Patience. Liam wasn’t very worldly or he would know that loose, artistic gowns were the height of fashion among liberated women. “This is how many women in my circle dress,” she said. “All the pre-Raphaelite models in Europe wear gowns like this.”

Liam snorted. “You’d think fancy models could afford to buy clothes that fit. It looks like you’ve got a bun in the oven.”

She quirked an annoyed brow. “I gather you are implying I appear to be in an expectant state?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Liam said. “My uncle Mick would say you look ‘a wee bit knocked up.’”

Patrick struggled not to laugh, which bothered her even more. Whose side was he on? Liam needed to learn he couldn’t go about insulting a woman’s appearance.

“The free-flowing gowns I wear are comfortable and the height of fashion among the artistic set. And I’d like to suggest that your uncle Mick isn’t the best role model for you.”

Everything from Liam’s clothes to his deportment and blunt manner of speaking were a disaster. The stewards and porters on the train all dressed and behaved with more refinement than Liam. They blended seamlessly into this sophisticated world, but Liam didn’t. His hair was too long, he didn’t remove his cap inside buildings, and didn’t know the rules of polite dining.

That became evident when a porter wheeled a slim cart to their compartment to deliver a light breakfast. Liam reached over to help the porter unload the cart, grabbing a pair of teacups.

“I can do that, sir,” the porter said, looking uncomfortable as Liam reached for a basket of bread and handed it to Patrick.

“Let the man do his job,” Patrick said quietly.

Liam froze for a moment, then nodded, his face flushed with embarrassment as the porter efficiently set silverware, folded cloth napkins, and a tea service on the table. The porter gave a slight bow of his head, which seemed to make Liam intensely uncomfortable, before sliding the panel shut with a whisper-smooth glide of the door.

Gwen draped the cloth napkin on her lap, but Liam tucked it into the collar of his shirt. Patrick also placed his napkin on his lap. Would Liam notice? He didn’t appear to as he reached for a slice of bread and began buttering it.

“Patrick, will you lead us in a blessing?” she asked.

“Certainly.” Patrick bowed his head and said a few words.

Liam paused but didn’t put his buttered knife down during the blessing.

Gwen led an unconventional life, but at least she knew where the boundaries were. Liam didn’t. He cursed like a sailor, ate with the gusto of a starved dog, and had no qualms about insulting people. She needed to use this time in Queens to transform him into a gentleman who could hold his own among her family.