Lord Strange shrugged. “Nothing embarrassing about that. We were all urchins at some point.” He eyed her from head to toe. “I know all about your mother and how close she kept you. The fact you’ve had no male companionship shows in the way you walk. And talk.”

“He told you?”

“We’re old friends.”

Harriet gulped.

“I’ll help you,” he said, turning away. “Tomorrow. Tonight, try not to get yourself over your head. Do you have a French letter?”

Harriet blinked at him. “What?”

“A French letter,” he said impatiently. “Tell me you know what that is?”

She shook her head and he made a sound, half a groan, half a sigh. “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, try and keep yourself out of anyone’s bed, do you understand?”

“Yes,” she managed.

“Damned if you don’t stand like a woman,” he said, sounding appalled.

She pulled her shoulders back. “Better,” he said grudgingly. “Do you know how to fence?”

She shook her head.

“I’ll teach you how to fence tomorrow. You need to move like a man, not like a molly. Maybe having a weapon in your hand will help.” He looked rather unconvinced. “And for God’s sake, remember that men don’t smile at each other the way you’re doing now.”

“Why not?” Harriet said, the smile dropping from her face. It was a fake one anyway, since she was getting more than a tad annoyed by Strange’s arrogance.

“You look like a lounger,” he growled at her.

She blinked.

“Look, you’re at a disadvantage.”

She put her hands on her hips and then dropped them when he gave her a disgusted look.

“Trust me, you just are.”

“You could at least clarify your criticism.”

His jaw set. “Let’s just put it this way: nature gave you a raw deal. It’s not your fault.”

“What sort of deal? What are you saying?”

“Your lashes are too long,” he said, leaning toward her. “And your—your—” He waved at her figure. “You just don’t have the physique of a man.”

Harriet was conscious of a bubble of laughter inside her chest, but she put on a look of furious dignity. “I assure you that nature has given me everything I need to play a man’s role.”

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, sounding horrified.

“Good,” Harriet said. And then, to prove her point, she deliberately adjusted the button-placket on her breeches, as she’d seen men do hundreds of times.

“We’ll discuss it tomorrow,” he said, stepping back. “Villiers asked me to help and I will. But it’s going to be a hell of a task. I suppose we might as well start by introducing you to a woman.”

“I can manage on my own.”

He snorted, and then turned away, eyes searching the crowd. They didn’t look like the cluster of degenerates Jemma had described. In fact, they didn’t look very different from the people who attended Jemma’s Twelfth Night ball. Of course, they weren’t wearing costumes, though there was a young lady off to the side who appeared to be dressed as a shepherdess. No shepherdess on Harriet’s lands wore her gown open to the waist.

Strange followed her glance. “Good choice,” he said. “You’ve picked out a lady who would likely be quite happy to usher you into the throes of manhood. And I believe she might even do it without giving you a disease. Just don’t look so eager, for God’s sake. No woman wants to bed a man who pants at her hem.”

Harriet swallowed. This was going a bit faster than she had anticipated.

“Come on.” He strode off, and she followed, to find herself bowing before the young shepherdess a moment later. She had strawberry red hair and breasts that burst from her costume. In fact, she was just the kind of woman who normally made Harriet feel miserably inconspicuous.

“May I introduce Miss Nell Gale?” Strange said. “Miss Gale, Mr. Cope.”

Normally a woman like Miss Gale would get terribly nervous talking to a duchess. Yet if she happened to actually look at Harriet, she would instantly label her a woman who was neither a challenge nor a confidant. Then Miss Gale would curtsy, rather clumsily, and flutter away to laugh with more interesting women, the kind who knew scandal.

But Mr. Cope, it seemed, was not as intimidating as a duchess, and certainly more interesting. Harriet guessed this because Miss Gale—or Nell, as she quickly asked to be called—immediately did a complicated little maneuver with her hip that made her chest jiggle in a startling manner.

Strange drifted away a few minutes later, and Harriet found herself chattering to Nell about her shepherdess costume, which was for a play she was rehearsing.

It was surprisingly fun. Nell had a wonderful gift: Harriet found herself convulsed with laughter by the way she imitated a stuffy matron’s distress when her dog peed on the Lord Chancellor’s robes. They both accepted glasses of wine, and before long were seated cozily in a couch at the side of the room.

Harriet was so entertained that she almost forgot she was dressed as a man, except when she crossed her legs. That was so much fun she kept crossing and uncrossing until Nell asked her if she had a strained ankle.

“No,” Harriet said, remembering again to deepen her voice.

“I expect you’re nervous, it being your first night here,” Nell said encouragingly. “Don’t worry. It’s not nearly as bad as I thought before I came. I thought there would be an orgy before my very eyes.”

“Hum,” Harriet said. “So did I, of course.”

“Well, being a man, you’re probably looking forward to that,” Nell said, dimpling in the most delightful manner.

“Not really,” Harriet ventured.

“I believe we must be the same age,” Nell said. “Or perhaps I’m a bit older. I shall be your tutor, for I can see that you aren’t quite ready for this life.”

“Are you?” Harriet asked.

“If you’re asking whether I’m a courtesan, I’m not,” Nell said readily. “I’m an actress. Lord Strange owns the Hyde Park Theater, and he likes to have final rehearsals at Fonthill. And just so you know, Lord Strange doesn’t allow true ladybirds in his house. People do get up to all sorts of naughtiness—” she lowered her voice “—but there’s no exchange of money, if you see the difference.”

Harriet did. “What does your family think of your visit here?”

“I don’t have much of a family,” Nell said, dimpling. “You don’t think that I’m a good girl, do you, Harry?” For she had promptly discarded “Mr. Cope.”

Harriet couldn’t help smiling. She’d never met anyone like Nell before, anyone so cheerfully sinful.

“I’ve no need to be a courtesan,” Nell said. “I’m a very good actress. I’d never want a man to support me; they’re an erratic bunch. I don’t mind telling you, since I can see that you’ve yet to come to London, that I mean to be a lead actress some day. But even now I earn a pretty penny.”

“I can imagine,” Harriet said.