Free Rules of Surrender by Christina Dodd Page A

you.“
    ”That’s not fair!“ he said.
    ”That’s enough .“
    The children quieted long enough for her to ring the bell at her elbow.
    ”Do not fret, my son,“ Wynter said. ”To tell you about this feminine instrument of torture will be your father’s privilege.“
    Charlotte wanted to snap at him, but she held her tongue as a skinny footman approached, staggering under the weight of the heavy tureen. How arduous to remain serene as a maid carried a plate of steaming crumpets and another the individually formed pats of butter. They placed the food on the table, bobbed their courtesies and raced away, in a hurry to return to the kitchen, where Charlotte knew, Harris was regaling everyone with the tale of her corset.
    As she lifted the lid of the tureen, the steam wafted across the table and Wynter inhaled audibly. ”Oxtail soup,“ he said. ”I love oxtail soup.“
    The children imitated him, inhaling loudly and agreeing noisily.
    Charlotte subdued a reprimand. She thought it difficult to tell your employer he was setting a bad example, especially when she’d already in essence reprimanded him for mentioning her… undergarments. She ladled the soup, a clear broth with noodles and a touch of sherry, into the bowls. ”My lord, would you start the crumpets around the table?“
    ”I’ll just give them one.“ With his fingers, he took a crumpet for each child and put it on their bread plate.
    But that was not the end of his poor behavior. He would have reached across the table with Charlotte’s crumpet, too, but she held up her hand in rejection.
    ”Thank you, my lord, but if you pass me the plate, I will take my own.“
    ”Oo, Daddy, you made Lady Miss Charlotte angry,“ Leila said.
    ”Nonsense. Lady Miss Charlotte is far too much of a lady to be annoyed.“
    Leila kicked the leg of the table until Charlotte laid her hand on the child’s leg and shook her head slightly. She reached for the soup spoon. She’d taught the children to watch her, and they, too, reached for their soup spoons. She lifted it and dipped it into the broth. They lifted theirs and dipped them into the broth.
    And their father said, ”I like to break up the crumpets and drop them in and let them soak up the stock.“
    The children stopped watching her and stared, round-eyed, as Wynter fit action to words.
    ”Can we do that?“ Robbie ventured.
    ”Of course!“ Wynter said. ”We do not have to be formal when it is just family.“
    Did he challenge her on purpose? Or was he only lacking a sensible thought in his head? She didn’t care. She only knew that he’d flirted with her, he’d unsettled her, and now he was making her already Herculean task of civilizing these children even more difficult. And she didn’t know which sin bothered her most, but she did know it must end.
    In her crispest upper-class accent, she said, ”Actually, my lord, I am forced to disagree. Family manners have their place, but only when the people employing them are able to exercise company manners when necessary. Robbie and Leila are not yet able to do so, so until they know without a doubt which fork to use, we always practice our company manners.“
    Wynter leaned back and hooked one arm around the finial of his chair. ”You put too much value on company manners, Lady Miss Charlotte.“
    His lounging infuriated her yet more. ”The value I place is no less than the value any other Englishperson of the aristocracy will place on them.“
    Like spectators at a lawn tennis tournament, the children whipped their heads to him.
    ”The aristocracy also takes itself too seriously.“
    ”Be that as it may, this is the world which Robbie and Leila inhabit.“ Charlotte leaned forward and tapped the table with her finger. ”It is an unforgiving one and, my lord, one which will already look on them harshly because of their unorthodox background. Any unmannerly behavior will be noted and mocked by their peers, and this I know, my lord—their peers can be