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“Hold a moment.” He planted his hands on his hips as the truth behind her words sank in. “Help me understand—why you, of all people, aren’t considered . . . what do they call it? An excellent catch. What’s valued in the ranks of the elite, if not intellect? You have it, in abundance.”
She coughed as her cheeks reddened. “Thank you. It’s a quality not much esteemed in aristocratic females. Or English females in general.”
“Needs a thorough reexamination,” he muttered. A surge of anger pulsed through him. The most insidious parts of cultures were the ones so deeply ingrained that no one could question or challenge them without appearing like the veriest madman.
He marshaled his anger enough to write down more notes. Women of intelligence not prized. Why???
“It does,” she said with a nod. “But not today. Today, we focus on bowing.” She cleared her throat as she tapped the book in her hands. “It says here that to bow properly, a man must stick his leg forward, while also bending at the waist. At the same time, he removes his hat with a sweeping, polished motion. It must be smooth and elegant.”
“I’m supposed to do all of those things at once?” He swallowed as he set the tree branch aside. “Can I pick two out of the three?”
Her finger moved over the open page. “It doesn’t appear so. Oh! It also notes that the lower and longer the bow, the greater respect you show someone.”
Good God above, send me help.
“Very well,” he said, forcing cheer into his voice. “Here I go.”
Seb thrust his right leg forward. As he did this, he hinged from his hips. Before he could reach for his invisible hat, his balance swung wildly out of control and he stumbled. He barely managed to swallow his profanity before straightening.
Grace’s look of concern was quickly replaced by an artificial smile. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I am,” she agreed with a sigh.
“I can master this.” He spoke with far more conviction than he felt, but the stakes to this were much greater than when he’d learned how to swing a cricket bat or climb a tree.
He tried the movement again, feeling ten kinds of foolish and awkward as a wolfhound on its hind legs. Thank God no one was watching. Or were they? Did he hear footsteps and giggling out in the hall?
Maybe the servants watched him. Maybe they didn’t. He’d have to get used to an audience.
He bent forward, and pretended to doff his hat. Since he was likely going to be in rarified company, he ought to keep his bows low and respectful, so he went deep.
When he stood upright, a fillip of happiness danced through him to see admiration in Grace’s eyes.
It was an addictive feeling, making her happy.
She clapped her hands together. “Much better. Although . . .” She consulted the book again as a worried look flitted across her face. “That’s just for meeting people in the street. If you’re going to approach a woman in a ballroom for a dance, you do the first bow, and then a ceremonial bow after.”
“Another kind of bow?” He groaned.
“Your legs are open, and as you bend at the waist, stick your arm out to the side. Like this.” She set the book down on the pianoforte and then, with a lithe economy of movement, demonstrated the bow.
As she leaned down, Seb was afforded the most spectacular glimpse down the front of her dress. Her breasts pressed in soft rises above the neckline of her sprigged muslin gown, and, feeling like the worst kind of cad, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight.
He forced himself to look away. Stay focused, jackass. Grace is your friend. She trusts you. Don’t betray that.
After mentally shaking himself, he copied her movement. To his surprise, he didn’t pitch over like a drunken stevedore.
“Very good,” she said as she rose back up. “You’re nearly there.”
He nodded, trying to suppress the pleasure that coursed along his limbs whenever she gave him even a teaspoon of praise. It dawned on him that for all the years of their friendship, they’d never actually complimented each other, as if to do so would disrupt their platonic balance. Today, they’d crossed that line, and there was no going back to their old roles.
