Page 6 of His Illegitimate Duchess

“You need to avoid discussing your previous life and your working days, even if it is the teaching of children. Also, refrain from discussing poverty or finances in general. Almost everything but vulgarity is forgivable. You need to imagine yourself as a sheltered young lady who only had to worry about bonnets and dresses and sweets and behave accordingly. That is the wife these men expect to have,” Lady Burnham said with an apologetic tilt of her head.

“Was your husband like that?” Lizzie couldn’t stop herself from asking.

The other woman beamed a smile at her. “My husband was a general, not a typical Ton gentleman.”

Elizabeth found herself smiling back at the obvious love on her face.

“Let’s start with something easy for our first lesson, shall we? The etiquette of social calls.”

Lizzie nodded eagerly.

“After your coming out, whenever you are at an event, you shall be introduced to people, usually by your hostess or chaperone. After an introduction, a person is considered an acquaintance and can be acknowledged in public.”

Lady Burnham opened her reticule and took out an ornate silver container. She opened it, extracted a card from it, and handed it to Lizzie.

“This is a calling card. As you can see, it has my rank and name on it, as well as my at-home days, when I am receiving visitors.”

“It’s beautiful,” Lizzie said, gazing at the card reverently.

“I’m sure your brother will have even more beautiful ones made up for you when the time is right.

Now, this card can mean many different things: it can be left at someone’s home as a thank you for dinner or a ball, as a notice of being in town, or as a sign of condolences, even.

But most importantly, a calling card signifies that I am inviting a return call. ”

Lizzie handed the card back to Lady Burnham, who continued explaining, “If I come to call on you, I will hand one of these to my groom, and I shall wait in my carriage while he takes it to the door, where your butler or footman will inform him whether I am to be received or not. I may pay calls to my social equals or inferiors, but not to my social superiors until they have called on me or left a card. Sometimes, I am told that an acquaintance is “not at home,” which may simply mean that, for whatever reason, they are not receiving. After that, if you return my call, there is hope for our acquaintance to continue and to grow.”

“I shall always think people are avoiding me if they say they are not at home,” Elizabeth admitted nervously.

“That is why one should carefully observe how many visits one has been paid, how soon one’s visits are returned and how frequently. That should help you form an opinion as to whether the person wishes to be more intimately acquainted with you.”

Elizabeth nodded to indicate that she understood.

“How long are these visits?”

“Unless visiting a close friend with whom there is an understanding that the visit is to be prolonged, one needs to be careful to keep their calls short, but not too short. Around 15 to 20 minutes is ideal. Keep your bonnet and your shawl on while you’re there.

And if another caller arrives during your visit, wait for them to be settled, then make your excuses and leave.

If you are the hostess, accompany all visitors to the door and take leave of them there. ”

“What sort of conversation can be had in such a short time?”

“Nothing too substantial, general exchange of greetings, pleasantries, and news. If it is just ladies present, sometimes gossip can be had, although I would discourage it. He who gossips with you shall also gossip about you,” Lady Burnham warned.

“I shall keep that in mind,” Lizzie promised.

“If only ladies are present, it would not be impolite to do some embroidery together as you converse. In mixed company, however, this is not done. There is also no discussion of money, politics, anything to do with one’s body and its inner workings, gambling, or duels.”

Elizabeth was confused as to why something as important as money was an unacceptable topic for polite conversation, but decided to keep at least some of her ignorance to herself.

“Guests are received in the drawing room or the morning room, and they will be expecting refreshments. Not tea, mind, but perhaps some cake or some cold meats or fruit.”

“There is a lot to consider when wishing to pay a call to someone.” Lizzie sighed.

“I can see how it may seem overwhelming to be informed of all this at once. Usually, young girls observe this behaviour for years and adopt it naturally by the time they are out. But do not worry, we shall have enough time to talk this through, and I will be available to you even when you start paying calls of your own to guide you through it.”

“I cannot tell you what a help that would be. Thank you,” Elizabeth replied honestly.

