Page 53 of Who Wants to Marry a Duke
“I’m afraid he did,” Gwyn said.
“The word is the same in German as in English,” Mr. Juncker explained.
“And Thorn is nothing if not honest about his needs, even his unsavory ones,” Gwyn added.
Mr. Juncker snorted. “Ah, yes, scrupulously honest. That’s our Thorn.”
Thorn glared at both him and Gwyn. “This is hardly appropriate dinner table conversation.”
“We’re done with dinner,” Gwyn said.
“Then you and Miss Norley should repair to the drawing room so Juncker and I can have our brandy,” Thorn said.
“Not on your life,” Mr. Juncker said. “No one is leaving until I hear the rest of this story. Actually, if anyone is repairing to the drawing room, it should be all of us.” He shot Thorn a taunting look. “I’m enjoying the company of the ladies.” Then Mr. Juncker turned to Gwyn. “Do go on, madam.”
“You must consider the fact that Thorn was only six at the time,” Gwyn said. “And since we were all in the garden, it was easy for him to slip away from our nursemaid when she was dealing with three other children—two of whom were still in swaddling.”
“Threeother children? Not four?” Olivia asked.
“Grey had a tutor by then.” Gwyn looked pensive. “Or perhaps that was after he’d returned to England. I can’t remember. I was only six, too, you know.”
“Well, don’t leave us hanging,” Olivia said. “How did the king respond?”
“He laughed heartily, thank heavens,” Gwyn said, “or I daresay Papa would have punished Thorn for it. From then on, our nursemaid was ordered to take us for a long walk during any visit from the royalty of Prussia. Frederick the Great died a couple of years later, I believe. And Thorn cried when he heard of it. The king did seem like a nice man.”
“He certainly always treated me better than I deserved,” Thorn said, and the look of affection that passed between him and his twin made Olivia envious. She would so have enjoyed having a brother or sister.
“The stories you and your siblings must have about growing up in Prussia in a large family,” Olivia said. “My childhood was so dull by comparison. It was just Mama and I most of the time. Indeed, since this is the longest I’ve ever been away from Mama, I worry she might get lonely while I’m gone.”
“Your mother is a widow?” Mr. Juncker asked.
Olivia could feel Thorn’s gaze on her. “She might as well be. Papa is always in London for some reason or another, it seems. Except during hunting season, when he tramps the woods every day. And even when we’re in the city with him, he’s at his club or Parliament or . . . who knows where else.” She didn’t want to know, honestly. The possibility that her father might have a mistress always bothered her.
“Yet you enjoy plays about men who get into trouble in the city,” Thorn pointed out.
“Notmen,” Olivia said. “Bachelors. Mr. Juncker’s plays are all about unmarried men and the scrapes they get into. But the plays mock those married men who act like bachelors.”
“Do they?” Mr. Juncker asked, with a glance at Thorn.
“Don’t look atme,” Thorn drawled. “You’re the one who writes the things.”
“Yes, but I don’t recall any part about mocking married men,” Mr. Juncker said.
Olivia frowned. “Like when Felix and his friend try to steal the mistresses of the married men? Or joke about the husbands’ big paunches? Or use the latest slang to poke fun at the men because they’re too old to know what the words mean?”
“Ah, right,” Mr. Juncker said. “Those parts.”
“So those scenes aren’t based on your experiences as a bachelor?” Olivia asked.
“A few are,” Mr. Juncker said. “Not as many as people think.”
Olivia stared at him. “Then where did you get your comic characters, like Lady Slyboots and Lady Grasping?”
Mr. Juncker tapped his head. “From here, my dear. They came from right up here. The best writers don’t work from real life, you see. They get their ideas from dreams and fancies and the merest whispers of the universe in their ears.”
“What rot,” Thorn muttered. “You only blather such nonsense when you’re trying to impress the ladies.”
“Someone must, since you’re making no effort to do so yourself,” Mr. Juncker said.
