Page 22 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

“A lady must wait until she is formally introduced to someone before she interacts with them,” Agatha said. “The man of the house or a respected older woman will make the introductions. Even then, there are rules one must follow.”

Rules in athletic competition were good. Social rules were meant to keep women in their place. However, again, Josie held her tongue.

“Dance etiquette is as important as your conversational skills,” Agatha said. “Clapping with too much enthusiasm and outward displays of emotion are frowned upon. And never, ever stop dancing before the music has ended. Leaving the ballroom before all the dances end is a faux pas.”

But what if Josie required fresh air? Or was having a miserable time? Or, God forbid, had to use the necessary?

Agatha’s lips firmed. “Never dance more than two dances with thesame man, or you will develop a notorious reputation for being overly familiar. You should know how to waltz, do a few country dances, and perhaps even a quadrille. The quadrille is quite intricate and will come later. Today, we shall concentrate on the waltz, which until recently was considered quite scandalous.”

Finally, something Josie was good at. She bounced on her toes. “Franny and I waltz around the kitchen all the time. We don’t have a lot of room, so sometimes we bang into the table, and then Coach grumbles.” If only Franny were here now, then Josie wouldn’t feel so alone and like an utter failure. She exhaled a bittersweet sigh. “Franny and Coach are probably worried sick about me. I should post a letter tomorrow and let them know I am well.”

“Of course,” Agatha said. “If you write down their address, I will have one of the footmen take a message to them immediately. Tomorrow, you may borrow stationery and write to them. Unless you require me to pen your letter?”

Josie failed at hiding her indignation. “I read and write good, I do. I ain’t… I am not a dolt.”

Jonathon cringed, and his cheeks reddened, which was interesting since nothing seemed to faze him, leaving Josie to wonder if she’d said something cutting.

Probably not. She’d been the one belittled. How dare they assume an indigent, orphaned girl couldn’t read and write when she and Franny practiced both daily, alongside their boxing and dancing.

“Ye see,” Josie explained. “Franny’s mom was a governess before she married Coach. She taught Franny to read and write. Then Franny taught me, she did. I can read and write as good as ye toffs, I can, even if I don’t talk like a snob.”

Agatha closed her eyes for a moment. After exhaling, she opened her eyes and continued. “I do hope your friends show the utmost discretion and keep our undertaking a secret.”

“I trust them with my life.” Josie grinned proudly at her use ofmyinstead ofme.Using her neatest handwriting, she wrote the address and a one-line message on a small square of paper. True to her word, Agatha immediately entrusted a footman with the missive.

“Continuing with our lesson,” Agatha said, following their brief break. “You must wait for a man to approach you. You must never approach him. Once he asks you to dance, he will chivalrously offer you his arm. You should take it and accompany him to the dance floor.”

“Easy enough,” Josie declared confidently.

“Unfortunately, one of the most difficult parts of these events is understanding social status. There is no room for errors. You must address a gentleman by his family name or title,neverby his first name.”

Josie inclined her chin toward Meddlesome. “Then why am I calling him Nicolas?”

His jaw clenched. “Because we are not currently at the ball, and especially because your use of the name Meddlesome has become quite tiring.”

“Now, now, children,” Jonathon said, seeming to have recovered from whatever had embarrassed him. “Play nice.”

Her expression controlled, Agatha kept right on edifying. The woman could teach through a volcanic eruption. “Since you shall be playing the part of a viscount’s cousin, you should greet the duke asMy Graceand curtsy to him.”

This would have been so much easier if she had been able to approach him at The Lyon’s Den as Jabbing Josie, the feisty pugilist.

“Nicolas, please see that Josie has a list of correct titles and addresses to study,” Agatha said.

So much for the dancing lesson being easy because Josie would make a muddle out of the curtsying, mygracing,andmy lording.She was not cut from the same cloth as these fancy people and their supercilious ways.

“We shall have to visit the modiste and have a gown made for you,” Agatha said. “Something flowy, mayhap purple silk. You will require matching slippers, gloves, a reticule, and hairpiece made of purple feathers.”

“No feathers, Mother.” Jonathon’s nose wrinkled as if plumage smelled like chamber pots. “We don’t want the poor girl to fly away.”

“Feathers do not suit Josie,” Nicolas agreed. “Mayhap an emerald dress and sparkling emerald clips in her hair.”

Was she imagining things, or had Nicolas’s eyes just clouded over?

Emeralds? Silk? How was she to afford such frippery? “There are dresses in me wardrobe. I can wear one of them, I can,” Josie said.

Agatha regarded her so intensely that Josie squirmed. “I believe you are correct, Nicolas. Emeralds will suit her coloring.”

“Mother, don’t you have a set of emeralds?” Jonathon asked. “They would look lovely on her.”