“You are welcome, Lady Elizabeth. The most important thing to remember is that under no circumstances should a lady call on a gentleman alone.”

More than an hour later, Elizabeth felt like she’d learned a great deal about being a lady and all the subtle ways in which other people could let her know she was unwanted. She could hardly wait for next week’s lessons.

* The one thing Elizabeth was certain of after all these months in the Mayfair house was that not worrying about money was supremely uneventful.

Other than her lessons or needlework, there was nothing for her to do.

She was no longer going to work daily, meaning she no longer spent the day working in a room filled with talkative women.

She also had no familiar neighbours and no new friends.

All her existing friends lived with her.

Nicholas was mostly staying at Ashbury with Sophie and Emma. Her sister, who probably didn't even like her very much, had just made her much-anticipated debut and resembled an overexcited bee just buzzing from one social engagement to the next.

Without work to do or places to go or people to see, she feared she would soon lose her mind. She had stayed with Nicholas and Sophie a few times, and she felt truly at peace with their little family.

Now that her little niece was born, her heart expanded more than she thought possible. She, who used to feel so alone in the world, had a niece! One who would grow up knowing her, the true Lizzie, for who she was instead of for what her thoughtless parents did.

The thought was heady and a welcome distraction from the little stabs of pain she felt whenever she thought of her stays at Ashbury lately.

She suspected she was only invited when no one else was there with them.

She wasn't invited to the dinners hosted for Nicholas' friend Ian or Sophie's younger sister.

Rationally, she understood why this was.

Emotionally, she was that little girl at the Park again.

Nicholas briefly called on her that morning when he arrived in town. He had some urgent business to attend to and was then going back to his family in a few days.

Lizzie had tried broaching the subject of her restlessness and boredom as well as she could, utilizing all her newly acquired polite ways to phrase things in a way that would hide any trace of her true feelings from them, but he just smiled at her like a well-meaning uncle and said, “Oh Lizzie, I know all of this is so new for you. How are you finding your etiquette lessons?”

“I - , they are very useful. Thank you for arranging them.”

“You're most welcome. Lady Burnham is pleased with your progress. Whenever she feels you're ready, we'll add more dance lessons to your schedule. How's your French progressing?”

It's not , Lizzie wanted to say.

Instead, she made herself say, “Cousin Andrew feels it unlikely that I shall ever truly take to it. But he is confident that I can master the basics.”

“Well, we'll do our best, won't we?”

Elizabeth loved her brother. He was doing so much for her, working tirelessly to elevate her from the dregs of her upbringing into respectable society.

And she desperately wanted him in her life, so she smiled brightly and reassured him that, of course, she'd be doing her best in all matters of education and etiquette and contorting herself into the perfect lady.

After he left, Lizzie felt so drained and unaccomplished that she felt like crying.

She missed the feeling of understanding the world around her the way she did in her old neighbourhood.

She missed being the sharpest, the wittiest, the one who had all the answers whenever her little students had asked their little questions.

And why couldn't she feel that way again? She'd just get Mister Ed to drive her to the old neighbourhood, and she'd spend the day teaching the children, for free this time. She had a feeling she'd be getting plenty in return anyway.

Lizzie ran up to her room to fill her reticule with several sheets of foolscap, two quill pens and her ink jar, then yelled out to whoever was listening that she'd be back later in the afternoon.

She grabbed her fur-lined pelisse to ward against the cold February winds, stepped outside, crossed the narrow gravel-lined path leading to the gate, opened it to walk onto the street, where she knew her carriage ( her carriage!) would be idling.

Her eyes needed a moment to adjust to the change in light, which she used to pull on her gloves (remembering to grab them was a momentous occasion for her).

“So this is where Nicholas spends his time now? Tired of his boring little wife already?” a voice asked, apparently addressing her.

She squinted at the man blocking her path.

He was tall and broad-shouldered. His hair was black.

He was dressed even better than her brother.

The shine of his boots alone made her eyes hurt again, so she looked up into his eyes.

All she could make out was that they were light, but she was uncertain whether they were blue or green.

She tried following Lady Burnham's lessons.