Out of the Blue (A Regency Time Travel Romance) by Kasey Michaels Page B

another dreadful
American custom.” Cassandra quickly uncrossed her legs, glaring up
at Marcus as if daring him to say anything. After all, he had told
her to keep her mouth closed. He hadn’t said anything about how she
was to sit. “May I have my drink now, please?”
    “If you can promise me you won’t try to toss
it off in one gulp, yes,” Marcus told her as Aunt Cornelia turned
to skewer Peregrine with a depressing look and began reading him a
pithy lecture on the merits of good posture. “Although I am not yet
totally conversant with this supposed equality you spoke of
earlier, may I most earnestly beg that you also refrain from
belching at table or requesting to blow a cloud in the gardens with
Perry and me after dinner?”
    “I know I goofed, Marcus. Now why not give it
a rest?” Cassandra grumbled just as Goodfellow entered the room to
announce that dinner was served.
    ~ ~ ~
    Dinner passed without incident, Cassandra’s
mother having firmly instructed her in the why’s and where-fore’s of multilayered serving utensils and the myriad
courses served at exclusive dinners, just as if any of the Kelleys
were in momentary anticipation of being invited to the White House
for an inaugural banquet. Seated on Marcus’s right, and across from
Peregrine, who was barely visible above a large, ornate silver
epergne, she had nothing to do except remember not to slurp her
soup and to nod occasionally as the Reverend Mr. Austin expounded
at great length, and in mind-numbing detail, on the wages of
sin.
    However, as the meal progressed, and the
servings of wine varied from course to course, the vicar’s speech
became more and more slurred, until he at last lapsed into a near
coma, allowing Marcus and Peregrine to carry on an intelligent
discussion of England’s latest victory on the Peninsula. Knowing
that anything she could say on that subject would probably only
confuse the issue, Cassandra turned to Aunt Cornelia. The older
woman had graciously allowed her to call her by this name,
tempering her generosity with the information that she abhorred
being called Miss Haskins, and took the opportunity of offering her
first, rudimentary lessons in conduct befitting a young miss about
to make her debut.
    This information was couched in the frankest
of terms and had a lot to do with “the social pitfalls inherent in
allowing oneself to be cornered in some dark garden with an overly
ambitious fortune hunter” or “daring to step into the dance with
the same partner more than twice in one evening.” Cassandra began
to wonder if she had slipped through time to Regency England only
to be landed in a bizarre sort of convent where she must take a vow
of stupidity.
    Aunt Cornelia’s rather peppery comments and
recitations of social strictures lasted past the time she and
Cassandra excused themselves from the table, leaving the gentlemen
to their port and cigars. The lecture did not end until nearly an
hour later, when the men rejoined them in the drawing room for tea
and evening prayers, by which time Cassandra had been able to build
up a dangerously short temper.
    “Find yourself a comfortable seat once the
vicar finishes slopping down his second cup of tea, m’dear,” Aunt
Cornelia warned Cassandra after concluding a homily on the
indelicacy of some young girls who actually dared to wear bright
colors rather than the favored white or pastels. “That’s when he
gets his second wind and takes over evening prayers, calling cown
God’s wrath on all the sinful. Goes down the list one by one, you
know, touching on thieves, murderers, card players, blasphemers,
wanton women, devil worshipers—on and on and on. I think he means
to bore them all into repentance, or to death. I know I’ve
contemplated putting a period to my own existence a time or two,
listening to him prose.”
    Cassandra shook her head. “Is paradise worth
this, ma’am?” she asked, for she was already heartily sick of
Ignatius Austin and sensed that the