about being ‘refined'? You were the one who used to race us across the garden, remember? I don't think you worried about refinement when you slipped and landed in the flowerbeds."

Daphne felt a blush creep up her neck. "Well, that was a long time ago."

"That was last summer!" Joyce exclaimed, laughing so hard she nearly dropped her teacup. "Oh my goodness, you should have seen yourself. Covered in dirt and yelling at the roses like they had personally wronged you."

"You are so dramatic," Daphne defended, "It was not as bad."

"Maybe I am exaggerating a bit," her sister laughed. "But you have admit, it is not entirely untrue."

Daphne sighed dramatically, though she was fighting back a smile. "Well, people change. One can't remain reckless forever."

"Reckless?" Annie repeated, barely containing her grin. "You accidentally poured sugar into Aunt Harriet's teapot instead of her cup last week. She's still convinced someone's trying to sabotage her."

"That was an honest mistake!" Daphne defended herself, though her cheeks were growing redder by the second.

"And you've been walking like there's a string pulling you up from the sky," Joyce added, mimicking Daphne's posture in an exaggerated fashion, making Annie burst out laughing again. "Honestly, you're starting to make me feel self-conscious!"

Daphne rolled her eyes but couldn't help but laugh. "Alright, alright, fine! I've been working on... improving my posture."

"Your posture?" Annie said, gasping between giggles. "For what? Are you going to compete in some sort of standing contest?"

Daphne crossed her arms and attempted to look indignant, but she knew she was failing miserably. "I just thought it was time I behaved a little more... properly, that's all."

Joyce leaned back in her chair, smirking. "Proper? Since when have you cared about being proper? You've always done whatever you pleased, and now suddenly you're... what, trying to impress someone?"

"I'm not trying to impress anyone," Daphne lied, though she couldn't stop her fingers from fiddling with the napkin in her lap. "I just... thought it might be nice to try something different."

Annie leaned forward, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Does this have anything to do with a certain Duke we keep hearing about?"

Daphne's eyes widened. "What? No! Absolutely not!"

Joyce and Annie exchanged knowing looks, grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh, it absolutely does," Joyce said with a wink. "You're trying to impress the Duke, aren't you? Admit it!"

Daphne threw her hands up in exasperation. "I am not! Why would I want to impress that... that infuriating man?"

The Duke was someone who was well known. Many women wanted the chance to be married to someone like him. Of course, it was not something that Daphne had ever cared about. But her sisters wasted no moment to tease her.

Annie giggled. "I don't know, Daphne. You tell us. Is it the brooding scowl? The way he constantly glares at everyone like they've just insulted his horse?"

"Or maybe it's the way he says your name," Joyce added dramatically, placing her hand over her heart. "‘Lady Daphne...'" she imitated in a deep, exaggerated voice, sending Annie into another fit of laughter.

Daphne groaned, her face flushed with both embarrassment and amusement. "You two are impossible."

"We're not the ones trying to be duchess material all of a sudden," Joyce teased, nudging Annie. "Come on, Daphne, just admit it. You're acting all proper and ‘refined' because you want to prove something to the Duke."

Daphne hesitated, her smile fading just a bit. Her sisters, as ridiculous as they were being, had hit closer to the truth than she'd expected.

"You are being ridiculous, both of you," Daphne got up from the table, "And I have no time to entertain it. Now, if you can excuse me, Isadora shall be coming over any minute now. I have preparations to make...."

Daphne could not get away from her sisters fast enough. She knew that the longer she remained in their company, the more questions they would hurl in her direction.

For now, she was not interested in answering any of them. Soon enough, Isadora visited to continue their lessons.

"Good morning," she greeted, grinning at her friend from the door. "Are you prepared for this morning?"

Daphne sighed, already exhausted when thinking about the day before her. "I am as ready as I will ever be..."

"That is good enough for me," Isadora grinned.

As they started, Isadora was relentless in her instruction, offering no sympathy when Daphne faltered.

"Again," Isadora said sharply, standing with her arms crossed as Daphne tried once more to navigate the parlor with grace. "Your steps are too heavy. A lady glides, Daphne. She doesn't stomp."

"I'm not stomping," Daphne muttered, barely containing her frustration. "This is just how I walk."

