Page 72 of A Duke Makes a Deal
“And how did you find it?”
“Well, honestly, I found it rather derivative.”
“I agree, and that’s because E. S. Helms didn’t serve in the war.”
“Yes, but he did interview Colonel Lennox extensively, as well as many of the generals from that engagement.”
Silas waved his hand.
“But imagine what it would have been like had Lennox written the book himself,” he said, watching the young man’s face. “I imagine a book written in the colonel’s own hand would have been vastly more interesting and far from derivative.”
“I suppose so,” Mr. Lutz said, his tone unsure. “But Helms did have success with his book.”
“Because it was a successful topic. Now, had he been there firsthand and written about it, I think it would have been far more successful.”
“I suppose that is true. I myself find words written from firsthand experiences to be infinitely more interesting.”
“And a talent like yours, Mr. Lutz, shouldn’t be squandered on secondhand knowledge.”
He turned to Silas.
“Do you mean I should go visit New Orleans if I’m set on writing about it?”
Silas shrugged, hoping to appear disinterested.
“I cannot say, but for your craft, I think it would be worth it.”
Mr. Lutz frowned.
“But I’ve never been away from England. I don’t even have the means to travel,” he said, before realization dawned on his face. Tipping his chin up, he continued. “Besides, I have too many people I care for who I could not abandon.”
Silas fought the urge to roll his eyes.
“I’m sure you do,” he said stiffly. “Well, good luck to you then, Mr. Lutz. I look forward to reading your next piece based on the experiences of others.”
Tucking his heel into the side of his horse, Silas galloped ahead of the young man, confident that his words had affected him.
Silas and the rest of the men spent the remainder of the morning moving across the baron’s forests and fields. By noon, they had decided to return to the house. Silas had observed Mr. Lutz speaking with the baron and two other gentlemen on their way back to the stables and wondered if his plan was working.
Upon his return to the manse, Silas had learned that his wife and sister were in the library, researching the play they hoped to put on. Reaching the library, he saw that the Trembley brothers had been recruited as well as Holly. Two other young ladies, whowere giggling while reading their respective parts, were tucked away in the corner, eyeing the Trembley men with interest.
Clara was directing the entire thing, seemingly happy to be out of the spotlight. When she saw Silas approach she went to stand, but he shook his head to dissuade her from making a fuss on his account. He wanted to watch her and so she continued reading at his unspoken command.
“This is a bit flowery, is it not?” the youngest Trembley, Alfred, said. “People don’t talk like this at all.”
“How would you know?” the other Trembley, Fredrick spoke, wincing slightly. His arm was drawn up in a sling around his neck. “You never could woo a lady.”
The two cloistered ladies laughed gently behind their hands, but Violet seemed determined.
“Great men throughout history have always commanded the English language to their advantage,” she said, her shoulders pulled back as if to demonstrate said command. “Besides, I’ll have you know that their greatest treasure is a fair lady’s attention.”
“God forbid I ever receive the attention of a lady who thinks this piece is any good,” Fredrick mumbled, causing his brother Alfred to snicker and earning a piercing glare from Violet.
“Are you refusing to play your part?”
“It’s trite. Listen to this.” Fredrick held the book up and cleared his throat. When he spoke, he changed his voice dramatically. “Tell me dearest, what is love? ’Tis a lightning from above, ’Tis an arrow, ’tis a fire, ’Tis a boy they call desire. ’Tis a smile Doth beguile.” Fredrick sneered with disgust. “It’s awful.”
“It’s beautiful,” Violet challenged, glaring at him. “Beaumont was a genius.”
