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“We have to fool the evil king,” Rose said with an excited grin, “or he’ll send a witch’s curse at us.”
Very well, then. “Yes, do try to keep us from being turned into toads, children.”
They giggled as they took their seats, Will holding her chair for her, and George doing the same for Rose. When all four of them were seated, Emmie took a look at the table. It had been set for a formal dinner—a pair of polished silver candlesticks as the third in the trio couldn’t be located, plates and utensils placed so precisely that Powell and the footmen used rulers when setting them out, sprays of flowers, crystal glasses for wine or lemonade, and seven courses for the dinner.
She’d chosen mutton stuffed with oysters for the main course; it was old-fashioned, but so was her grandfather. Yorkshire black pudding, flavored with lemon thyme, was a favorite of the duke’s, so she’d requested that, as well. All but a few of the other courses were stuffy and not her particular favorites, but she wanted George and Rose to experience what they would be facing in Cumberland. Spiced damson cheese, scones with oats and beans, and all the other silly things adults liked to pretend made them feel sophisticated.
One by one the footmen presented the courses, while she and Will demonstrated how to eat them properly. Rose refused to taste the oysters, which led to another discussion about how to move them aside without drawing attention. There were so many things she’d learned as a child, Emmie was realizing, that she’d simply absorbed by watching her parents and their friends. Things that these children had never had the opportunity to observe, and so needed to be taught. Not just about food, but utensils, dress, manners, speech, the world in general—it was, she supposed, like learning a foreign language in a foreign country.
“They look like slugs,” Rose whispered, jabbing her fork at one of the oysters gathered at the side of her plate.
“There’s no need to give your opinion of something you dislike,” Emmie said. “By setting it aside, you’ve made that known.”
“Do I say anything about food I do like? Or does everyone know that I liked it because I ate it?”
Will grinned behind his glass of wine. “A word or two of appreciation is always welcome. The hostess went to a great deal of trouble to choose the meal and the setting, and it makes her happy to know that you like what she’s done. Or in His Grace’s case, he chose everything for his party.”
“Sister Mary Claude always said if we left something on our plates, we were insulting God. But sometimes there was weevils. She didn’t like hearing about that.”
“Flora,” George said, elongating his sister’s faux name, “we aren’t supposed to talk about the orphanage when we’re at Welshire Park. Remember?”
“I remember. But we aren’t there.”
“We’re pretending we are.”
She blew a raspberry. “How many more courses are there? If I eat much more, I might burst my seams.”
“Ah.” Emmie dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, and set the blue cloth back on her lap. “Generally, for a large dinner, the hostess—or host—will inform the guests of the courses ahead of time, or will have a menu printed. The trick is to look at the menu, and decide which courses to merely sample, and which to enjoy.”
“So I could have just a bite of the mutton and oysters and eat all the scones?”
“Something like that. When a footman brings the platter to you, you may ask him to be sparing, or to be generous.”
Rose said the words to herself. “This is very complicated. I did use the correct fork, though.”
With a grin, Emmie nodded. “Yes, you did. Well done.”
“Maybe we should tell everyone that Flora can’t talk,” George suggested, only a swiftly hidden grin giving away the fact that he was jesting. “She could make hand gestures, and I could translate for her.”
“Here’s a hand gesture,” Rose said, and gave her brother a two-fingered salute.
“Rose!” Emmie chastised.
“Ha! That was a trick. You called me the wrong name, too,” the little girl quipped.
Will snorted, covering the sound with a cough. “Let’s concentrate on helping each other rather than tricking each other, shall we?” he commented, sending Emmie a sideways glance, his green eyes dancing.
“Yes, Papa,” Rose agreed.
“What about desserts?” George asked. “Can we ask for extra?”
“That’s considered rude,” Emmie decided, though she could sympathize. “I will say that the duke is quite fond of cake, so I imagine there will be more than one, and that they will all be enormous.”
“I hope they’re enormous. I could eat one all by myself.” Rose poked at the oysters on her plate again as if she expected them to slither away on their own. “I would make an agreement to behave just so I could have cake.”
“So would I,” George seconded. “If you’d put Mrs. Brubbins’s strawberry cake in the agreement, you might’ve gotten manners and dancing and no cursing just for that.”
“Well,” Will said, “I am going to begin my next negotiation over trade rights with an offer of cake, then.”