Page 25 of Who Wants to Marry a Duke
“Even over Shakespeare’s?” Thorn asked, with a skeptical arching of one brow, though he also seemed terribly interested in her answer. Which was flattering, she supposed.
“Well . . .” She had to think about that one. “Yes, I believe so. Because they’re so much more real to me than Shakespeare’s, even though written by a foreigner.”
“I don’t think Juncker is a foreigner, actually,” Greycourt said. “Just his name is German.”
“That would explain his extraordinary knowledge of English society,” Olivia said. “You can meet matchmaking mamas and scheming young ladies like Grasping and Slyboots in any London ballroom. He describes them masterfully and mocks them so well that I laugh until my sides hurt.”
“In the play I saw, whatever it was titled,” Greycourt said, “Lady Grasping gets the idea to have Lady Slyboots, her daughter, demonstrate her skill at needlepoint to impress an aging marquess who’s seeking a wife. But Lady Slyboots gets so distracted by the handsome Felix who’s flirting with her that she sews the marquess’s breeches leg to her embroidery. Then, of course, the marquess is trying to leave but he can’t, and he pulls hard enough to rip the fabric over his backside, exposing his drawers, and her mother faints. . . .”
“Ooh, ooh, I love that scene!” Olivia said. “It’s inThe Wild Adventures of a Foreign Gentleman Loose in London.”
“I think that’s it, yes,” Greycourt said with a satisfied smile.
“Myfavorite part,” Olivia said, “is when Lady Grasping takes Lady Slyboots to Bath for the first time. They go to the Grand Pump Room to see and be seen, and Lady Grasping tells Lady Slyboots to fetch her a glass of champagne. Lady Slyboots gets what she thinks is champagne from a footman offering glasses of the mineral water, and she gives it to her mama. Of course, Lady Grasping drinks it, then spews it all over an eligible earl she’s been trying to snag for Lady Slyboots, and he walks off in a huff, with Lady Slyboots running after him offering him what she still thinks is champagne.”
Olivia sat back. “Anyway, it’s very funny when performed in the theater with good comic actresses.”
“Grey, you must take me to see one of these Juncker plays,” Beatrice said. When Olivia looked at her, astonished that the duchess hadn’t already been to one, Beatrice added, “I came to London for the first time not quite a year ago. Until then, I’d never seen a play of any kind anywhere.”
“Oh, you poor thing!” Olivia uttered a sigh. “You might have lost your chance with the Juncker ones, though. Rumor has it he isn’t planning on writing any more of them.”
“Where did you hear that?” Thorn asked.
“From one of the gossip rags, I think. Or perhaps in the theater? I don’t recall.”
“How many of these plays have there been, anyway?” Beatrice asked.
“Five, I believe,” Greycourt said.
“Six,” Thorn said. When their gazes all shot to him, he said, “What? I go to the theater often. I know the schedules for plays I’ve never even seen.”
Greycourt frowned at his brother. “Wait a minute, isn’t Juncker a friend of yours? I forgot that.”
Thorn stiffened noticeably. “A mere acquaintance, really,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Next time you see him,” Olivia said, “do ask if he plans to write any more.”
“Now I understand why you’re so annoyed by this conversation, Thorn,” Greycourt said. “You’re jealous.”
“What?” Thorn said. “Why the hell would I be jealous of Juncker?”
“Excellent point,” Olivia told Greycourt. “Your brother is a duke. I don’t see how he could be jealous of a mere playwright.”
“I’ma duke,” Greycourt said. “Trust me, we have the same human emotions as the next person. And what you don’t know about my brother is that in his salad days, Thorn dabbled in writing himself. Never could finish anything. So he’s jealous of this fellow’s success at having five whole plays in the theater—”
“Six,” Thorn said wearily.
“Right. Six,” Greycourt said. “Hmm.” He looked at Olivia. “So the gossip is that he’s not writing anymore?”
She bobbed her head.
“I can see why. Six is a damned lot of plays to write on what is essentially the same subject. I mean, how many wayscana man get into trouble in London?”
“You’d be surprised,” Thorn muttered under his breath.
“Don’t enlighten us,” Greycourt said. “You’ll scandalize the ladies.”
“Or have us clamoring to join you on your next adventure,” Beatrice said, with a wink for Olivia.
