"One last question before your car arrives," Giles called. "According to Debrett's Correct Form, who takes seating precedence at a formal dinner - a Dowager Peeress or the wife of an Incumbent Baronet?"
"I have no sodding idea," Faith replied, in a perfect British accent.
"Marvelous," Giles smiled. "I dare say, your accent is very passable."
"Good, because I still suck at everything else you taught me."
"You'll be fine, Faith," he reassured her. "Does your selection work for you?"
"Still hard to breathe in," she said, coming down the stairs, dressed in the ball gown. Her long hair was twisted back in a delicate bun, stands of hair framing her face. "We're ok?"
"Five by five."