"I refuse to be put through my paces as if I were some green schoolgirl fresh from the country!" "But, my dear, you must remember that in the eyes of society that is precisely what you are," Lord Percy Crawford, the Earl of Terrington, protested gently, regarding Melanie with paternal exasperation. As a seasoned diplomat, he could handle even the most hostile of negotiations with cool aplomb, but attempting to reason with his recalcitrant daughter in one of her tempers was enough to set him quaking in his boots. "You have never been formally presented, after all, and—" "Stuff!" Melanie interrupted with an inelegant snort, shaking out the skirts of her burgundy cambric gown as she rose to her feet. "I have never heard such fustain in all my life! I've been your hostess for almost five years, Papa; why should I make my bows now? It makes no sense." "This is society, Melanie, it would go against all laws of nature were it to make sense," the earl replied with a touch of asperity. If only Melanie's disposition were half so pleasing as her appearance, he thought, eyeing his daughter's glossy black curls and creamy rose complexion with resignation.