"Well, it's not good enough," Isadora replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Do it again."

Daphne bit her lip and tried to follow the instructions. Shoulders back, chin up, light steps. She could hear Isadora's voice in her head with every movement, each word a reminder of what she wasn't doing correctly. It was maddening.

After what felt like an eternity, Isadora finally nodded. "Better. Now, let's work on your curtsy."

Daphne groaned inwardly. She hadn't realized there were so many intricacies to something as simple as curtsying. But, as Isadora had pointed out multiple times, everything about a Lady was deliberate—every movement, every word, every glance. There was no room for error.

"Bend your knees slightly, but keep your back straight," Isadora instructed, demonstrating the perfect curtsy with ease. "You want to appear graceful, not stiff."

Graceful, not stiff. Oh what ever was the distinction even?

Daphne tried to mimic the movement, but her knees wobbled, and she nearly lost her balance. Isadora's eyes narrowed.

"You're overthinking it again," Isadora said. "Relax."

"I'm trying!" Daphne snapped, her frustration boiling over.

Isadora raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on Daphne's outburst. Instead, she simply crossed her arms and waited for Daphne to compose herself.

"I am sorry," Daphne said, realizing that she had lost her cool in front of her friend who was only trying to help her.

"As long you do not behave in this manner in front of the Duke, and Lord Richard – we should be fine..."

"Lord Richard, I am not too worried about," Daphne's fists curled against her side. "But it is the Duke who infuriates me. It is rather impossible to keep my cool when he is in close proximity..."

"Seems to be that he brings out quite the passion out of you," Isadora suggested.

"Passion?" Daphne scoffed. "Are we calling anything passion these days?"

"I am only telling you what I am observing as a third party," Isadora shrugged. "You may see it different."

"I see it nothing more than a nuisance," Daphne maintained before taking a deep breath, and deciding to try again – this time focusing on moving slowly and deliberately.

She bent her knees slightly, keeping her back straight, and managed to lower herself into a halfway decent curtsy without stumbling.

When she rose, she glanced at Isadora, who gave a small nod of approval.

"Better," Isadora said, though her tone was still stern. "But you need to practice more. You need to be able to do this without thinking."

Daphne's shoulders slumped. She had been practicing for days, but it still felt unnatural. She couldn't help but wonder if she was in over her head. Could she really become the perfect lady or was she setting herself up for failure?

"Daphne," Isadora said, her voice softer now. "I know this is difficult, but if you wish to prove yourself, you need to keep going. I have always known you to be someone who does not give up. Besides…”

Isadora trailed for a moment. Daphne looked up at her friend.

“Besides?”

“Well, you always maintained that it was a bit silly how much effort that ladies put in to appear proper. Now, if it was truly so silly, it should not be so hard.”

Daphne exhaled. “I suppose it's more my nervousness that is the problem.”

“What are you nervous about?” Isadora probed.

Daphne thought about the duke again. She did not want him to be proven right. It felt personal.

“And since when do you let anything make you nervous?” Isadora continued. “Have you forgotten the person that you are, Daphne?”

Daphne sighed. Isadora had a point. She was letting self-doubt creep into her. But it was not the right thing to do. She wasn't going to let Ambrose—or anyone else—dictate her worth. She would prove herself, even if it took everything she had.

“You are right,” she said after a moment. “I should keep trying.”

“Exactly!” Isadora said, excited. “Now that is the Daphne I know.”

Daphne's progress, though slow, was noticeable.

With her renewed confidence, she no longer tripped over her own feet during her walks, her curtsies were becoming smoother, and she had learned to keep her temper in check during polite conversation.

Isadora's training was working, but it was taking its toll.

Daphne was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

"Do you think it is all going to be worth it?" Daphne asked Isadora, displaying a rare moment of vulnerability as their session drew to a close.

Isadora smiled at her friend. "Depends on what you consider worthwhile.”

Daphne thought it over for a moment. Getting a proposal. Proving the duke wrong. The latter seemed to outweigh the former.

“Well, I believe that I am on the right path,” Daphne affirmed, "I shall prove to everyone that I am a lady, as much as anyone else. I shall become a diamond of the first water."

“That is quite ambitious,” Isadora’s eyes glittered with amusement.

“Aim high,” Daphne laughed.