answered, conceding the point. “It’s a shame, though. Miss O’Fallon might have a problem, considering her lack of polish.”
“What are you saying? Thomas asked, fighting back indignation. “Is this what we’re about? Is there nothing more important in our lives than how a lady holds her fan? How she waltzes?”
“You misunderstand,” Penelope replied with equal fervor. “Evleen O’Fallon is a charming, lively, beautiful young woman, and most certainly nobody’s fool. If she wished, she could reach the pinnacle of social distinction. In essence, all she needs is a bit of dance instruction and a few pointers on how to hold her fan.”
Thomas nodded in agreement. “One would think Mrs. Trevlyn and her daughters might have given her some pointers.”
“Are you daft?” asked Penelope, bursting into laughter. “You think they should have helped her? I guarantee, Lydia Trevlyn is delighted over Evleen’s social gaffes. Need I explain why?”
Montague. “No, I understand. But surely someone ought to help her...” an idea struck him “... why not you?”
In deep thought, Penelope was silent a moment. “I didn’t have the chance to speak to the poor girl, but I’m sure she must have been completely humiliated last night. Yes, I suppose...” Her expression brightened. She burst, “I’ll do it! I know all the steps, and teaching her should be great fun. Besides, Charlotte and Bettina are just too snooty for words. I would love to see their faces when Evleen turns into Cinderella at the ball.”
He chided, “Not a noble motive, Penelope.”
“You don’t understand women, Thomas.”
He could tell from the firm set of his sister’s jaw that she was not about to back down. But no matter. All he cared about was that Evleen would receive the help she needed. “Can you start right away?”
“This afternoon, if you like. I shall direct a note to our Irish princess, explain what I’m planning, and invite her to take tea. Then, if she’s agreeable, we’ll have our first lesson.”
“Fine. I’ll be here. Perhaps I can help.”
“I thought you could hardly wait to get back to your beloved horses.”
He hoped his face wasn’t turning red as he answered, “I have reconsidered. I’ve decided to stay in town.”
* * *
Another silly English custom, Evleen thought as she sat in the Trevlyns’ carriage and watched as the liveried footman approached the front door of the Marquess’s townhouse. She would have much preferred knocking on the door herself but had been sternly informed, it simply isn’t done.
“You sit in the carriage and you wait for the footman to knock,” Lydia had admonished. “The footman gives your card to the butler. The butler takes the card to the mistress of the household who then decides whether or not she is at home. Then the butler returns with the message.”
“But how can she decide if she’s home or not?” asked Evleen, bewildered. “If she’s at home then she’s at home, isn’t she?”
Lydia threw up her hands. “You simply do not understand.”
Evleen persisted. “But how could she be not home if she’s home? How—?”
“Just do as I say,” Lydia snapped, thoroughly exasperated. “And another thing—if you see the lady of the house peering at you from behind the curtains, you must pretend not to notice.”
Such nonsensical rules. Such a silly, frivolous society. Still, when Evleen received Penelope’s invitation to “take tea and discuss fans and waltzes,” she deeply appreciated the generous and tactful offer. If she was to have even the slightest chance of fulfilling her promise to her mother, she must make amends for her miserable performance of the night before.
At tea, Evleen discovered that despite her lingering despondency over the previous night, she was enjoying herself. Thomas’s sister was bright, pleasant, and stunningly attractive in her modish afternoon gown of yellow cotton batiste. Unlike the Trevlyns, she did not seem full of artifices. She also possessed a quick wit which, after the dullness of the Trevlyns, Evleen greatly appreciated.
“Where shall we begin your lessons?” Penelope asked when they’d finished tea.
“Anywhere,” Evleen answered half humorously. “It appears I need improvement in all areas.”
“Then let’s do fans.” Penelope unfurled and fluttered her ivory fan. “You see, you don’t clutch it, you just hold it lightly.” She placed the fan in front of her face and peered playfully over the top. “This means follow me.” She placed the fan in her left hand. “Means I’m desirous of an acquaintance.” She closed the fan and drew it across her forehead. “Means we’re being watched.”
A wry smile curved Evleen’s lips. “How did I happen to say,