Chapter 17 A Lesson of Etiquette
Oscar had finished inspecting the library — or rather… he had spent an inordinate amount of time gazing at the duchess’s portrait. So much time, in fact, that the afternoon had flown by, and it was now around five o’clock.
The evening had passed without incident; dinner with Lady Brynn had been far more mundane than usual. There had been no political discussion, no hidden implications. Instead, she had spoken at length about the evening’s dish, a speciality from the colder regions made with caribou meat. Oscar had never seen a caribou, but the duchess had explained that he would most certainly be able to observe one soon enough.
After that delightful meal, the young lord had gone to bed, feeling somewhat more rested. Perhaps he was beginning to grow accustomed to life at Mulberry Castle.
Or perhaps not.
The following morning, Madame Brown’s lessons immediately changed his mind, and he bitterly regretted having agreed to take part in that ball.
Did he even have a choice?
As the elderly woman had him repeat several more elegant postures, the door opened. Oscar turned his head, earning himself a sharp reprimand from his tutor. Both of them no doubt expected a servant to enter — but no, it was the duchess herself who appeared in the doorway. Madame Brown offered her a surprised but perfectly upright curtsey.
“Your Grace.”
Oscar imitated her after a brief hesitation and was immediately scolded once more.
“Young Lord, you must not bow to your wife.”
“Oh? Really?” he asked, surprised. “We are not yet married.”
She shook her head, completely forgetting the duchess’s presence.
“Between spouses, politeness and etiquette are more subtle, as couples are also permitted to share an intimate connection beyond aristocratic appearances. And how, pray tell, did your noble parents interact with one another?”
Oscar gave it some thought. The old woman clearly expected him to understand; instead, he shook his head.
“Madame Brown, my mother always bowed to my father — and vice versa. I had never made the connection with Her Grace, but I truly thought it was customary and—” He rubbed the back of his head. “All these subtleties are beginning to tire me, I must admit. My tutors never taught me this many details when I was still in Rivière.”
Madame Brown was about to scold him, but Lady Brynn chuckled.
“Do not resist Madame Brown’s teachings, my Lord. She could terrify the Emperor himself.”
Madame Brown flushed deeply, nearly tripping over her apologies, while the duchess stepped further into the room.
“You have mastered the rudiments of etiquette, but you do not seem particularly pleased to practise them, Lord Oscar,” she observed.
“Despite my few shortcomings, I assure you that I do know the rudiments of etiquette. I learned them; I have always known how to conduct myself in society—my father made sure of that.” The young man hesitated. “But you are right… I have never enjoyed pretence.”
His gaze hardened; a few seconds of silence filled the room.
He was justifying himself far too much — perhaps he suddenly felt very small beneath the weight of a social pressure he had previously had the luxury of ignoring.
Lady Brynn smiled at him — the same smile she usually hid behind a glass of wine, though not today.
“I know, my Lord. Your ease in casual interactions is evident, and far be it from me to question your upbringing.” She paused as she moved further into the room. “Let us simply say that at a ball held in honour of the Emperor—or any member of the royal family—every aristocrat, and especially us, will be observed and evaluated. It is important that your education be flawless so that everything proceeds smoothly.”
Her tone carried a note of caution, sharper and more alert. He sighed.
Of course he understood. His father had warned him often enough about the court’s whispered intrigues for him to grasp the implications. He nodded, even though the military training already weighed heavily upon him. But before he could reply, she took his hand.
The contact surprised him. Her skin was soft, her hand warm — bearing the delicacy of a noblewoman who had never laboured in the fields. Suddenly, he wondered whether his own hand might be unpleasant by comparison. Oscar’s hands were calloused from relentless sword training. He wanted to pull away, to put on gloves perhaps, to offer her a more agreeable touch. But the duchess did not seem to care. She murmured words he did not understand. He paused, puzzled. She smiled at him, one eyebrow raised.
“Well then, my Lord, have you already forgotten Madame Brown’s lessons?”
Oscar turned his head. The old woman was watching him with a stern, disapproving look. Despite himself, he swallowed.
“No, no, my lady. What would you like to do?”
“And on top of that, he is distracted!” the tutor scolded.
The duchess cast a firm look at the governess. It was not hostile, but Oscar felt it as a quiet call to order. Did she care about him? About his social standing and how he was perceived? It hardly mattered — she repeated herself.
“Well then, Lord Oscar, let us dance. I wish to see your level on the dance floor.”