Page 73 of A Duke Makes a Deal
“No, he wasn’t. Everyone only assumes he was because no one wants to think for themselves.”
“I quite like Beaumont,” Holly chimed in, flipping through her book.
“See?” Violet said, as if Holly’s taste confirmed something.
“Well, I don’t,” Alfred stated.
Fredrick tilted his head towards his brother, though his gaze never left Violet. She let out a half sigh, half growl.
“I don’t see why you insist on being here then,” she snapped. “If only Mr. Lutz was available…”
Silas was curious as to why Mr. Lutz hadn’t joined them, but then he had overheard the baron say something about wanting him to make the acquaintance of a gentleman who had recently returned from New York. For Mr. Lutz, the request of his patron would have to come before everything else. He paid the young man’s bills after all.
“Believe me, I’d trade places with Mr. Lutz in a heartbeat, if I hadn’t dislocated my shoulder,” Fredrick said, painfully lifting his arm that sat in a sling. “Although compared to this play, I think I’d rather have my other arm broken.”
“One wonders if your shoulder’s dislocation also dislocated your good taste.”
“Well, I’ve always found plays at house parties a bore, especially when Beaumont is involved, so I don’t think my tastes have shifted.”
Violet glared at him.
“You arrogant—”
“Now, now, let’s not fall into an argument,” Clara said, motioning with her hands to settle those around her. “Some people enjoy Beaumont, some do not. There is no right or wrong answer.”
By the expressions on Fredrick and Violet’s faces, it seemed there was very much a right and wrong answer. After a long moment, Violet squared her shoulders and turned away from Fredrick.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “A good actor could make the worst lines poetry. I doubt Mr. Trembley could summon enough emotion to display any ability even to his own mother.”
“Now see here,” Fredrick started, his tone agitated.
“Please,” Clara started again, standing up now. “There’s no need to argue.”
“Silas never questioned the material when we did plays. Did you, Silas?” Violet said, turning to her brother.
Everyone in the room turned to look at Silas.
Bloody. Hell.
“Keep me out of this, Violet,” he said, batting down the abrupt feelings of discomfort that came when he was the center of attention.
“But you were always the epitome of perfection when it came to our plays.”
“Plays?” Clara repeated, turning to fully face him. A slow smile crept over her visage. “You wrote plays?”
“Violet wrote plays,” Silas corrected, giving his sister a withering glance. “I only performed in them.”
“Please, Silas, will you read the part of Jasper? Just to show these other gentlemen how to do it properly,” Violet said. “The way it should be done.”
Silas was very close to saying no when Clara spoke up.
“Oh, yes, please do,” she said, mirth in her eyes. “I’d very much like to hear it.”
Silas silently swore to make Violet pay for this. But in the meantime, he wouldn’t let Clara push him out on stage alone.
He grinned wickedly at her.
“Of course,” he said, coming forward. “If my wife will play Luce.”
