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A snort erupted. “Were that concerning Miss Figstone, perchance?”
“She’s wearing beautiful scarlet and making Mr Hawkins laugh.”
Matilda hadn’t meant to say that and opened one eye.
Betty’s bilberry eyes gleamed, her cheeks covered with flour. “Pah. Have no worry there, but…as to their lingo. If yer dunno something, how d’yer learn, girlie?”
“Read a book.”
Betty sighed and rolled her eyes. “And if there’s no books?”
“Ask someone who does know.”
“There yer go. So ask. Start with Ribber Rufus. He’s a handsome bachelor and would love to tell yer all about it.”
“Well, yes, I suppose I could. I’d not wish to appear dim though.”
“Do yer think I’m dim cos I dunno where El Dorado is?”
“Not at all. Although I don’t believe anyone does.”
“Well, then. Nobody is dim-witted, they just haven’t learned stuff yet.”
How sage and insightful Betty was. She viewed life in a wholly different way – forever optimistic, never judgemental, and Matilda wished there’d been a Mrs Havistock but call me Betty in the Griffin household when she’d been growing up.
“And as for the other…” Betty shook her head and tutted. “Go in there, tell ’em grubs up and feel proud of who yer are. Yer wanted experience, didn’t yer?”
“I did, Betty. I do.”
“Well, this is it. So enjoy it, relish it and ask questions till yer head’s brimmin’. Yer a bright, pretty girl who’s taken the bull by the horns in life. Now go ride it.”
Maybe that was getting a dash carried away, but Matilda knew exactly what Betty meant, and bussed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Betts. You are a wonder.”
“Away with yer. And be the gracious lady yer are with Miss Figstone – she’s a nice girl. Merely scratching up the wrong tree, ’tis all.”
Matilda ought to clarify her interpretation of that phrase but she got the gist.
* * *
The ‘1811 English Commons Prizefighting Champions’Dinner’ had been an unmitigated success, but Seth nevertheless scowled as the clock chimed midnight and another giggle drifted from the sofa where Miss Griffin sat between Ribber Rufus and Giles the Grinder, her after-dinner glass of Madeira wine kept precipitously topped up by the attentive buggers.
Telling himself that he was merely protecting his governess from any inappropriate propositions from Giles or Rufus, he gave his excuses to his friends and sidled towards the decanters…via the rear of the sofa.
During pre-dinner sherries, he’d been worried for Miss Griffin, had noticed she appeared harassed and rather glum, a false smile plastered to her lips, and when she’d vanished from the room, it had taken all his social graces – which were few – to extricate himself from Miss Figstone’s attentions.
His guests all knew each other too well and so took liberties, running tame about his house, pouring their own drinks, rearranging the chairs, shedding shawls, language was…ripe, and Nobbler Nick couldn’t read so the hostess’s elegant calligraphical script on the menu was rather pointless.
He’d cursed himself for being such a witless dolt and had hunted her out, only to find Betty, who’d called him a witless dolt.
But when he’d returned…
Miss Griffin, with a true beguiling smile, had announced dinner was served, leading the way to the dining room like a golden lantern.
Not the slightest discontent had creased her brow when, despite the placement card proclaiming it Mrs Dewhurst’s seat, Miss Figstone had dropped herself next to Seth. Instead, his hostess had swiftly rearranged the cards with a calm dexterity.
During the feast, a rowdiness and merriment had emanated from the far end of the table causing all eyes and ears to seek its source – Miss Griffin, who’d held her companions in thrall, and Seth had lamented not being able to view her amber eyes as they’d lightened with laughter.
After-dinner port had been swiftly guzzled by the men, eager to return to their ladies, and once again, Miss Griffin had been a mesmeric flame that he’d been unable to turn away from – beguiling the champions with questions of pugilism, complimenting the ladies on their style, flitting from group to group and captivating them all with her honesty and eagerness to learn.
