Page 109 of His Duchess in Disguise
“These are marvelous, Your Grace,” Emma said. “I have only just started with the schoolbooks, and I am already in raptures. I have already selected my first two books to read.” She indicated a bound volume of Shakespeare’s plays and a worn copy of Cicero.
“You read Latin?” the Duke asked, surprise coloring his voice.
“A little,” Emma said. “My governess felt that St. Jerome’s translations were superior to those commissioned by King James.”
“I’m amazed that she did not feel the need to read the original Hebrew and Greek,” the Duke said with some degree of irony.
Emma looked up at him guilelessly. “She did mention that such an endeavor would bring about the purest interpretation of the scriptures, but since neither of us could read Hebrew or Greek, we were reduced to reading the nearest translation.”
The Duke hid his mouth behind his hand, but the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes gave him away. “I see,” he said.
“You are laughing at me!” Emma protested.
“Not at all. However, I must point out to you that a butcher’s daughter would be unlikely to have a governess. So, who might have taught you Latin?”
“Umm….the parson? Many village children do study with such a person, I am told.”
“Hmmm.” The Duke tapped the end of his nose. “No, it won’t work. Village parson’s don’t teach girls. Perhaps a bored daughter of a peer taught you.”
Emma laughed. “I did, indeed, try to teach some of the village children at home. My father was exceedingly angry when he found out.”
“I do not doubt that he was. There are many peers who believe that it allows the commoners to be above themselves when you teach them to read and write, let alone to parse Latin verbs, much less read Cicero’s prose.”
“He did have some rather unique ideas,” Emma admitted. “Do you read Cicero, Your Grace?”
“Now and then,” he admitted. “I find that he is a prosy old fellow, quite good for sending one off to sleep.”
Emma giggled. “Now you are just having fun at my expense.”
“No, no, I assure you. Cicero was quite fond of the sound of his own voice, I do believe. His speeches hold the secret of being boring, and parliament further perfected it.”
Emma laughed outright until tears ran down her cheeks. “Truly, Your Grace?”
“Truly, Miss Smith. There is a marked similarity between the speeches of all politicians. Statesmen are few and far between.”
“You are quite the jokester, Your Grace.”
“I endeavor to amuse. I shall now leave you to your book sorting and cleaning.”
The Duke exited the library, and Emma turned eagerly to her task. Some of the schoolbooks were heavily foxed, while others were merely tattered from use and from the excesses of generations of reluctant scholars.
The copybooks she stacked neatly back into the lower cupboard, then she began examining the books to see what she could do about salvaging them. Intent on her task, she absently began to hum an old song about a bachelor, a mouse, and a wheel of cheese. “Kitchee kimee, kitchee kimeo,” she sang the nonsense chorus.
For the first time in years, she felt confident, safe, joyful and free.
Chapter 21
Leo returned to his study confident that at the very least, his new staff member was not destroying the library. Indeed, she seemed to treat the books almost reverently. With the matter of what to do with the young lady for the time being taken care of, he turned his mind to setting his affairs in order. While he did not really think that Percy Harlow could get a touch on him, it was fool-hardy not to make preparations. At the very least, he should name an heir so that the estate was not left without a master.
But who to name? Reginald was one option. The winter illness had moved him much higher up the ladder of succession, but Reggie was less well suited to run the estate than young Robbie. Too bad that little scapegrace was not a by-blow. Then he could acknowledge him and name him heir. No, that would not follow. Shame too, the lad was sharp and cared deeply for the estate where he had grown up.
As he sat pondering the question, he heard “Kathy Smith” singing, “Up he held that yellow cheese, when he heard old King Rat sneeze . . .”
He’d not heard that song since his nurse used to sing it to amuse him and Garth. A smile tugged at his mouth while a tear trickled slowly down one cheek. Those were happier times, easier times. . . he scrubbed angrily at his eye with one finger.
“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Hamilton asked, looking up from the paper he was copying.
“Quite. Just a little something in my eye.”
