Page 28 of Who Wants to Marry a Duke
Olivia shot him a blazing smile. “Oh, yes, thank you! I love this one, because they always include the news about science.”
When she smiled like that he wanted to buy her a thousand newspapers.
What was wrong with him? He must be tired. Or ill. Or out of his mind.
She opened the paper and clearly sought out a certain section. Then with a happy sigh, she settled back to read.
Damn her for being even more stimulating than he remembered. She did seem to know a great deal about chemistry, and she certainly enjoyed talking—and reading—about it. That made her more of a bluestocking than the schemer he’d envisioned. Then again, he didn’t know any bluestockings, so he wasn’t sure if Olivia fit the type.
Actually, she fit no type whatsoever. Take her gown, for example. The bluish green reminded him of her gown last night. Other women never seemed to wear the same color twice, but Olivia did as she pleased.
God, he must have been a heedless arse nine years ago not to have seen her unusual qualities. Now he knew how to appreciate a woman as unique as she, no matter how badly she danced or what lapses she had in following societal rules.
Or what part she’d played in her stepmother’s scheme? He wasn’t sure if she’d played any part at all. He still couldn’t tell, not from what she’d said and not from how she’d behaved.
Last night she’d thrown herself enthusiastically into their kiss, but she’d gone out of her way to hide their encounter from the others. He didn’t know what to make of that. She said she would turn him down again if he asked. Was she trying to impress Grey concerning her scientific ability by not showing herself to be the usual female scheming to marry a duke? Or was she really not interested in marriage despite being interested in kissing?
Not that her motive—or lack of one—mattered. He still had no intention of renewing whatever interest he’d had in her.
Then again, he couldn’t believe she enjoyed his plays. It didn’t fit with his picture of her as a young woman whose entire focus was on ensnaring a husband. Or even his newer picture of her as a bluestocking.
Either way, he must be on his guard concerning Juncker. When she’d mentioned Lady Grasping and Lady Slyboots, he’d nearly cursed aloud. She must never guess who they were based on. She wouldn’t understand. She’d be hurt.
Why hecaredwhether she was hurt was a mystery he didn’t want to examine very closely.
Olivia put down the paper with a sigh of pleasure. “That was the best prize you could give me. I feared I would miss getting to readThe Chronicle of the Arts and Scienceswhile I was away. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I subscribe.” He had to keep up with what was going on in theater, after all.
“So do I,” Grey said. “Feel free to read my issue if you wish. Mother always does. I send it to her once I’m done.”
“Wait, I do that, too,” Thorn said. “Mother is getting two issues every week? Why didn’t she say something?”
“Probably didn’t want to hurt our feelings,” Grey said. “And she may very well be passing one on to her friends. You know how generous she is.”
Beatrice shifted on her seat. “Speaking of your mother and her friends, did either of you know she had her come out at the same time as Grey’s Aunt Cora?”
“I certainly didn’t,” Grey said. “How can that be? Mother is nine years younger than Aunt Cora and married at seventeen, which, if they came out at the same time, would mean that Aunt Cora had her debut at twenty-six. But I suppose it’s not terribly unusual to wait that late, is it, my love?”
When Olivia looked confused, Beatrice said, “My husband is alluding to the fact thatIwas presented at court at twenty-six, after I had already married.”
“And Gwyn wasn’t presented until thirty,” Thorn pointed out. “But she’d been living abroad. And Beatrice had an inattentive guardian in her Uncle Armie. He never did his duty by her.”
“In my aunt’s case,” Grey said, “her family wasn’t wealthy, and they had four daughters. She was the youngest and had to wait until they could afford a London Season for her, although I’ve been told she was beautiful in her youth.”
Thorn mused on that a moment. “Actually, Lady Norley told me she came out with Mother, too.”
“When did she tell youthat?” Beatrice asked with a particularly devious smile. “I thought you only met her last night, and I didn’t see you talking to her at the party.”
Grey’s eyes twinkled. “Nor I.”
Feeling Olivia’s gaze on him, he said, “Mother wasn’t aware of this, but I had actually met both Lady Norley and Miss Norley years ago.” Then to stave off more questions along that line, he added hastily, “And don’t forget that Lady Hornsby and Mother also came out together. They’ve been friends for years. Is it purely coincidence that we know all four women?”
“Of course not,” Beatrice said. “Our ages are roughly within a span of ten years, so it follows that our mothers might have known each other or even been close friends. Besides, ladies who have their debuts together have an unbreakable connection, forged of spending so much time in each other’s company. They meet the same men, go to many of the same events, and possibly even see the same sights, if they haven’t been to London before.”
Thorn glanced at Grey. “‘Meet the same men.’ Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Sorry, old chap, but I haven’t yet developed a talent for reading minds.”
