Page 15 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

“Well done,” Lady Davenport said. “But a lady is quiet when she eats. Slurping is considered the height of bad manners.”

Josie’s bottom lip stuck out. “Bollocks.” She sipped again, but this time, she didn’t lap as if she were a barnyard animal.

“Well done, indeed.” Lady Davenport’s palms came together in one demure clap. “A few more things. A lady never fills her plateentirely. A large appetite is unladylike.”

Josie’s lips quivered. “But I’m hungry, I am.”

“Of course you are,” Lady Davenport said. “I suppose all of that punching stimulates one’s appetite. But when you are at the table, you should only eat a small amount of whatever is served to you. Never serve yourself. Wait for one of the footmen or Jonathon to serve you.”

“Bollocks. You mean I gotta wait for a man to tell me what to eat?” Josie asked.

The countess sighed. “’Tis absurd, is it not? But that is the way things are.”

In Nicolas’s humble opinion, it was more likely that Lady Davenport would start shoveling food into her mouth than Josie would learn to eat like a lady.

The viscountess held a finger in the air. “I will tell you what, my dear girl. Pick at your meals. Then you can go to the kitchen and eat as much as you like when no one is looking. Cook has a small room beside the kitchen so you shouldn’t wake her, and the Rumford fireplace stays lit through the night.”

Josie pursed her lips. “Maybe just for a day or two, ’cause I’m hungry, I am. I wager you have all kinds of delicious things in your fancy kitchen. But then I should return to me training foods.”

“Of course,” Lady Davenport said. “I will see that you have everything you want and need. Now, everyone, enjoy. But, Josephine, do not eat too much.”

For the first time in his life, Nicolas was aware of how absurd the idea of a lady not eating until she was full was. The expectation was cruel. Abusive. Disturbing on so many levels. The very notion made him want to scream. If Josephine Martin were his wife, she could eat whatever she wanted whenever she wanted.

What in the blazes?His wife?Never. Choking on his mouthful of beef, he gagged and sputtered until Davenport leaped from his seat and slapped him between his shoulder blades.

Nicolas spit the hunk of dislodged meat into his serviette.

Josie and Lady Davenport stared at him, their eyes wide with concern instead of disgust.

“Please forgive me. I’m fine,” Nicolas said, his voice scratchy and his throat raw.

Lady Davenport’s brow lifted. “I do hope so, because we have a busy afternoon ahead of us.”

“Bloody friggin’ hell,” Josie mumbled under her breath.

Chapter Seven

Josie squared hershoulders, softened her knees, and faced the enemy. “Don’t you come near me with that.” She bared her teeth to show how serious she was.

Lips pursed, their jaws clenched, her adversaries remained undaunted. They moved closer, looking as if they meant to pounce. Surely, Josie could take on the head housekeeper, two maids, and a dowager viscountess.

Diana, the lady’s maid assigned to her, held the contraption high and slowly moved as if she were trying to calm a rabid wolf. “’Tis harmless, miss.”

“Liar!” Backing toward the door, Josie shook her head vehemently. “That is an implement of torture, it is. I ain’t never seen anything more terrifying. Ain’t nothing in the world worth having to endure that.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Lady Davenport rolled her eyes. “’Tis just a hunk of wood and a few leather straps.”

“Exactly,” Josie said. “Straps ain’t never a good thing.”

“Many young ladies have worn them,” Lady Davenport said.

Josie made eye contact with each of the servants. “Any of you everworn one?”

Two of the women looked at their feet.

“No, miss,” Mrs. Love, the head housekeeper said. “But I am not a lady.”

Well, neither was Josie.