Lady of Spirit, A by Shelley Adina

up.
    Or it would be, if she didn’t do something. It wasn’t that Lizzie would not want to talk about Tigg with the Lady. But if there was nothing yet to talk about, it could be embarrassing if others made assumptions that were not yet true.
    Besides, Lizzie had hardly even confided in her yet. If anyone were to be the first to know, it should be Maggie.
    “Lady, may I have your opinion?” she said, turning to the dressing table. “Should I wear something about my neck?”
    Their jewel cases did not hold much—mostly because the Lady held strong opinions about what was suitable for young ladies, and Firstwater diamonds belonged about the throats of the engaged or married. So those were safely locked up at Wilton Crescent. And Lizzie was already wearing her mother’s pearls.
    “What about a bit of velvet ribbon to match your dress?” Claire asked. “Here. Put this little brooch on it and wear it choker style, as Princess Alexandra does. You know that personal adornment is not among my priorities, but there are some occasions that call for heavy artillery, and this is one of them.”
    The Lady tied the ribbon and Maggie had to admit that it was just what was needed to fill the modest neckline of her cream silk dinner dress with its tawny sash and puffed sleeves. And just what she needed to screw up her confidence to the sticking point. Even the Lady cast a puzzled eye upon her as they trooped down the staircase, but she said nothing. Maggie allowed her to think that she was still recovering from the fish.
    She would not carry her sorry tale to Claire and expect her to go to battle on her account—because that was certainly what would happen. No, she would muster her own artillery and engage as best she could, and only when her own resources had been exhausted would she ask for help. She had not survived the alleys of Whitechapel, the desert wastes of the Texican Territory, or the excellent aim of a villain on the roof of his castle to be defeated in the drawing rooms of Penzance, for heaven’s sake.
    The Lady sailed into said drawing room as though she owned it, so Maggie, being the excellent mimic she was, did the same. With Tigg, who had been waiting by the door with Mr. Malvern, they joined their grandparents and began the introductions without delay. Mr. So-and-so. Mrs. Such-and-such. The Misses Whatsis, Baron Somebody, and Captain Barclay, who was memorable for the number of ribbons upon his chest and the size of his mutton chops. He had nice eyes, too, and called Maggie “Miss Seacombe,” though no one had vouchsafed her last name.
    At last her grandparents circled to the couple drinking sherry by the fire. “Sir John Rockland, Lady Charlotte, may I introduce our guests—Lady Claire Trevelyan, of Gwynn Place in Roseland. Mr. Andrew Malvern and Lieutenant Terwilliger. Sir John is our local magistrate. And this is our granddaughter Elizabeth Seacombe, child of our daughter Elaine. And her adopted sister and companion, Margaret.”
    Who, evidently, possessed no surname this time, either. Maggie dipped into a curtsey and smiled shyly at the couple, not allowing the degree to which this bothered her to show in her face. Lady Charlotte smiled back, but did not extend her hand as she had to Lady Claire and the gentlemen. Maggie knew something of the rules of precedence and how low a curtsey was to be in proportion to the rank of the person to whom one had been introduced, but she couldn’t remember whether handshakes applied in this situation if one was not yet eighteen. Or if one had no last name.
    Lizzie had no such trouble. She dipped her curtsey and said, “How do you do? I’m very happy to make your acquaintance.”
    “And we yours,” Lady Charlotte said. “I understand you will be with us for a visit of some days?”
    “Two weeks, in fact. Then we must return to school in Munich.”
    “I don’t hold with foreign schooling,” Grandfather said. “Nothing wrong with a good English education.”
    “I