Sophie laughed. Today everything was delightful. “Madeleine needs her wits about her,” she said with a stern look. “Now, let’s be seated.”

The three of them sat down at the Garniers’ square dining-room table. The table was laid with a rough white cloth, but on it were three place settings of the finest china, each surrounded by some fourteen pieces of silverware. Braddon had bought them on Piccadilly Street.

“My butler keeps a stern eye on the silver,” he had explained. “Couldn’t have him thinking there was a thief in the house.”

Sophie looked over the silverware. “Very good, Madeleine. You’ve laid the table perfectly.”

Braddon frowned. “She doesn’t need to learn such things, Sophie. For goodness’ sake, I’ve got fourteen or fifteen footmen who don’t have a thing to do all day—”

“It’s not footmen who set the table,” Madeleine broke in. “One of the under housemaids will lay the table, supervised by the butler.”

“The mistress of the house must know everything that her servants are doing,” Sophie explained to Braddon. “Otherwise how will she know if something is wrong?”

“Humph,” Braddon said, clearly unconvinced. He sat down next to Madeleine, and Sophie sat opposite.

“We are in the midst of a formal dinner,” Sophie dictated. “A footman is standing at your left shoulder, Madeleine, holding a plate with collared pig.”

Madeleine politely gave the imaginary footman a smile and a tiny nod, indicating her willingness to taste the pork. Then she picked up the appropriate fork.

“Damme, but I’ve never seen so much silver in my life,” Braddon complained. “Don’t you think you’re being a mite finical, Sophie?”

“No,” Sophie said implacably. “What if Madeleine is invited to eat at St. James’s?”

“That isn’t all that likely,” Braddon grumbled. “I’m not letting any of those randy royal dukes near Madeleine.”

“If I were dining with you, Madeleine, I should be forced to give Braddon a severe set-down at this point,” Sophie observed. “He’s speaking to me across the table, a breach of manners. A lady speaks only to those on her right and on her left.” Her eyes sharpened as she caught Braddon’s movement. “And she never, never allows a gentleman to push his leg against hers. Pick up your fan, Madeleine.”

Madeleine looked about confusedly. “I thought I gave it to the footman, along with my wrap.”

“Oh no, a lady is never without her fan. Now, if the gentleman has merely offended your sensibilities, perhaps by making an objectionable jest, you can simply express your displeasure and turn to your partner on the other side.”

Madeleine glared at Braddon, then snapped her head to the left.

“No, no! That’s much too fierce. He’s beneath your notice.”

Madeleine looked down her nose at Braddon and turned the upper half of her body, with quelling indifference, to the left.

“That’s it!” Sophie clapped.